Insert Life Here                                 (Updated)

The --- following the smile
the --- following the woman
the --- following the gentleman
the --- following the assets
the --- following the work
the --- following the eager
the --- following the potential
the --- following the child
the --- following the marriage
the --- following the kiss
the --- following the determination
The --- following the smile



life                                                  (Original)

The --- following the smile
the --- following the woman
the --- following the gentleman
the --- following the assets
the --- following the work
the --- following the eager
the --- following the potential
the --- following the child
the --- following the marriage
the --- following the kiss
the --- following the determination
The --- following the smile

My life. As I walk down the street.             (Updated)

Oh 

How the yellow cars honking 

Flows

From the Hudson to the East River  

—-

When I was two

All I knew were legos
I built a world from them

The water poured from the room 

The drops pounding on my sheets

—-

Oh 

How the pigtailed child's laughter

Flows

From one park to the next

—-

When I was five

All I had was Magnolia's banana pudding

The politicians ran in 

The eldest son contemplates his ticket

-—

Oh 

How the sun shouts goodbye as it rays 

Flow

From the Porsche to the bike

—-

When I was fifteen 

All I did was hail the taxis 

The father never arrived

The mother had moved out 

-—

Oh

How the noise from the beats headphone

Flows

To all those lucky  enough to pass them 

——

When I was 18 

All I did was break curfew

The land was at war

There is no place for peace 

-—

Oh 

How the yellow cars honking  

Flows

From the Hudson to the East River

My life. As I walk down the street.             (Original)

Oh 

How the yellow cars honk 

Flows

From one body of water to the next 

—-

When I was two

All I knew were legos

The water poured from the room 

The drops pounding on my sheets

—-

Oh 

How the pigtailed childs laughter

Flows

From one park to the next

—-

When I was five

All I had was magnolias banana pudding

The politicians ran in 

The eldest son given the password to his demise

-—

Oh 

How the sun shouts goodbye as it rays 

Flows

From the chimney to the tent

—-

When I was fifteen 

All I did was hail the taxis 

The father didnt arrive

The mother moved out 

-—

Oh

How the songs from the beats headphone

Flows

To all those lucky  enough to pass them 

——

When I was 18 

All I did was break curfue

The land was at war

There is no place for peace 

-—

Oh 

How the yellow cars honk 

Flows

From one body of water to the next 

Visiting her old age, Home. (Updated)

She sits in her chair,

looks out the gray window.

Leaves flow with the music of the wind.

Second Monday of the month, the day of my visits.

I wait close by to hear more.

As she thinks to herself, will today be my last?

She always only sees the good in the day.

My brain expands tenfold as I sit in the small corner chair,

I wait to see what’s more.

She still glances out the window,

sometimes I’m not sure if she realizes my visits.

She always speaks at the pace of the wind.

She always brings out the picture of her husband, as the wind

contradicts her unfluctuating plans for the day.

I get a little more from each of our visits.

Her daughter and husband wont be able to sit in the visitor’s chair.

She always goes back and stares out the window,

once more.

She always has her rose color lipstick, silver earrings and more.

She always waits for the movement from the wind.

She always sits by the window.

She always observes the inner and outer inhabitants, each day.

She always has her two loud friends beside her chair.

I always try to search, during the visits.

I always look forward to our visits.

Always want to bring more

people to sit in the chair

and listen to her words as the wind

passes by. Because to-day

can be the last day, by the window.

The window.

The visits.

The special day.

Listening even more.

As the sounds of the wind

Hides my deafening thoughts as I sit in the corner on my little chair.

She always sits by the window; she always sits by the chair.

Sometimes she asks if we can change the visits, and go outside with the wind

Because tomorrow is her birth-day, and she wont be 102 any more

Visiting her old age, Home. (Original)

sitting in her chair.

looking out the graying window,

the leaves flowing with the music of the wind.

the second monday of the month, the day of my visits.

just waiting close by to hear more.

as she is thinking to herself, will today be my last day?

she always only sees the good in the day.

my brain expanding tenfold as I sit in the small corner chair,

just waiting to see what's more.

she’s still glancing out the window

sometimes not sure if she realizes my visits.

shes always talking at the pace of the wind.

she always brings out the picture of her husband, as the wind

contradicts her unfluctuating plans for the day.

i get a little more from each of our visits

briefly letting me know her daughter and husband wont be able to sit in the visitors chair.

she always then goes back to staring out the window,

once more.

she always has her rose color lipstick, silver earrings and sometimes even more.

she always waits for the movement from the wind.

she always sits by the window,

observing all the inner inhabitants and all roaming outside each day.

she always has her two loud friends beside her chair.

i always try to search for her secrets during the visits.

i always look forward to our visits.

always wanting to bring more

people to sit in the chair

and listen to her words as the wind

passes by. because to-day

can be the last day, by the window.

the window.

the visits.

the special day.

listening even more.

as the sounds of the wind

hides my tears as i sit in the corner on my little chair.

shes always sitting by the window, even though no ones is always in the chair.

sometimes she asks if we can change the visits, and go outside with the wind

because tomorrow is her birth-day,and she wont be 102 any more.

The Monster, Inc. (Updated)

With a name like James P. Sullivan,

Big, blue giant I am.

Fur crammed with floating purple dots,

Two horns and an overbearing tail.

With a roar of a gorilla, stretching across all of Mars.

Scare those who run free.

Many may call me a monster.

Encounters with a planet that contains the lungs of children.

Which is my lands energy.

Check under my chestnut bed.

Close the doors.

Check inside my pink flowered print sheets.

Put on my eye-mask.

Check the bottom of my overflowing hamper.

Insert the earbuds.

Boo

Hey that’s my name

BOO! I am a scary monster

Your no monster, you my teddy bear

BOOOOO! ....  DON’T TOUCH ME!

Okay, now I scream, you bad

Ahh

Mom, Dad save me, monster here!

Eeeekkk

Why you have to be so mean Sully?

Noooo

Go away Sully, you no live in this world.

Wahhhh

The faces of children fill my inner mesh with pain.

I might be the cause of their nightmares but they have the toxic touch.

I am the big, blue giant.

I am expected to be the best.

I am the school jock, and the ultimate cool guy of every generation.

But my thoughts don’t measure my outer façade.

I believe the children matter.

And not just to be scared.





The Monster. Inc. (Original)

With a name like James P. Sullivan,

Big, blue giant I am.

With a roar of a gorilla, stretching across all of Mars.

Scare those who run free.

With encounters with a planet that contains the lungs of children.

Which is my lands energy.

Check under my light chestnut bed.

Close the doors.

Check inside my pink flowered print sheets.

Put on my eyemask.

Check the bottom of my overflowing hamper.

Insert the earbuds.

Ahhhh

Mom, Dad save me the monster is here!

Eeeekkk

Why do you have to be so mean Sully?

Noooo

Go away Sully, you dont live in this world.

Wahhhhh

The faces of children fill my inner mesh with pain.
I am the big, blue giant.

I am expected to be the best.

I believe the children matter.

And not just to be scared.

(Updated)

His fingers pull mine

As the fireworks explode.

On our year abroad.

Hands around my waist
My white dress swirling.

Gazing eyes close in on us. 

My screams shake the room
The child’s sound erupts.

Softening, he takes my hand.

(Original)

His fingers pull mine

As the fireworks shoot up

On our year abroad.

Hands around my waist

As the eyes close in on us

My white dress swirling

The screams from my mouth

Softening, he takes my hand

The child’s sound erupts