Little Scar Rhyme


Let me touch your imperfections
Place my lips upon each scar
Fill each space with cold affection
Then I’ll show you who you are

Lonely laced with cruel desire
Empty bristling sharp with shame
Gather guilt to fuel this fire
Relax my dear, it’s just a game

January 26, 2017


The Platform

Everybody chips in their fair share, every body helps each other out and nobody gets left in the dust.

It’s very simple.

Our goals are to achieve unity, opportunity and prosperity across our great nation.

As we work toward our goals we act responsibly to safe guard our land and our people. 

We are guided by humanitarian and democratic principles of inclusivity, fairness and compassion.

Together, as one, we move forward.

We are idealists. We dream, hope and work toward equality and peace.

We believe that these principles are ideals to live by regardless of  faith, culture or creed.

Peace comes with policies that spring from compassion, inclusivity and fairness.

Peace comes.



When my daughter was very young, she was defiant and steady. Perfect before my eyes.

I remember. There was a golden line of silk that ran down her neck onto the smooth mound at the top of her back. It caught the morning light and shimmered softly and I marveled at that glory as I sipped my coffee, preparing to take on another day.

Her honey hair flowed down her nape and splayed playfully around her ears, eyes and jawline. The tips of her long lashes reached up toward her gentle brow that framed deep, green eyes.

Her mouth was, and still is a fine shape with fullness and promise, and the words she spoke were often sharp and insightful. She often surprised me with her candor and wit. She still does.

As a small child, her body was vital and well proportioned. She would stand steady, in command of herself. She always appeared ready to move and take you on. Ready to take it all on.

She smelled like apple spray detangler, vanilla and her own scent that I remember taking in at the precise moment that she was pulled out of me and placed upon my stomach, squirming, steaming, bloody and full of life.

Her laugh was always full bodied, uninhibited and free. She was her own person. I made her inside me but she wasn’t ever mine. I was, however, fully hers.

She is a strong young woman. As a child, when she held on to me, it was with intensity. She always held on hard.

It was with intensity that I held her with my gaze and with my heart. I still do.

The ropes are getting frayed now and she bucks like a filly wanting to bolt. Her eye is on the horizon. I can see it too, the point she wants to rush towards. It is all beauty and light, passion and life.

I feel her pulling away. My body tenses with each tug. Soon she will be out beyond the skyline and I will stand in my place and love her quietly, the ropes limp in my wrinkled hands, drooping to the ground, my muscles relaxed and tired but I’ll cradle her in my heart still. I’ll rock her steady. My heart will always hold on hard.

Started October 27, 2012 and completed January 16, 2017