Beyond OverwhelmedI unleash a mere poem,Breathed life into each wordAnd nurtured ounces of emotionsLike a proud onlooking mother.Strange how when written workSeems to sparkle a connection;The flood barriers can't withstandPeople knocking on your door.I never imagined it will be like this;So many positive feedback, an endlessSea of comments and faves that sweepsMe off my feet - a tsunami indeed.Now, I reflect on what I've achieved;Why is it I'm overwhelmed by this?The answer remains a mystery, butAll I can say is a thousand thank yous.
Apparently I'm Not Old EnoughAt times my youthful appearanceDraws unnecessary attention on me;Nothing needs to be said at all,I can see the questioning look inTheir curious eyes, confused as toWhether I'm a teenager or a woman.I shouldn't make excuses, no wayIn hell do I have to make clear myIntentions when I am innocent.Why do they have to make it so hard?Why can't they take my word as proofAnd treat me in the way I deserve?I'm twenty seven years, not a minorSo why can't I buy an 18 rated film?I'm trapped in a cycle of absurdityWhere I get interrogated, asked forSome sort of ID - to them I'm a target,And sometimes I ask myself why.The likes of them pays no heed to thoseWho are younger than I am, they disguiseTheir teenage aura with various methods -From make-up clobbered on girl's facesTo lads growing patches of facial hair.Sadly when it comes to me, someone who'sAllowed to engage in sex, alcohol, smoking,Gambling and many other adult things,I get pulled to one side per usual.Tell me, h
Bestowed With Your ProtectionIf storm clouds gather overhead,Would you offer me the shelterOf your sleek, black umbrella?If you'd invite me to share someShelter, is there a possibilityYou would like to protect me?There's only one way to find out...
Why Worry Over Me?Whenever a person worriesAbout me, particularly when IFeel comfortable around them,They might as well just say,"You shouldn't feel this way."It seems I'm in the wrong, thatIt's a crime to be true to who I am,Merely truthfully speaking my mind.Their so-called worries are overMinor things; like they have theRight to fuss over me like a child.I just don't understand why theyDeem it as a big deal; can't theySee I'm far from a little girl?At times maybe it's best to biteDown on my tongue to draw blood,That way I can avoid the onslaughtOf frowns coming my way - the regretfulLight dawning in their eyes.
How To Understand Introverted PeopleIt may seem at times I haveLittle to offer when it comesTo the art of conversing,Opting to remain in the shadowsRather than to put myselfDirectly in the centre like most.Often any type of social situationIs like a conflict zone in my eyes;The amount of loud noises bubblingFrom the throats of others, it's likeThe consistent beat of a war drum.As for any arguments, I feel as ifI'm caught in the firing line, thePersistent sense of unease underlingThe coat of my stomach triggers meTo turn tail and run for cover.On the facade I'm a mere lone wolf,Aloof, wanting nothing more than theEntire room to lapse into silence.I place no blame upon you for thinkingWrong of the way I act - I must beAwkward, I must not like making theFirst move therefore I'm hard work.Under the surface, I'm just like you,Afraid of others judging me for theSmallest and most stupidest things.All I hope is to be welcomed, to beAccepted by one, if not a few whoTakes the time to coax me out of my s
My Inner MusingsAnother late night;One glance at the deliciousBare chested man on myCalender is enough to sayI wouldn't mind a taste.Then again Mother Nature pulledA crafty trick, kicking me inThe ovaries yesterday - even ifI had male company I wouldn'tBe able to engage intimately.The last time I got a bit ofAction took place only a monthAgo; romance books never lieIn their graphic descriptions ofThe exact feel, texture.I spare you from such details;Let your imagination run free andWild - I'm a writer, that's my job.Yet again another late nightIn front of the computer screen,Allowing my mind to wander off;It's been put on a leash too muchFor the remainder of the day,Now it demands sweet freedom.
Ocean BornThe gentle part of my soulDesires so much to be one withThe wonders of the ocean.I'll strip down naked, uncaringOf whoever might see me this way;Why hide the curves of my body?I'm a child of water and my heartBelongs amongst the sea shellsWhile dolphins make playful companions.
Gaming OrgySometimes, when it gets frustrating,Multi-play gaming can lose its pleasure.You're trapped in a never ending orgyWhere left, right and centre, noMatter where you turn and try to flee,You'll run into noobs, trolls and idiots.The less experienced, nervous and shaky,Is the first to make ridiculous mistakes.In a dark corner, the annoying little shitLooks on, throwing insults like grenades.You can tell someone's a mindless whelp byHis boasting of his insufferable pride.Surrounded and helpless, regrets to seepInto your aching chest, and you ask yourself"Why didn't I go into Single Player Mode?"
Anger ManagementI curb my anger, puttingWords onto paper in the hopesMy voice can be heard,But never out loud.Upon reflection and reading,The urge now satisfiedThe paper is thrown away,Simply forgotten about.
A Season of Winter1. and so it begins. . .leaves whisperingtheir death poems to me2. senses awaken. . .gray morningI open a melon,its green perfume3 . across a field. . .winter brilliance—the Milky Waycasts a farmer's shadow4. welcome. . .windowsshutting out the chill,moonlight spills in5. daydreams. . .choppingwinter vegetables for stew,thoughts of summer plums6. snow angels. . .reminiscing,the imprints you and Ileft behind, fill with snow7. comet-trysting. . .new moon phase—winter anointed with sapphiresfrom a nightly caller8. solstice. . .the same moonyou and Ithe same moon9. a homecoming. . .milky way in deep winter—his son's voiceno longer a child's10. crystallized. . .early morninghalf dressed by a window—frost on the cars11. cold morning, hot tea. . .he sips a steaming cupwatching from its edgeas I cut pears in two12. a harbinger. . .snow melting
ThornsIn order for a Flower to flourish it mustHave the thorns cut off
Pond WaterI smell pond waterFreshly evaporatedJust before spring startsOne of the few things I loveAbout the coming sunshine
cold. winter wakes to caw –reverberates in slip-stepsa little world frozen grey.
Morning Lullabysongbirds whistlea morning lullaby;sun envelops the horizon
Black and whitedeserted streetsand round ev'ry corner,howling over the wind
-simple steps-whispers from treesas meadowlarks converseand so, we dance
The beating of wingsev'ry breath of airalters my path, but ohthe creatures of the air
PilgrimageI go to the mountainbathed in birdsongrecharging my faith
Moon RitualsHear our ghostly criesDuring the traditionalLunar dance tonight.