Fighting & Laughing

What   if   everyone   is   fighting   reality   and   to   cope   in   the   constant   war   we   find   ourselves   in   movies,   stories,  poems   and   places   that  aren’t  even  real. To  what  end  does  it  all  make  sense.   For   if   we   base   all   things   on  reality,   is   their   any   hope   to   find   in   the   sadness   of   the   next   day.   Is   there   any   comfort   in   that   facts   are  black   and   white   and   will   never   change.   I   ask   you   all   to   think   of   the   Life   you   have   lived.   Some   say   that  life,   is   just   a   really   long   race.   And   that   only   once   we   have   crossed,   have   we   then   figured   Life   out.  However,   I   call   them   all   on   their   bluff.   For   how   do   we   know   when   we   have   crossed.   What   if   the  questions   is   just   that   of   Life   isn’t   a   race,   but   many   paths.   Time   upon   time,   have   I   looked   up,   and  whispered   a    silent   cry   for   help.   Because   to   ask   it   among   those   I   call   friends,   only   falls   on   faces   turned   and   deaf   ears.   For   they   also   do   not   know   the   answer,   but   rather   to   admit   the   simple   truth,   that   perhaps  there   isn’t   an   answer,   that   perhaps   life   is   just   life   and   can’t   be  placed   in   a   metaphor,   they   turn   away   from   shame   and   embarrassment.   A   constant   fight.   For   in   one   second   of   our  lives   we   are   laughing   and   then   next   we   are   fighting,   what   difference   does   it   make?  




in my tiny corner

I reach for something small

just a paper if it be that

and some lead to scratch something


for if I don’t

I very well will go insane

in this tiny corner

I have become acquainted with


what shall I write is

yet  is the mystery

for it I continue to write about

my surrounding..


what then will I do when I find myself in a dark room

with nothing to see but the fuzzy shapes

so precise and small

you can’t even describe them.


however, even silhouettes can be seen

and they have the biggest secrets and stories to find

I could still write about an analogy or metaphor

but how fun are they, and who is to say I am good at them.


I would rather stare outside

continue to let the words spill out,

talking in circles and use improper grammar

just to keep the most skeptic or lose-fitting reader engaged


Because that is what I write.

Not that I need something from this

for I have all I need, my corner, and paper

and on a day when fate might smile,

some lead to write something down.


Isn’t it better to be satisfied by a small corner

when my bones shall ache, but my body kept warm

Where my mind is free, and my soul could fly.

Then to be diss-satisfied by a larger space

Where my fat hangs out and my body slugs around

That my mind be in a daze and my heart to move slower.


Nay, I shall stay where I am, feel what I can

figure out what I do 

I shall live in my being

learn from my corner, and when fate doesn’t smile

I sill won’t worry instead I will  be content in my corner.

Happy Hold

Oh this happiness, I feel vibrate in my soul

a moment that escaped 

and out flew bliss

to touch the sky and never fall. 


Oh this joy 

I smile at the paused time

when the time stood still 

and this dream was real. 


oh the blessed

to be captured by the grace

and so grateful for this day. 


My happiness no longer kept in 

but poured out, that seeps in 

will dry, and hold. 


because it is no longer held so close 

yet instead it is a happy hold

one that can breathe and be free. 


My Happy Hold.