

Poet's ProseWords and feelings written on tear stained pages with shaking hands the punching barely phasesPoet's Prose
Its my own reminder that these words are useless its my own reminder that my friends are clueless
They say it is 'deep' they say it has 'feel' but they dont 'get' what i write the words dont seem real
The bruises fade and the poems get tossed and all that remains is the message -- that was lost


Early DaysI miss the days when i knew how to feel...Early Days
I miss the days when the friends were real...
I miss the days when we didnt have to pretend...
I miss the days when we didnt have to defend...
I miss the days when girls were icky...
I miss the days when i could afford to be picky...
I miss the days before friendship was strife...
I miss the days before drama met life...


FriendThat friend that i lost long ago was the Yin to my Yang the body to my soulFriend
We were as close as two friends could be but a disteance came between us it seemed like a sea
We changed so much while we were apart now we dont fit together i'm left with half a heart
No one to talk to no one to tell always alone always in hell
Keeping to myself hiding my face pretending for a second that life isnt a race
Wishing you hadnt left wishing it wasnt the end wishing we were always together &n


PowerPower an illusion that our lives are our ownPower
Power reaching for it grasping but our hands stay cold
Power what we need to make things right that are horribly wrong
Power our lives own us we are only Power-less
Powerless to change them Powerless to fix them only given the Power to live them -- or take them