I've been writing poetry as a journal for therapy.  I thought I throw out some of the better ones.


BBQ

I think the window
I've been looking out
is one of those old ones.
The kind with bubbles and distortions. 
They tell me I should
Just look closer,
But what I really want
Is something to break
This glass.
So I can see,
And maybe go out.




SCUBA

They say he'll never give you
More than you can handle.
Spend a week in the psych ward,
And you'll know that's not true.
I  think sometimes the people
Who say that
Don't know how deep the water can be.




Milk, Eggs, Leftovers, and Butter

When the sun comes thru this window
It leaves a patch of light on the floor.
I lay in that light
With my cheek against the carpet.
If I'm there long enough
The heat from the sun
Reaches clear inside me,
And closes the refridgerator.