WHAT IF
What if his brother had never texted me to tell me my friend was drunk?
What if I never bothered to change plans?
What if I didn’t call Corey?
What if he didn’t call me back to tell me he was going downtown?
What if I never bothered to go out?
What if I never caught that cab?
What if you never out with Corey that night?
What if everything in time didn’t allow us to meet that night?
What if I never summed up your personality?
What if you never texted me at the end of the night?
What if I never came out sunday?
What if we never met?
What if time never gave us a chance?……
ENRICHED WITH HIS SOUL
when you die,
I will take your remains,
and scatter them in the
ocean
just
before sunset,
when the sun
is shining
perfectly
in my direction
and it glistens and reflects
above the diamond like blue.
I will let you go,
at the setting of the sun,
as the clouds line with
orange and yellow.
But,
your soul,
I will selfishly
keep for me,
In a jar I carry
in my
purse I will keep.
Keep you with me,
because
still
I don’t think
I can ever fully be
without you.
—ME
RING AROUND THE ROSIE, POCKET FULL OF DUST,
COLLECT IT ALL IF YOU MUST,
I HAVE BEEN HERE,
I HAVE BEEN THERE.
I HAVE BEEN EVERYWHERE,
GO AHEAD PASS ME AROUND,
AND FONDLE WITH MY HEART,
I DARE YOU,
TO HAND ME DOWN….
THE EXPENSE OF THE FALL— RICH
I can’t help that I am falling,
and We both
know you won’t be
catching,
and I won’t be complaining,
about the
brusies,
because I
seen this
coming,
and I should have
at least
attempted to
catch myself…..
I just can’t help being with you.
—ME
5/14/12 MY SICKENING LOVE
Baby, It is tiring writing this poem.
It is so frustrating. from the moment,
you put that pen in my hands,
and watched my hand flow at the spill of your
beautiful words,
I knew
i just knew,
that it was all wasted
ink from here.
Lovely words stained,
and lightly engraved
of this forming poem
from
being the beginning
and end
to
our complication
we call
love.
My darling,
this poem
is
wasted ink,
and us wasted time,
because time wasn’t with us,
in this life either.
and now we will not yet,
be one.
I will miss that
darling soul.
—ME
RICH STONED FEELINGS
Dear whispering wind,
Please stop! Just stop that whispering of love you whisper in my ears. In the tone of your voice I hear patience and time dedicated. Dedicated to the touch of promise it whispers. When whipped away from my direction, I can still feel the said promises— in a hint of cold. But, then there is this warmth, when the colds chill travels to my eyes— and demands me to envision— to try see the bigger picture.
