Stop swinging on that chair!

Daydream painting spilt, you glare.

Twins separated by millenniums.


Suspended on my junior chair

My finger barely touched the desk.

The classroom window framed

A silent, untold world

Floating through florescent lights

Reflections in a thunderous sky.


Only when my skull hit the floor,

Did I finally hear the classroom roar.

Feel the bloody red-orange paint tear

Down my matter-of-fact paper face.

Truth ~ a red rag smearing every last trace.

Humiliated bull!


Like Frost on his childhood birches,

I wish I could let you carry on swinging.


I don’t know what makes me feel more angry ~

Knowing the pain,

Or watching, helplessly, as you hear

The roar of the world over and over again.


i laughed til it hurt-

this pit of dirt

is the place to be!

no use trying to


out of it

pretending you

can’t see.

IMAO this pit IS me!

dig deeper bit by bit.

there’s room in this pit

for more than just despair.

colour is for the blind

who can’t see

you’re just trying to be.

if you can’t see out of it


laugh out loud,

laugh your arse off.

make them crawl out of theirs

and see you

inside the deepest dug


and loving it!