She told me I didn’t need makeup;

Little did she know

All he ever used to tell me was

How I would never put enough on,

That I could not be feminine

Without a layer of suffocation.

And just for that moment,

I embraced my flawed skin,

Rough, but real.

She made me feel

Like I was worth loving again.


Wheel War

Their small legs twirl rapidly,

Muscles pushing their two-wheeled vehicles

Speeding with vitality and joy

The road is boundless

Possibilities are endless.

On the opposite side of the Earth,

another street is being destroyed.

There are no side-walks here,

Only land mines to avoid;

And the relentless screams of fighter jets

Pollute the atmosphere.

Fear is a pervading smell

A perpetual instinct:

Fight or perish.

In a parallel moment,

the tiny bikers

Make a wish

Blow a dandelion.

The seeds disperse,

Achieving freedom.

The two young spirits

Cuddle up into their warm beds

And kiss their loving parents good night.

In War World, a lone child grasps

His mother’s lifeless hand.

Tears stream onto her body:

He just lost the last possibility.




Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

The greatest struggles a writer must face

Are the placing of words in the correct place

Are providing the fuel to light the fire

Are creating immortal ideas that inspire.

Then comes the self-deprecating expedition

Where one knows not where to end nor begin

Where perfection is sought, but none exists

Where the desire for satisfaction persists.

Finally, the writer must divulge the revelation

That what they seek they can never achieve

That it is better to accept than to deceive

That self-fulfilment is merely an aspiration.

There are a multitude of ways to craft a sentence

An unlimited number of adjectives to utilize

An endless array of vocabulary and tense

An infinite amount of characters to disguise.

But the writer must awaken to the reality

That such thought processes lead to misery.

One must pick up the pen and begin to rhyme

And watch their destiny unfold in due time.