Grey-green mounds of water
Capped with pale white froth
Move smooth beneath a leaden sky
Struck by lightning, made to broth

Deep, it holds its' secrets
Holds them down and close
Sunken dreams, drowned it seems
Drunken gods, verbose

She's a cruel and dangerous mistress
She tempts you with fair skies
Balmy breeze, such a tease
So pleasing to the eyes

For sailors on the boundless sea
The water's a living thing
Mates for life, it's their wife
Whatever she may bring

Falsehood is a serpent’s probing tongue,
your vengeance is the hurtful dragon tooth
that lies in wait to sting the unaware.

I dare not remove these worn shoes and rest;
once again I rush with the rising gale, certain
of only this: the echo of my silent exit will precede

me far ahead of these fleeting feet. No respite
for this exile. Already I know, you will spur me on
as though I were the Wandering Jew, but twofold cursed.

I strode through the woods
So quite on a whim,
Looking for nothing--
Beneath a tree’s limb

I found in half-shade
The prettiest bloom;
Its eyes shone like stars,
Its scent was perfume.

I stooped to pluck it,
But softly it spoke,
“I surely would wilt
If my frail stem broke.”

So, I removed it
Quite gently, with care,
And found just the spot
That would keep it near.

Lovingly planted
In my garden’s mild sun,
It branches and thrives
Till its time here is done.

I sit in my room scrolling through Pinterest admiring all the gorgeous honey brown and auburn locks that pepper the screen,
I sigh when I suddenly see myself from the third-person view, cringing at the sight.
My greasy hair sits unwillingly on my shoulders complementing my cellulite thighs, I look down at them and plead with my mind not to hate the things society argues are invalid.

What it’s like to be the Depressed me

Elders in the smoky council lodge had spoken,
“Show no fear, oh, chosen maiden. You, Lelawala,
must ask Heno the thunder god to intercede.
Go and see him in his cave, in the cave behind the roaring
waters; go, find out why our people are dying.

“Don yourself in white doe skin; put soft moccasins
with red-stained porcupine bristles on your feet, place
a wreath of flowers upon your hair, then take heart
and plunge over rushing Falls.”

O cold and icy moon
I foresee your light
Shining in the night
Casting a shadow
On my own waiting gravestone.

It was my evening, that's
For sure,
‘Its your aura...
When are you going
To be a superstar?’

That seemed to be
The question
On everyone’s lips,
At last, at last, at last
I'm good at something.

References
To my innocent face.
‘You give to everyone
But are incapable
Of giving in particular…

Inscrutable...blasé…’
Everything I’d always
Wanted to be, I now am.
At last, at last, at last
I'm good at something.

Mrs. Claus sits in her chair
Eating Christmas cookies
She's had a few drinky-poos
And is hoping for some nookie

She's got the hot-tub nice and warm
Santa will be home soon
Cookies made with cannabis butter
Will help him get in tune

Damn! It's hard to be the wife
Of the guy that delivers Christmas
She's fast asleep, while he works away
He forgets he has a missus

I'm just here staring at your dp... you're just so beautiful
And honestly to behold a being like you is a miracle
I wonder how atheists believe God doesn't exist
When I gain Faith with just one look at your face
It must've been fate for us to cross place
I mean for our paths to cross
We're lovers but we're not star crossed
But let me be your Romeo and be my Juliet
And if I lose you I would cry coz even God's shed tears
I mean even Jesus wept