You Are My Eden

I thought my body knew what touching was
Until your lips caressed me
Had underestimated sensuality
Until your eyes undressed me
And your hands, well they were hungry
And so in turn devoured me
Skin grew pink under your kisses
As your lips and teeth scoured me
I used to have a picture of what heaven looked like
Somewhere deep inside my head
Until you shattered that with just one look
And crawled toward me on the bed
Our bodies were still slick with passion’s dew
When you reached for me again
Said you thought if we never stopped touching
This moment may never have to end
Let my body fill your every need
As you in turn sate mine
Who needs heaven when we have this?
I’ve found nothing more divine
Than your hands, your touch, your lips, your smile
You’re everything my heaven needs
Forbidden fruit was never so tempting
As when it claimed passion in its seeds

You Again

You Again
When I think of you
I think of other things
Like the hotdog guy downtown
And how his are wrapped in bacon
Or the way a morning smells different
If you wake up in Hollywood
Lighter, as if even the air likes it better here
Maybe laughter too
Yeah! Definitely laughter
Public transportation laughter
Rule breaker’s giggles
And hoots of discovery
Along a sleeping freeway
When I think of you
I cry a little
Because I remember your tears
So clearly
I hope a little
I dream a little
And laugh a little
I picture your face
And everything else comes to mind
The world changes for me
When I think of you

If I Don't Make It, They Will

She smiled and brushed her hair back away from her eyes
For a moment she stood and wondered why you couldn't see through her disguise
But she smiled cause she felt nothing; wasn’t created so she could feel
An alter ego's just there to rescue when reality gets too real
It's so real it shatters the psyche; your mind forgets how to hold
In comes another identity, in with new; out with old
My name's Mary, make room for me, I see your tag says your name is Sue
Your spirit broke, and I was created. Child, what troubles you?
Mary, it's been so hard to cope with living inside this hell
I was created three years ago when momma ran outta things to sell
So she sold us to this dirty man who uses us as he pleases
I prayed to God, but I'm still waiting. Can you help us, Jesus?
It's okay, Sue, Fear no more. I can take it all from here
Little does that monster know it's a brand new "us" this year
Knock knock on the cranium, another me has come to be
My name's Julie, I'm moving in. Have you guys got room for me?
Sue come out of the corner please. Mary, I beg: Stop weeping
It's Julie to the rescue now, I'll handle all the secrets you've been keeping
Sue, it’s okay. Come on out. Mary, what’s done is done.
We had a battle we needed to fight, but Mary, child: we won.
But Julie, Julie! I killed that man. I didn't know it would go this way.
The knife wasn't supposed to change my life. I was only born today
I couldn't cope, couldn't cope, couldn't--- Shhhh...Child be still
You weren't created for a life of your own. Your purpose was always to kill
None of us could do it but you, but now we're here to heal
You're the one who murdered him, now I'll step in and deal
Deal with all the fallout and the debt is paid in kind
Sue and I will help you now to restore our broken mind
I was going to tell you about my broken mind , had all these things to say
But it looks like you may see already. Which "Me" did you meet today?

Wanderings...

Tremors of an angel
Can almost see her skin crawling
Writhing for a hefty fix
On her knees begging mercy
Anything to stop the itch
Can’t stop shaking
Dilated pupils and watery eyes
Stomach cramping, panic climbing
Not hungry? There’s a surprise
The need has her sweating
Like a beautiful angel that fell
And is now staring directly into
The flames of junkie Hell
Ah! A white light…
Better still, white powder
Coming her way
To restore her power
Smoke it, inject it, a snort?
Any method to warm the cold
And this helpless condition
That makes her feel so old
It’s all happening so fast
Should have know this kind of good
Was too incredible to last
Flying, flying, dreaming now
Then, back to reality she fell
To sleep and experience infinity
In good old Heroin Hell








Close your eyes
Often times, I had wished for your death
As had me fighting so hard to survive
I hoped you’d have to steal for your last breath
As life slid stealthily from your eyes

The youth you stole for so many years
Is now mere vengeance and conviction
Turning me into an assassin of crocodile tears
A cold hearted, softly sobbing contradiction

But now, I’m hoping you survive an eternity
So you can live, and relive that dark September
Forced through nightmares for time’s infinity
Flashbacks of all you gave me to remember

So live forever, close your eyes, and dream
The boogieman waits to swallow your scream

Sweet Dreams

I’m gonna wrap you up in one thousand kisses
Pray this year that Cupid has more hits than misses
Gonna dedicate my life to realizing your whispered wishes
Let me tuck you in tonight

I want to indulge you in the softness of my caresses
Run my fingers through your kinky twisted tresses
Relieve you of the pressure from heels and business dresses
Let me tuck you in tonight

Tuck you tightly between a dream and a soft place
Promises so sweet, you’re dreaming of the taste
Leap from the dream and into my embrace
Let me tuck you in tonight

Swaddle you in love now and forever after
Dedicate my soul to inspiring your laughter
Like a fairy tale, we’ll live happily ever after
Let me tuck you in tonight

Gonna wrap you up in one thousand kisses
Dedicate my life to realizing your wishes…..

Baby, let me tuck you in tonight.

Santa Doesn't Live Here ...

Santa Doesn't Live Here ...



December 3, 2002
Dear Santa
It's Timmy. I hope this letter reaches you when you are not busy. I don't want you to be too tired. Did I say thank you for the trucks you brought me last year, Santa? I really meant to. They are so cool, and sometimes I sneak the smallest one under my pillow at night. It helps me have sweet dreams. You give me everything I ask for every year, so I hope you won't think I'm a greedy boy for what I want this year. Here goes: Can you bring me my mommy back, Santa? I'll give up all my toys to other kids, and I'll brush my teeth every night. I'll be the bestest boy you ever knew, if you can just put my mom back in our house. My grandma says Mom went to heaven. Is that close to the North Pole? I really really hope so. It's getting bad here, Santa. Please. All I want for Christmas is my mom.
Thank You!
--Timmy Taylor


December 03, 2002
Dear Timmy
It's Dad. I'm writing you this letter although I'm not sure I'll ever give it to you. I have a small box I'm keeping things in, and for now, that is where this letter will go. I want to explain some things to you, and I'm writing them down just in case I get brave enough to come clean. You are just a child, Timmy. Just a very small child, but every time I look at you, I see your mom. I see her eyes, her smile, and when you laugh, I miss her deeply. I was never prepared to raise you on my own. When the accident took her from us, I lost her and my sense of security all at once. I don't mean to get so angry, Timmy. I know you try really hard to pick up all your toys and not play too loudly. You are a good boy. I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain to you how hard it is to tell your son you're sorry you beat him. There are no words that can make it okay. I know it hurts you, and I saw you flinch a little when I went to hug you goodnight. I'm sorry I've made you afraid of me, Timmy. I'm so so sorry. I'm really gonna try harder to have patience and be the dad you need. Tomorrow's a brand new day, Timmy, and it's almost Christmas. Maybe everything will be okay.
I really do love you,
--Dad


December 07, 2002
Dear Santa,
It's Timmy again. It's been a few days and things are piling up under my tree. I'm startin to get a little bit scared because I don't want anything but my mom. If I get other stuff, is it still possible for her to come home? I bet she looks so pretty now that she probably has wings. I heard that all angels have wings. I know it will be hard to give her back because she is such a nice lady, but we really need her down here, Santa. I'm not doin too good and I'm getting really sad. I cry a lot in my bed, but no too loud because I don't want Dad to hear. He gets so angry. I don't think he loves me anymore, Santa. My mom loved me. I really just want my mom.
Hurry,
--Timmy Taylor


December 10, 2002
Mr. Taylor
My name is Jill Kulifay. I work in the office with your wife's attorney. She told me that if anything ever happened to her, she would want this list sent to you:

1: Don't forget to take Timmy to the orthodontist once a month J

2: Vegetables are not just decoration, please eat them

3: Hug each other several times a day

4: Pray and god will give me messages from you

5: I love you both very much and I am sure you guys are doing amazingly

6: Don't be too hard on Timmy, James. He's still so small and you are his hero.

That is all that was on the list, sir. We will have a hearing soon for her last will and testament to be read with you and the remainder of the family. God bless you in your time of loss,
--Jillian Kulifay


December 10, 2002
Dear Timmy
Here's another one of these letters that will probably just end up in the box in the floorboards. I got a letter today with a little list of stuff in it from your mom. She says we should hug each other several times a day. You flinch when I try to hug you. To be honest, I flinch at the thought of trying. You smile like her. You're only six but you smile like her. Today, I slapped you when you laughed at me spilling my coffee. It wasn't because I was embarrassed; it was because it was her laugh. You don't deserve to have her laugh inside of you. You are just a child. You don't even understand the value of it. You can't appreciate it, but it is there: trapped inside of you. You get to sleep with it at night, holding it close with your knees pulled against your chest in your Spiderman pajamas, while I am left to weep and wish. I just wish you didn't laugh like her. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much. Maybe I could let her go. She said something else, though, Timmy. She said I am your hero. Is that true, Timmy? God, I wanna be better. I'm hurting so much and I don't know what to say to you. Every time I mess up and hit you again, I go buy you a bigger Christmas gift. The tree is getting fuller, and you are looking more and more afraid. Don't be afraid, son. Maybe tomorrow will be better, huh, Timmy? Maybe tomorrow…
--Dad


December 15, 2002
Dear God
I have been writing Santa with my wishes, but I don't think I'm getting through to him. I usually just thank you for my food and stuff, but today I heard Dad prayin to you, so you must be bigger than I thought. I think I heard Dad say that you're the one who has my mom. Boy, are you lucky! She's great, huh? Has she made you a grilled cheese sandwich yet? Mom makes the best grilled cheese ever. I can understand if you want to keep her till you get a sandwich, but can you please send her back to us after you eat? Dad and I are not doing too well. I don't think he wants to hurt me, but it is getting worse and I'm pretty scared. I think he's just too sad now to be my dad. Can you help us, God? You're my last hope.
--Timmy Taylor

December 19, 2002
Mr. Taylor
As you know, we have removed you child from your care. Timmy's teachers were growing concerned and documented each time Timmy appeared for school with bruises or other signs of abuse. We have reason to believe that the child is no longer safe in your home. You will be notified of a court date when you will have the opportunity to voice your explanation or reasoning for Timmy's physical condition. No visitation with the child will be permitted until such hearing takes place. Any and all other inquiries can be answered during normal office hours.
--Joan Johnson, Dept of Child Welfare


December 25, 2002
This is my last letter, Timmy. I'm going to put it in the box, and leave the whole box on the desk. I hope someday it will reach you. I first want to tell you that I am sorry. I am so sorry that I was not able to be what you needed. I couldn't be strong enough, patient enough, kind enough, or loving enough. I was simply not enough of anything. You needed a dad, and I couldn't see past the loss of my wife. I loved your mother so much, and my life without her seemed so empty. I often resented you for your resemblance to her, when I should have been grateful for it. I should have seen that you were like a little piece of her that was still here. The piece I could hug and teach and laugh with and nurture and love. I failed at most of those things. Now, the state has taken you away, and I will not have the chance to be better. I will not have the chance to try again. Mu home is empty, and I miss the reminders of your mom that you used to provide. I miss her smile. Smile for me, Timmy? You probably won't, because if you have this letter, you probably hate me for what I'm doing. By the time you read this, it will be done, and you'll learn to think of me as a coward. I'll just be the coward who swallowed his gun. I have no right to ask you a favor, but I have to ask, Timmy: Can you think of me as just a little more? Think of me as a guy who tried. Think of me as a dad who loved you. Think of me… Just think of me, Timmy. I just have to go to her, son. I can't be alone with this grief. I need her. I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you, and even more so if this final action causes you more. I love you Timmy. I'll save you a seat right next to your mom.
Love
Dad


December 28, 2002
Dear anyone
My foster family says he's in a better place. What do I do now? ANYBODY OUT THERE?
Timmy Taylor

Diary of A Ku Klux Klan Member

****Author's note: this story may not be suitable for all readers. It was written to explore the ability to step into a person opposite myself, without taking the creative liberty of changing who the characters are. I was often tempted to give these two men redeeming qualities, or make them good guys in the end, but it would have been untrue to the nature of the character. If you are sensitive to what you read, please skip this story and continue to the next one. Thank you, and leave me a comment if you'd like...
Tiffany





You know, when I was a kid, I didn't understand. I didn't get why Daddy used to cover up in that big white sheet and ride of into the night with a bunch of drunken fat men. All I understood was that one day, I too would don the mask and sheet and that I should be more than honored to do so. I only asked once about the purpose of his rituals. I'll never forget the day.

"Daddy, how come you gotta ride off with those men all the time? They look so mean and angry. Will you just stay home and play checkers with me, Daddy? Can't you just stay home and play?"

Daddy looked down at me, and I was afraid of the contradiction I saw in his face. I saw the love he had in his eyes for me, but there was something else underneath: something darker. I remember thinking that must be what hate looks like. I silently prayed that I would never have to see it again.

"Some people just aren't like us, Son. Some creatures need to be taken down a peg so they don't go forgettin their place in the world. We go out and serve a purpose. We remind those forgetful Niggers of their duty; their obligation to stay down. Do you understand, Son?"

I nodded my head, but lacked genuine understanding. I had heard some kids call Jimmy Boyd a nigger once, and Jimmy cried all the way home. I couldn't comprehend the word at the time; only the pain on Jimmy's face. I remember thinking that Jimmy didn't even try to hide his pain. He wore it right out on his sleeve, and I felt sorry for him. I sort of wanted to hug Jimmy. You know, make him feel like he weren't so alone. I couldn't do that though. You couldn't just go around hugging colored folks. Daddy said if you touched them enough, some of their brand of stupid might rub off, and you could never get clean from that kind of mess.

Every time I looked at Jimmy, I inspected his hands from a distance. They never looked dirty; not even a little bit. His skin was dark and creamy, like a Hershey's bar, but I figured it was from long hours in the sun, not from some special dirt. Still, I stayed away. I didn't want to test my theory and end up infected. Daddy said we were better, and he must be right. Daddies can't be wrong, can they?

On the night of my sixteenth birthday, I was told I was a man. I was handed a white sheet with some really big holes in it so I could see out. I was also given a small .38 pistol and something that looked like a whip with nine tassels with bits of glass on the end of each one. I was told that finally, I was old enough to partake in my family's legacy. Tonight, I would become a member of the KKK. I was nervous, and excited at the same time. I was a bit of a nerd and had never been allowed a part of anything elite. I was about to become someone's better. I felt powerful and alive. The butterflies stood no chance against my sudden inner confidence.

Dad took me and five other young men to a house where a known colored preacher lived. Dad said his son was also planning to become a preacher, and that's who we were coming for: the son. See, these colored folk had no real idea who God was and therefore should have no say in church. God didn't love them as much as he did us, and for them to become preachers was a sin against Christ. We waited a long time, praying for our own safety, and then we lit a cross on fire right in the front yard. The young son came outside and was weeping and screaming, and all my dad's friends began swinging their whips and pummeling the boy with their fists.

"You think you know who God is?" my dad was saying over and over. "You think you have a holy home? God don't live here, Boy. He forgot about your Nigger ass and already gave the Devil your address. We work for both sides: God and the Devil, boy! Whoever you serve, you stand no chance, dirty fuckin Nigger!"

Even through the sheet, I could see the hate in his eyes. I knew what I had to do. I jumped right in and swung my whip as well; spit foaming from my mouth as I became consumed by the power. It was like a drug, and the colored boy didn't fight back even once. Daddy was right. They were a weaker species. How could you not fight back unless you knew you deserved it?

I was beginning to enjoy myself when the boy rolled over and looked into me. It was Jimmy: the colored boy from years ago. Somehow, I had forgotten my previous desire to hug him. I no longer wanted to offer comfort. It was my duty to remind this Nigger of his place. I am a man now. I kept thinking it over and over as I swung my whip again and again. I am a man now. I am a man now.

There was only once where I began to feel guilty. Blood was pouring from Jimmy's face and he wasn't moving anymore. But when I looked to my dad, I saw that he was proud, and I continued swinging my whip. Dad had to pull me off eventually. Sirens were coming. We went home, and I washed the blood from my hands and the splatter from around my eyes. I looked in the mirror and saw that I was different. I thought this must be what a man looks like. I finished washing and got in bed. I couldn't wait to jump back on my white horse and do it again. After all, I had only done my duty, right? Ain't shit wrong with keeping a Nigger down.