Finding Myself Leaves with budding iris green moss and scattered stones Bipolar disorder, boarder line personality, and PTSD. Celexa and Abilify therapy and routine Books, music, video games, Date night Communication and feeling comfortable discovering intimacy trying to be transparent open and honest annihilation of negative self imagery Tree lines brushes with thrones where deer and hawk play Sleeping cat in the window mail on the counter top should be in the trash coffee pot waiting a girl who does not know her age soon to be 33 A psychologist, a psychiatrist a poetry group, coworkers saying good bye to Mother writing about the past says the past is not who you are being able to love yourself, others, unconditionally Finding Jesus but not in a church in the hallway of the hospital in the rustle of the wind in dawns early morning a bird song turning on the shower when asked how are you you say great with a smile because you mean it today is always today make today a good day

I will silent my love for you when rain falls hard flooding the streets and I can't see the road In streaks of whipper sweeps I find a moment to reload but I will silent my love for you When radio cries in love songs swoon when the skies is bright in winters#moon my heart does burst to be in tune but I will silent my love for you When checks are damp from sorrows tears when all is lost I hold you near when you think I no longer care my dear I will silent my love for you always I will silent my love for you

#quote: If we can already do well, That what we hate. Well, then how much more so Could we accomplish our dreams? If only fear didn't get in the way.

Nakedness Knees together milky white thighs ribs under breasts protecting a heavenly beat. Arms out stretched backwards, the wings of a bird or inward folding to prayer. Shoulders protrude tenderness, from a forward slump collapsing towards the chest. Tears coaxed out from soggy dreams giving light to sorrow's long lost nightmare safe passage, through cerebral cortex. Hope to the prudent virgin letting down long loops of hair wide ropes that lead to the small of her back. Clay like fingers worked, warm and soft cuticle layers giving birth to crescent moons. Eyes that shatter into a thousand shards the makers of false mirrors inhibits bashful lips. Guilt stricken, red blushed skin, stings slapped by awareness as the shame settles into nakedness.

Wrong All Along Open your history books It's all lies If you want to see history in the making Open your eyes Now, I'm figuratively speaking When I say see I mean believing You can see You're not blind Have you ever really searched your heart To see what you find? Are there parts of you Like there are like parts of me That, I don't know how they got there But they don't belong Every one falls short of righteousness But in the heart of a good man You will find no wrong In the heart of a good man You will find no wrong A good heart Desires true love, True happiness, True religion You just lost your faith, lost your hope, Lost your way Like me, you forgot to how to see What is right in front of your eyes If there are lies in the history books What do you think your reading In the news paper? You've been taught it all wrong, Taught it all wrong, all along.