I (Still) Miss You

The heat’s escaping and responsibility’s nearing;
the summer is closing in and my best year is about to begin.
I’ve finally figured out what this life is all about
and I’m ready to let you back in, ready to accept you for what you’re not,
love you for exactly who you are.
So in honor of every day we used to spend together,
with hopes of making up for every moment we missed
I want you to know that I still miss you.

And I’m dying to show you who I am.

Remember the nights we nursed each other’s hearts and dreamt the same dreams,
just four teenage girls riding out life’s extremes.
We became each other on rotation,
saw the New York City skyline from the top of the rock
on a cold November evening.
We saw the world through novel goggles
when fate brought us together
on the deck of Sachem’s yellow submarine.

And I’m dying to show you who I am.

Please don’t think I’m naïve, I know things won’t be the same
how could they be, we are all different people now
but we have the same memories and if you ever need
you can still cast all your fears on me, I’ll be your angel
or just the bearer of movie titles and sexual innuendo’s
because if you like pina colda’s, and if your still a little insane and
if you can find some space for me than I’m sure I’ll find my way back
because I’m dying to show you who I am.

Of What I Have become

(Inspired by Dan Millman)

I.
I am the drop of rain that lands on your tongue,
the bird song after a storm,
the silence following rhetoric noise.
I am here.
I am now.
I am this moment.

I am the voice in the distance that acts as perception,
the hope for great insight,
the words aspiring to become revelations.
I am tranquility.
I am devotion.
I am this moment.

II.
There is no need to decipher my life’s every meaning
I just need to trust that its purpose nearing.
As long as I am present for every minute then my sky should be clearing.
forget all the strife, there is never a need to be sneering,
especially when the voice of your own intuition is the one to which you are yielding.
Let go of the life that you are forging
and resuscitate the essence you have been suffocating
because whether we mean to or not we are pushing each other into failing.
So take off the media’s chains, I’m telling you there is nothing more freeing
than believing
that you are here and now
There is nothing more freeing
than knowing
that you are tranquility and devotion.

There is nothing more freeing than being this moment.

Underwear Poem

I write my best poetry when the sun sleeps
and only artificial light remains
when I’m lost in nostalgic memories
or imagining what my life will be.

This is not one of those poems.

This is the type of poem I write in
nothing but my underwear
hoping to find some of my soul to bear
but come across nothing other than tired topics
and a lack of inspiration.

Book Signing

Word

My style is changing,
my voice is louder,
my verses are being heard;
I believe conviction is the word
for the way I spit these lines
and the volume of your applause
is evidence that it’s soaking in.
“It” being art; art being poetry;
poetry being words.
Words.
Words.
Words are the mosaic stones
arranging the intricate outcome of all that I am.
So I ask, what am I to you?
Am I…
“touching and heartbreaking”?
Am I…
“awakening you to what most of reality is”?
Am I…
“expressive.talented.goodshit.sodeep.trulyamazingstuff”?
Am I a “cure for writers block”?
I am if you let me; I am if you say I am.

Why not grow with me and learn with me
as we collect time
so we can show the whole damn world
that peace and love can bring us a lot further
than war and a gun
and that words,
words.
Words.
Should be spit from mouths around the world
so we can all be drenched someone else’s theory,
drowning in another small town’s hope for the future
because one day I want my words to be three-dimensional.
I want to see them come to life on every sidewalk
in every handshake, with every goodbye, with every
time you speak of love or sorrow or peace or loss.
I want my voice to be louder,
I want my verses to be really heard
and I believe conviction is the word
for the way I spit these lines.

I have yet to collect many years but that makes no difference
My youth is my virtue; my wisdom has yet to be lost in knowledge
Life won’t lead to the end of my soul because words,
words.
Words.
Words are invincible.
My soul cannot be asphyxiated
by negative thought so I, like a resuscitated angel
will try my best to save and aid and guide and lead by example
so that we can grow together,
just a couple of strangers trying our best to leave this world happy.
If I can be your inspiration than you can be my motivation
I can be your hope for a better day and you can be my words.
Words.
Words.
The words that can start a ripple- no a wave of
expressive.talented.goodshit.sodeep.trulyamazingstuff
that’s touching and heartbreaking
and awakening the world to what reality has the potential to become.

Penn State License Plate

Your home plate followed you to New York
as a reminder of your irrefutable return.
Still I come across it every time and again
when I’m driving around town
and down roads you used to see
it’s proof of your lingering presence in my life.
Ever since you’ve gone, I have been scared of the silence
that you would fill.
Frightened of the emptiness that you would convert,
longing for your return
so we can find your plate together
when we are driving in my car.

Windows down, music up, hair flying, worries dying.
I’ll take you from your quaint reality
and life of burdens.
All the while I will be learning from you.
Learning to not want to change the past
because I cannot relive my history.
I can alter my words.
I cannot change their meaning.
I can abandon a poem.
I cannot let go of its inspiration.
I cannot forget all of whom I’ve left behind.
And they may never recognize me again
for I’m no longer who I used to be.
Ever since the day I decided to sit in the drivers seat,
and take over the pedal and the wheel of my life.

So now I’m driving down my road alone;
a cobble stone (nearly) immaculate one way street.
There will be some bumps along the way,
a few sharp turns,
and plenty of up hill battles
but nothing I can’t handle.
And I’m sure I’ll crash along the way
but nothing can’t be fixed.
and I’m sure I’ll cross paths
with old friends
some with malice others with benevolence.
And I’m sure I’ll see your plate again
on some familiar road
when I’m longing for home.