Falling Through the Cracks.

I take my bra off at you, throw it in your face, you who came and went without respect.

There is this empty space that is waiting for someone but hasn't found what it is looking for. We all want a home. What happens when we can't find it? My home is rarely made up of concrete or beams, but by the people that build me up or tear me down. People appear to hold you in place. But even at age 20 I have learned, perhaps early, that they don't. Something more has to hold me strong.

My reason for not placing my faith in people? The faces they all share with me when they are disappointed in someone. Hurt felt, hurt returned. By someONE.

The very boy that can make me feel as though I'm high as a kite during the summer can make my kite crash down the very next day when fall arrives. This is why I appear to be a ball-buster. I only wish the men I feel contempt for had the vulnerability that would do them good.

But this is my hope for the future...

I dream on. To days spent
days where you and I, we wake up on a boat
shaken up gently
with the rocking motion.
yawn, with seagulls yelling at us to get up
scramble an egg or two
and start the coffee
We'd share a smoke
and I would tell you the dream I had the night before
We would race to shore
jumping in the cold water with no hesitation
beatnik and beatnik-ess
there is food and work and fire
and books and trees and
respect.
I dream because I dare
and hope that they do not let me down.