Ode to Hands

Hands are not simply objects placed on display. They are not destructive images or thoughts. They are not words or their meanings. Hands don’t talk, because you don’t listen. Hands are tools. They squirm with work to be done. Hands do things much more important than that of just speaking duties. They act in ways that help others succeed. They speak to souls in need, helping those unable or unknowing. Having thin lines and wrinkles that hum along to the songs of time.  Hands speak. They talk to souls that are willing to listen and they regard those unwilling. They teach, and they learn. They show age and wisdom. With each falling sand there are fingernails that slowly wear away, leaving the memories of service that’s kind. Hands are love. They have with them the ability to regard all of humanity in a beautiful way, and hold the entire world inside of them. They see everything around them, but only take what they need. They are charity. Hands carry out the emotions of our lives. They are the actions of our hearts.

Reality of Happiness

Smiles reflect tears that won't come
Laughter is just pains way of speaking
Joy is loneliness abrupting with suffrage
Happiness is not real to her
It is a cover for salted wounds
It brushes tears and silences sobs
Hides her pain and smothers the hate
Happiness simply isn't real

Home

Home.
A word not really known.
A place that has lost it's meaning.
It left with the family that abandoned it.
It cries but one can hear, because no one is listening.
It dreams, waking up to disappointment.
Others try but it isn't the same.
Home.
Long Gone, not coming back.
Tears fall from its eyes.
It imagines, but the creativity is gone.
It needs comfort, but no one's left but itself.
Home.
Just a word.

Loyalty

Loyalty.
Life comes and goes
But friends should stay
Inside. Outside
But what do you feel?
Those that leave, leave lost memories.
The golden rule is never set.
Sometimes hearts are just too hard to mend.
So we're lost with nothing left.
But time keeps clocking and lives go on.
Loyalty is sometimes misread.

Blank

I don't know what to write...I'm lost in all the lines...That's why the paper is still white...I could write about fish, so many kinds...Or about politics, but that's not right...I might talk about love, but that's been done...So I'm stuck not knowing what to put...But wait, the paper isn't blank...What's this? There's words on this sheet...This whole time I was writing...I actually had something to say.

Empty or Full?

Is it empty or full?

If the glass is always half empty then your life will be too.

If you keep the cookie jar full then you’ll smile more often.

If your house is empty, then there won’t be any laughter.

When you keep your heart full, then you’ll cry less.

Like all good things if your phonebook is empty then so are you.

So, is it empty or full?

Too Late

Sunshine rains down on green grass

Birds sing as I collapse

I didn’t know that I could feel this way

No one told me you would leave

The sky is light but my heart is not

Tears fall like broken glass

Hopefully you won’t come back

Thoughts of Him

Walking, running, tripping, falling

Into, out of, away from, following

Trying, attempting, failing, dying

Calling, yelling, hating, ignoring

Waiting, hoping, forgetting, lying

The Bat

Anger swelled out of the emaciated old mans face his eyes were aflame with red and gold sparks of disinterest. Seven times he had told them to leave and seven times they had come back. He was seriously thinking about having them shot and buried in his backyard when a woman in a silver camaro rounded the corner and told the boys to get in. The man walked back in the house grabbed his wallet and headed for the hardware store

As he paced the aisles looking for the perfect tool he stopped in front of an aisle full of baseball materials. He stooped and picked up the smooth round bat and held it in both his hands. Yes, he thought, this will work perfectly.

Empty

When your hopes of having a delicious melt in your mouth chocolatey yumminess is diminished, then the cookie jar must be empty.

Joy fills your soul and you know that tonight you will be free to go to the movies because the teacher’s hands are empty.

You’re completely irritated at him for forgetting again, and for having no idea what you’re talking about when you tell him, your boyfriends head must be empty.

It’s dark and lonely. The only noise is that of the television. You sit and stare mindlessly at the screen while not knowingly you have repeatedly stuck your hand in the popcorn bowl five times, the house must be empty.

Skies seem grey, your heart seems heavy, and you can’t seem to stay on top of your thoughts. Information is in one ear and out the other; your soul must be empty.

Lonely

Dark looming grey skies and jet black threatening clouds lay over a small city in fear. The school house glared over by mocking thick cover while people ran about, rushing to their homes. A woman in a pink petticoat with a yellow umbrella bustles past the lonely school without any attention to the little girl on the cold front steps. Dark brown curls and deep chocolate eyes sit saddened on a stair outside a desolate elementary school. As the storm rages on and rain pelts from the sky an eight year old sits waiting for a mother who once again forgot she was there. With a tear streaked face the young girl rises off the hard marble casing and shuffles her way up a wet Fifth Avenue to where her empty home would be waiting. She escapes the nightmare of the weather outside to find her mother’s handwriting pinned to the fridge to say she was sorry, yet again. She sets down her backpack, places a bowl in front of her, and begins to poor cereal, tonight’s dinner. She turns on the television to listen to the one thing she could always count on.

Boys & Monkeys

Boys are like monkeys.

They smell funny.

They have the attention span the size of a pea.

They have absolutely no manners.

They never understand you.

And yet there so dang cute you have to love them anyways.

I try.

Move on so I try. I stop to hear the beat of another drum only to see the sorrow of his love. If crying is healthy why does it hurt? If moving on is normal why is it so hard? I can’t see so I walk in the dark, I can hear it, hear him, and it hurts. The pain won’t stop it makes me numb. Tears like acid fall from my eyes and yet again my sobs drown out the cries. If I leave the ache just follows me. They say move on, so I try.