at the end of my life

i wonder if someday when i'm older
pondering the little shells of writing
i have produced, lieing strewn about
here and there along the sand,
will I be able to pick one up and
hurl it into the vast ocean, and say,
"that one made all the difference,"
or will i simply walk along
crunching them under my
tired, calloused feet.

bent

she had mad eyes
and a crooked smile
he watched her, sitting in the
corner booth, writing
in a dark green book.

she always look like she
wasn't paying attention to
anything, but when
a waiter approached and asked
a question, without even
lifting her head, she would
provide for him the answer.

she walked out the side door,
he approached her after
much deliberation,
having practiced what to say,
choosing the perfect words.
he tried casually walking near
as she pulled out her car keys,
but instead she turned and faced him.

her eyes weren't mad.
they were big, they were brown,
and they broke his heart.

he wasn't ready
he didn't say a thing
he just turned and walked away.

nickelback inspired

I was listening to the radio, and heard a Nickelback song come on. It was real naughtyish. And I was totally trying to relate, but I just couldn't. With three kids and twelve years of marriage, my life is a little less "exciting" if you will. So I wrote a new song that I could relate to...

I like the way you scream my name…
when I accidentally mow over the flowers.

I like the way you take off your clothes…
after our son gets sick and throws up all over
during the bedtime story.

I like the way you moan in the dark…
when you step on a HotWheels car
in the middle of the night.

I like to feel your breath in my ear…
When you whisper that it’s my turn to
change the baby’s stink-infested diaper.

I like the way you scratch my back…
when you’re trying to
pinch a pimple I just can’t reach.

I like to read the notes you leave by the bed…
The sink’s not gonna unclog itself and
The bills are overdue, find a second job