velcro

sex is like velcro
at first, the connection is strong
loops fitting perfectly together
hearts hard to separate
bodies clinging tight
the first rip leaves the most damages
ties torn
lives ripped
links broken.
from then on, each new attachment becomes less intense
each time it's less connected
the broken and damaged ties from before
don't allow to grip as tight, hold so close
it's only a matter of time before the connection of connecting is gone.
you're unable to connect because there's too much damage
people pressed together briefly
feeling no real connection
separating as easily as they came together.
how long til i reach that?
til i become a damaged good

regret

regret
the cold nagging feeling that eats at your mind
something lost way back in time
a piece of innocence lost or a true friend gone
we must always be forced to go back
our mind drags us there in silence or conversation
mocking, 'look what you did, stupid girl
it's too late now and you'll never forget.'
it haunts you every day
a timeless torture to remind you what you are
to drag you down and pin you there
it churns your stomach and pulls a frown
why does this damn thing always drag me down

i was raised ii

i was raised by country
play outside til it's dark
sink your toes into black mud
don't get lost in the cornfields
catch the lightning bugs at dusk
and wish they'd live forever
but learn that all captured creatures die.

i was raised with freedom
breathe in the smells of the wide open
and run far enough away
so no one knows what you do
a life of pretend and play til
goosebumps prickle and it's time for dinner

i was raised at grandma's table
if you eat before prayers, it's poison
but then you best eat everything on your plate
dishes are done by those who don't cook
and dessert is a course.

i was raised in a home
where the third stair creaks
and the tornado blew away the trampoline again
where the hayloft is too hot for the
club house of our dreams
but the front porch is perfect during summer evening storms

i was raised by simplicity
where dishes with grandma
baking bread bears with mom
were my first lessons
where the Easter egg tree at church and
pastel mints on a plastic table cloth filled my heart's content

i was raised to explore
"no TV! go outside and play!"

i was raised

i was raised in a white house
set on a hill
that became my heaven
i'd wander the fields
the creek
the barns
never finding a treasure
and never realizing
that it was my treasure

i was raised by family
that lived in the house
i'd follow dad wherever he went
and feel a glow when he reached for my hand
i'd wonder at my mother's beauty and style
and pray that one day i'd be pretty like her
i'd wear her high heels and andy's hand-me-downs
because they would make me more like him

i was raised by grandparents
that lived down the road
a grandma that taught me to play in dishwater
and keep stirring even when you're bored
i watched grandpa work and learned
sometimes silence and dinner are all you need

i was raised that "we'll be here if you ever need us"
are not just words
and "explore the world but don't forget to come home"
will eventually take me back
to where i was raised

man's hands

in man's hands we find all the answers;
the creation from dust
the sweet pleasure of lust
the erection of steel
to the helpless pleading appeal.
the power held by wealth
and the sad frailty of failing health.
the gentle caress
with just an edge of roughness.
the knuckles knotted in hate
encircling the bad of love inscribed with a date.
the world of his skill
in the grasp of a quill.
the nervous tapping.
the joyous clapping.
the sweat of a boy hiding
to the patient parent's guiding.
if you look at his hands, you view his soul.
for whom do they reach, surrender, enfold?
do you feel their touch, their sweetness, their grudge?
for it's not difficult to misjudge.
the worth of a man
lies truly in his hands.

confidence

gaining control
feeling much better
know that i love you
but i must be clever
i can't let it show
or needle will hit red
but i hear it in good night
and feel it in bed
and if by chance
we can't make it last
i'll be glad for the dance
and tuck you neatly away in my past

mms

i know they're just for decoration
but why would such beauty be a creation
if it wasn't something we could have?
so when no one's looking, i'll quickly grab
to feel them between my fingers and know that soon
i must consume them fast
because as you know, good things don't last
for if you hold them too long
the heat becomes too strong
and what started as a good plan
has become a tragedy in your hand