I remember this place called home.
My pictures hung on the walls, my clothes hung in a closet.
It had my little touches in every corner of my home.
It was my design~spent was my time
It was my home; it was mine.
I was always pleased to see my things placed to my liking in my home,
but a home is where the heart is.....
where does my heart belong?
The rooms change when I leave them
for my home is not my own.
The stone I layed for another
a home I made for a sister and her brother
in whose home no longer dwells their mother.

A new room, a stale room is for a short time where I laid my head,
a fellow patient asleep in the next bed.
A guest in a room not of my making; another's home
not mine for the taking.

A new city, another bed and different roomates a plenty.
Move again, "welcome home" a new friend greeted me.
Another bed, now three roomates.
I'll do whatever it takes!

My ego, it suffers while I feel my children slip away.
Gotta go, gotta roll and create my own before Turkey Day!
Months pass and money moves fast in this temporary home
nothings made to last.

Illusion created, my spirit still sedated
like the bats in the attic
my homes' been eradict~
So called home for recovery
has no more room for the addict in me.

Wandering homeless
not hopeless
when home is where the heart is
and my heart beats within me~
Does it really matter exactly where I be?

I'm in no man's land
just as a woman scorned would be.
Gotta drop my fears and my pride;
to grovel in humility.
Ease me from shame and towards spiritual gain.
I plea~God, make a home in me.

just call me Miss Lead

i believed all i'd been fed

honesty and communication...

what the fuck's your contribution?

what a man, such a lovely man

from the fire i jumped into your pan

what a dear, to lend me your ear

for months at a time

line after line

just a man, his own #1 fan

lies are not lies when the questions weren't asked?

you were open, hiding nothing? OH-i didn't ask!!

a revelation to your game you gave without shame.

indeed we knew from the get go we'd never be the same.

i just wish you had told me a lot sooner than this

you gave me no choice & now it's my friend that i miss

sorry won't cut it, i'm nobody's fool

thanks for the lesson-i guess i got schooled

i'll tend to my heart & all the tears that i've shed

until you see your part just call me Miss Lead

my Divine prayer will be of completeness, of a love that will be shot=propelled throughout the universe! a wholeness to our being, an interception to all pain, an act so spiritual~the angels will truly sing! a memory created yet an affect resonating throughout the rest of our lives!

~future lover, a hurt like no other. what once was just fantasy may now become a memory. your touch, your taste, you know (baby) i just can't wait for you~my wedding date. as my grin grows, i twinkle my toes. anticipations fuels my sexual beast. i yearn for you to make my misery cease.~

i could play for you a dozen songs on how i feel...i'm a lovesick fool!

For one cannot love without giving in part, a tiny sliver of one's heart.

It feels that this is one of those days where inspiration hides behind me. I catch glimpses of it out of the corner of my eye. I hear it whispering to me, yet the words are mere shivers on the wind. How can one grasp the untangible? Reach for it. So, I write creating an extension through my subconscience to a realm of creativity. Tap into the dream like wake of streaming beliefs is easy, making sense of the maddness is not. Questioning my own questions has gotten me to nowhere which everyone knows is truly now here. It's elusive, like a mouse to a cat on a hunt. I feel it's there yet cannot grasp it's ever present, ever moving quality. I feel like I'm hunting up fairies!

Could it be

that you & me

no longer see eye to eye?

I'd hate to trample

upon you, my dear, yet

you continue to lie.

Why?

There's nothing more here

for me, it's clear.

The roses that I planted

out of the love you took for granted

shall continue on without my care.

No, I will not prune them.

I will no longer groom them.

Oh! You don't feel it's fair?

With my hats & my shoes

I'll pack my gowns & leave town!

No longer a slave to this, our home.

I'll brave the unknown!

I am a wild rose. You cannot tame me!

Watch me grow on, rambling free.

traveler's rose

There are many roses thought to be perfect in their form, grown as such in ideal conditions and nurtured with loving hands, given all it could ever need to grow into an object of beauty, to be selectively cut and taken to a place where all who looked upon it would sigh at it's breathtaking grace.This is hardly the case for every rose. It is possible to find one growing not in a greenhouse but between rocks and sand. It does not hold the same grace, nor appear as pleasing to the eye. For her roots are wild, just as the stems have grown crooked, struggling to reach the surface as she continued to grow in the harshest of circumstances.There is a greater strength in a rose grown as such; a tortured delicacy, too. Sprouted from the hardest of earth in a place no one may ever notice. This rose will not be selected for the bridal bouquet, the prom corsage or set as a marker atop a beloveds final bed.This rose; petals smelling so sweet, aware of the sun, the moon and stars, the tickle of the bumble bee and the taste of rain will never be given away as yet another symbol of sentimentality. Human hearts may never understand why this rose grows for no man. This is God's beauty, a delicate smile which will only grow more grand with each passing year.If a traveler should come upon her lovely blooms he will stop and admire. Perhaps, a picture he will take. To pick her, he wouldn't, yet smell her he must. With the memory of the petals gentle caress, he'll walk away knowing he let a wild rose grow.