your vision, your voice
A Strange Creature
Binturongs are odd,
They are like a cat and a bear mixed.
Scary or ugly looking, but nice if you know them.
Binturongs smell like… popcorn.
Other animals don’t like them.
Their black, shiny fur,
Nearly invisible in the dark night
But their bright, yellow eyes
Illuminate the dull surroundings.
The leaves crunch below its small feet,
Climbing the tall, welcoming tree
Taking a relaxing nap.
My abacus is made of wood
I use it when I should.
It’s long and full of beads
I manipulate for my needs.
Abacus is fun
I use it to get my math done.
Take some numbers and move a bead
Then I’ll have the answers that I need.
Pitter Patter
My heart begins to shatter
You push me away like I don’t even matter
You struggle with so much
I try to give you a hug
Then you duck
You duck away from me
You push away my love
Like you don’t even care for me
Tears run down your face
Your heart can’t beat the same pace
You only see black and blue
As if nothing is around you
Nothing to help you
You deal with the pain… alone
You want to run
You want to leave
Though you stay just for me
Hard to love
Hard to love
Pitter Patter
My heart comes together
Your rainy day has faded away
You come to me everyday
My heart warms at the feeling of you
I know you love me
Just as much as I love you
Hard to love
Hard to love
But no matter what
I will push through
Just for you
The Author of a book
can be the narrator.
Or, the Author could
be the main character.
The Author could simply
not be in the story.
Or, the Author could
be on the sidelines
watching and waiting.
The Author could be
the villain or the hero.
The Author could even
be the puppet master
controlling everything.
Watching in amusement.
Or…
The Author could be just that.
The Author.
The definition of “Anxiety Disorder” is
“specific psychiatric disorders that involve extreme fear or worry, and includes generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), panic disorder and panic attacks, agoraphobia, social anxiety disorder, selective mutism, separation anxiety, and specific phobias”
What the lists of disorders don’t tell
They don’t tell you
That anxiety attacks feel like
Feel like you’re drowning
Drowning in the abyss
That is your own brain
Your own thoughts build up
An infinite chasm if torture
Never letting you leave the dungeon in their depths
In dreams of past and hopes of new
Of faith in God and other beings
In the souls of grocery stores
And small record shops
And in the tiny rural schools
The spirit lives
They wake up promptly
Make their coffee, kiss their wifes
Send their children to school
They march to work
Shake hands
Roll up their sleeves
And preach their do
Stories of old breathe down their necks
And strangle them
Beg them to uphold their do and deed
Or else march on like the rest of them
Every star is an opportunity
A chance to take a stand and change the community
Wish on each star no matter how high
You will never know what could happen if you don’t even try
Every morning getting out of your bed
You suddenly hear a voice in your head
Of all the things you wish you could do
As the day goes on the voice only grew
The sun, moon, and the stars up above
Are calling you to a new passion you love
You scared that if you do what you want
Everyone at school is just going to taunt
Every star is an opportunity
A chance to take a stand and change the community
Why would you let that go
Just to have a better reputation with people you don’t even know
You are a star so go catch your dreams fast
You never know if this opportunity could be your last
Oh Christmas! Oh Christmas!
Oh Christmas!
You bring joy and spirit, forgiveness, hope,
So bright and charming;
Helping people in need.
You end the melancholy year with positive energy,
You give the energy for next year.
You give an extra twist in life,
You give this by all the surprises.
You jingle and spirit arises,
Caroling the downtown streets,
Children dressed in red and green;
Abundant in cheer.
How I wish you lingered!
Alas! I need to let go…
Awaiting your coming next Christmas,
To bring back the golden cheer!
The thought always looms in the air
Because I always search for food.
It ceases to leave my body.
Deciding whether to
Eat sweets or more savory items.
Food fuels my desires
Good food, my mom’s food
Has a special place in my heart.
I can never remember when I first ate it,
Just that it has always been good
The aroma that lingers in the kitchen,
It welcomes me when I walk in.
Whether it’s boiling away on top of the stove,
Or roasting inside of the oven.
No cookbooks lay on the counter.
Only a small folder of lined paper
Filled with lines of tiny script
And stains that have stood the test of time.
Knowing that it came from my grandma,
Leaves me in tears, because of the
Memories.
Never fading,
Arching over my head,
Providing me with a mixture of emotions.
In small-town diners,
With their home-style food,
I feel the presence
Of happiness.
Quite often, I find my self
Remembering her banana pudding, the taste
Still lingers in my mouth.
Wanting more, I order
The expensive dessert
Hoping for one last taste
But the things I eat now
Underwhelm me, to the point of me
Leaving the bowl untouched
The artificial flavor radiates off the bowl
And into my face.
It floats around and traps me
While I remember how good things used to be
The blue beauty calls
me into her arms, so pale
…the arms of Nature.