Here I am,
Presenting my heart.
I talk to you of hope and truth.
And try to describe every detail
Like a work of art.

I am giving it all,
And letting you see,
My every fall.

Here I am,
Giving myself to you.
My heart…
Its very whole,
Even when its been broken in two.

Read my stories,
Feel my pain.
Come sit with me,
Even when its pouring down rain.

I’ll bring you sunshine…
Don’t’ worry about the time.
Let me inspire you,
As we wine and dine.

Hear my words and the meaning…

I’m giving you my heart,
And bringing it home
To you.

I see an old pop machine from my childhood
That brings back memories from the past.
My heart aches for those long lost memories,
As I wish for a few moments, that again,
I could be a child.

Late night walks with my family
As we walked the family dog.
Talking with my younger brother,
Joking with my dad or hearing about moms work day.

There were times, I just lagged behind just to hang onto the night.
Everything was so simple,
The worries I had then,
Just don’t compare to the stress of life today.
I chuckle at all of those useless, but meaningful childhood moments.

I scan all of the old flavors of that old pop machine
And I reminisce on each kind.
Remembering every taste,
And each moment I experienced that taste.

Some were sweeter than others,
While there were a few that had the sour puckers.
Perhaps those were the flavors of life…

A small pain in my heart is felt as I slowly begin to let go of
that old pop machine.
While the flavors remained the same, the cans had now become bottles to hold all of life’s new moments.

 My hand slips over this old pop machine,
as I give a last wave to my old childhood flavor.

It’s amazing just how some things just aren’t as sweet as they once were.
While flavors may change over a lifetime, the memories of the taste, hang on forever.

Poetry is so much more than writing. 

It’s like an open book to our heart. There is so much to be seen and told.  Somehow, writing brings out what we might be afraid to say or tell somebody else.

During high school, there was a time my parents were having some relationship problems. I was a sophmore.  It was a pretty difficult time dealing with that plus the ridicules of high school as well. Poetry kept me going and let me express what was going on inside.  I was seeking counseling, and she also agreed that poetry was a door that I could sweep my grief under.  I wrote about how events at home were bothering me, my fears, and hopes as well.  I also write about how high school was too. In high school, I wasn’t exactly popular. I was one of those artsy people who were kind of odd. I didn’t dress in punk, wear black, or dye my hair (no offense to those who did though).  I was just a band nerd, a drama geek, and had a passion for art and poetry.  People thought I was weird.  I think I was just too old for my age as I spoke better with my teachers rather than children  my own age.

But poetry was my escape from reality. I stayed up hours of the night writing my little heart out.  It released alot of tension and anger that I was feeling.

If you need to express yourself, release feelings-or work something out-Try writing it down. You dont’ even have to share it with somebody.  Just keep them, and you can look back on them later.  It’s a way of release without hurting anybody or being afraid to approach someone. 

Poetry can save you.

It saved me.