snake in the grass.

dreaming tree, dead roses, eyeballs.
black skies surround us as they put grandpa to rest.
rest in little pieces, the world will still spin.
decomposing our thoughts, while our bodies sleep.
numbers equal freedom, and red doors
open the future to dreamers.
period, means don't go any further.
and listen to her voice.
before you enter a history book,
know where you came from.
the handmade spoon is at my grandma's,
and the way she sees it is through her yellow eyes.

green hazel eyes.

paperclip and cat tale.
the night is young while it's gold.
we will see the faces of death, we 
will greet the unknown.
it will consist of brave humans
and cold beers.
don't think, we are humble,
the dreams inside my mind is as
whole as a melon can be.
she moves up and down the highway
with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
dead roses surround the living room,
inside glass bottles they live.
beer that is delicious, it swims on my tongue.
yellow, purple, i read the newspaper.
ink on the fingertips, rings around their waist.
follow me through the forest, green and deep.
see only love here, the last warrior.
step upon the dead, we can hear you think.

birchupsidedowntree

Don’t ever tell a girl to calm down, trust.

Here we are between a bookshelf and a banana.

The world seems different from this angle.

Beads wrapped around my left wrist.

My two front teeth show when I smile.

Ruby Red Lips whisper songs of freedom.

Smoke fills the air, mean words float.

Don’t be Sour. Also remember, 

Cool as a cucumber Torr. 

pocket poem.

I am a Dreamer of the black moon

White horizons above us as our bodies float upside down

We are holding hands in outer space.

I believe in love, I believe in us.

The yellow rose symbolizes the trust I have.

All I see is blood that is smeared on the walls of

The inside left brain.

But I want to see you and the olive green eyes. 

Please leave me a message in tonight’s night sky.

Where is the soup?

The colors are changing, fading away

The sidewalk seems soft today.

The sky fills up with cotton candy paint strokes and fog.

The fields are all ready for Winter now, no more corn.

See the cows in line ready to milk.

See the crows on the branch ready to fly.

Grass seems to die off after September,

So does the happiness. 

It is almost time to hibernate. 

i know i'm a creep

Sometimes I don’t understand my own human brain.

planning out a murder, mailing the rent check 
and fake smiling at everyone.

the world is a scary place

I remember Nelson taught me how to dive.

Morning glories point west,

the moon dances with us after dusk. 

little thoughts.

My tea with honey soothes my mind.

The freckles on your chest make me excited. 

Racing down your back, I tickle you with my fingertips. 

a poem. 

The grass is greener where the cows sleep,

My mind is one on thing, and that’s you.

I love the shape of your face, your nose.

I can’t wait to have a night alone.

The walls between us need to come down

and the love needs to grow deeper.

The amount of love that is shared

is unbelievable. My mind is set on you

for a century. My heart sings  you 

to bed every night. 

out of the darkness only light can come 

today's vibez

 POEM

The moment when I was reborn.

The light scared me as it peeked through the trees.

My eyes remain shut until you kiss me.

The riverbend is a great place to lay my head .

Some things look different, but many things remain the same.

Where you send your love and where it ends up are two different things

Birds fly above me, now I know I’m on earth.

The skin is rough, and her nails drag.

The river water quenches my thirst.

I ruffle around in the field a bit.

By the looks of it, many have been here in the past.

When you can read my lips I will let you have 

the key to my black heart. 

gonna sing a song for you.

You are wasting your time chasing the girl with long hair

Her man will take her to the river’s edge tonight and kill her.

Stop loving on things that already get enough love.

You know who you are. Love is in the air for sure.

The time has come, to meet all the lonely lovers.

You can meet the one that owns your heart but just

Closing your eyes and dreaming.

She dances in your dreams at night.

And she taught you how to write.

The women you want is waiting for you

By the back porch. Now stop it

With the girls who have lovers. They

Can love you too, but not the way

You want. There are two types of love. 

Remember that. 

I met a man named Mr. Strawhat

I met a man with a strange story

He was black and wore a straw hat.

The hat was bought from a flea market

And his right thumb was missing.

But the thoughts buried deep in his

Mind were still there.

Vivid images, stories with horrible

Endings. This man has seen the

World at it’s worse.

He saw the president get

Shot. And he witnessed a

Man killing himself.

Back then the world was a different place.

It was better for the soul to understand

The human rights. He told me about

His grandfather who came all the

Way from Europe to fight

 In the wars.  

Mr. Strawhat used to trade his

Coffee beans for goats’ milk.

The survive you think of

Only the minimal you

Don’t think of what you want.

 You get what you need.

Mr. Strawhat has now passed,

And the lavender aside his 

Grave is weeping. 

i know im a little late... but... happy belated birthday queeeenn xxoo torr

24.

summertime seems to be disappearing in the early sunsets
winter makes me happy, i feel at home during winter.
branches will dance in the brisk wind. 
socks will need to be worn, the fuzzy ones.
wool sweaters, and hot cocoa.
i can't wait till my birthday. 

today's vibezzzz.

let her shine something between the lines.

somewhere between the dead roses and my broken mind, i will find time for you and i.
this world isn't what i thought it would be by now, nothing is the same anymore.
sounds that don't sound familiar, and men with pretty ladies that have long legs.
leather vests make a great outfit on christmas eve, but she wore black velvet instead.
nails that are longer than her future, and lips that would stop this world from turning.
the stranger at the door, isn't a stranger anymore.

journal entry  01/22

the lady that touches your soul is your soulmate
the one who tickles your nose after midnight.

she brings you coffee on rainy Monday mornings.
the one that holds your broken heart together.

another poem

around the dinner table is where we will sit

at my mother’s house is where we will be located.

Laughs and hugs.

smart remarks and mashed potatoes.

Thanksgiving lunch shall be dandy.

poem

fresh air
coffee
curly hair.
sun is out to play
today is Monday
with no work.

finished product.

this is what a friday afternoon @ the office looks like

HAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPYYYYYYYYYYYY FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDAYYY!