Hot Chocolate

Hot and
Delicious,
It warms the body,
The fingers mostly,
And is quite handy
To drop marshmellows in
And watch them melt away,
Making the drink
So much sweeter.

And you,
Cher,
Your love
Is hot chocolate
To my soul,
To my heart.

Burger King Bag in the Snow

It's cold outside,
As snow falls
And the wind constantly rearranges it.

There's Burger King brown paper sack,
Caught in the wind.
The wind picks it up and tosses it around,
As if it is trying
To get rid of it.

Burger King bag,
You mar the beauty of winter.
With your crinkledness,
Those corners that reach down
And scratch
At the smooth pillow of snow.
You fly in the face of Nature's order,
Nature's choreography for today.
The deadened leaves in the air
Dance beside you begrudingly.

But Nature will always come out on top.
God gave her that power.
And so you,
Burger King bag,
Are blown into a corner,
A niche where the winds cannot pick you up.
You cannot escape.

The snow falls down,
Slowly erasing
Your every trace.

Do Fairy Tales Come True?

Do fairy tales come true?
Is it possible to wake up
One morning
To find everything you wanted
Right within your grasp?
So close
To that happy ending.
So close
And still so far.

Show Choir

My eyes burn a little
With hairspray.
My head aches
For boddy pins.
My legs are sore
For heels and dancing.
But I was on stage
For three glorious mintues.
Show Choir
Equals
Life

At 11:11 Last Night

At 11:11 last night
I said a prayer,
Not a wish.

I prayed for our budding relationship.
A rose
That has found a way,
Weaving through thorns
And standing through storms
To finally turn its face
To the sun.

I said a prayer
Because I can still see thorns,
Reaching to destroy the flower.
Doubt
Wraps around my heart,
Even as I try to throw it off
For I love you.
I put a great amount of trust in you
When you told me you were a Christian.
But now doubt nags at me,
Actions speak louder than words after all.
If you are for real,
Show me!

At 11:11
I prayed for trust.
I prayed for faith.
I prayed for us.
I've stopped wishing.

I Want to Hear a Real Poem

I want to hear a real poem.
Not some organized collection of words
Where women are confident
Or tragically lacking in self-esteem.
No stanzas
Where men are either superheros
Or pigs.
Not a single line
About how teachers inspire with one lesson
Or fail.

I want to hear a real poem,
Where people don't live or die on the street,
Just merely survive,
Day to day.
Where schoolgirls fail
And succeed
In the same breath.
I don't want to hear
About beauty on the inside
Or beauty on the outside.
I want a poem that will make me feel
Ordinary.

I want to hear a real poem.
One that matches reality,
Where people tell truths
And lies
At the same time.
Where things aren't black and white
But maddening shades of
Grey.
Where there isn't hope,
But there is.

I want to hear a real poem.
I don't think I can write it.
But look out your window.
I have a feeling
That poem's being written right
Now.

Birthday Wish

It was your birthday recently.
I should've written you
A poem
That day.
Forgive me for forgetting?
Je t'aime.
And I wish that I could
Give you
The one thing you asked for.
Will you accept God's gift to you?