I love books but the Only One Thing
Is the Love story of God, that to me brings:
Peace and Joy, Contentment to the full-
Like carrying a baby on a baby stroll.

That’s One Thing, that is more than a thing
Always blows my mind, with exciting dreams.
Though not regular dreams as when one sleeps,
Their the dreams of imagination-
That eternal relations keep.

This library daily I seem to walk into
Holding life barely by the Word of Truth.
This thing is a box I’m locked inside,
Never can I get out, It is the place I hide.

But there is always light on the inside,
That from the top it clearly shines.
When I look below I see nothing at all,
For the only place to go, is upward climbing the wall.

Neither can you see in the dark
But the speed of light ran, and has me marked.
Inside this box that happens to be a Book;
Instruction number one is just to simply look.

Then I learn, listen, and live-
No words of my own for you to give.
And no not at all am I ashamed of this,
Nothing belongs to me, I’m lucky to exist.

Though may I hear no luck in vocabulary
I’ll only fear God, but not a fear that’s scary.
Rather a love-try of mutual respect,
One that walks with me and never neglects.

A new life, a new mourn,
In a hidden concealed heart…
But always the same Christ,
Teaching my foolishness to be smart.

I just cannot get out of the Bible,
Shoe-tying knots… For a long while.
Walking into this Cannon of Truth,
Is yes and amen to all good that’s due.

Neer’ would I ever want to be released,
That for me is not a good thing.
I’ll stay chained, a slave of this Book,
Where I know Jesus saves every direction that I look 🙂

2-23-25

Music is a passion that fills my soul with joy. It opens up a world of possibilities, allowing me to craft enchanting melodies that resonate deeply. When the rhythm takes hold, when I’m dancing, lost in the moment. Whether I’m feeling the urge to weep, laugh, or scream, music gives me the freedom to express those emotions. It transcends boundaries, and I cherish sharing its magic with others. Writing music is another joy of mine; I envision myself capturing every facet of life in my compositions. No matter what I’m engaged in, I can translate it into sound. The symphony of notes and harmonies inspires me to create, lifting my spirits and mending my deepest wounds through self-expression. Music is a profound force, a quiet science that intrigues scholars and a frequency that captivates spiritual seekers. Mathematicians can find solace in the rhythm, counting every beat and note. My love for music knows no bounds.

Dearest Ic Cream,
Oh, sweet confectionary delight, how you tempt me with your frosty charm and velvety textures. Each time I approach your cool embrace, my heart races with excitement, like a kid at Christmas morning — if Christmas involved licking and slurping in ways that would make even the bold blush.
I must confess that you are the loveliest treat. With your smooth whirls and delightful array of flavors, you are the summer fling I never knew.
Remember the steamy night when I topped you with hot fudge, whipped cream and sprinkles? You made shudder with delight. And, the cherry, so sweet!
I still remember our first encounter. You were cool and frosty, and I, a hot mess. You beckoned me with your cool allure. How could I resist? I surrendered and dove into your two scoops, watched how you melted just a little, tempting me to go back for more and more.
Remember my dear, you are the most luscious treat and you know how to ignite my passions. Oh the fantasies!
Until we meet again my dear, I will dream of extravagant sundaes and the naughtiest delight of all — the banana split, where you slip in between the slices, topped with sweet, sweet toppings. Oh, the ecstasy!
Yours indulgently,
Shelley

As I gather my thoughts my mind begins to spark up in flames

Opening my brain to the wonderful possibilities of Ifs, and’s, and buts, of what certain things can be

Think.. think.. myself says to me but my arms and fingers start to move on their own without even saying a word to me

Blink my eyes open widely!
As I begin to write down my first line I know It has to start with a fierce beginning that would grab my reader’s attention

but must I mention her thumbs are like a well-trained dog leading to other dog packs that are ready to bark together once and for all

But for once she, who is me that is I is ready for many and all she’s willing to share words with the world even if that means getting out of her shell

See if you’re listening and paying attention it all started when Tionna was 12 creating raps pairing words together making them have a sort of sense

Did I mention these words were in many different alphabetical ways see pay attention “I step up in the booth I go ham on the desk they looking for Tionna there she go where she at. 12 years old got her condos on stack talking about me man y’all just just whack!!”

These words were more than just rhymes it was like a melody that played a certain tone on the radio all night long

Until I she who is me created a song at 17 I finally felt belonged “Personal love” is all I ever needed and wanted but what can a teenager preach or even say huh

Love wow that devotion of picking up that pen and writing words that closely and slowly floated like the ocean I mean no one, no one like Alicia Keys would say could stop me from writing because I’m that person

that fell in love with poetry at the age of…. I mean I told you I’ve been writing since I was 12

Are you guys even listening?
She who is me.. that is her within me is proud of how far she would even come to think that words became a melody and not just some type of beat

But one can recite and speak upon many things just from her thoughts alone or just everything meanings

You see once you find something you love, you can’t let go of that passion because if you do it may crumble you like cookies in an empty box take my advice if you’re asking

I can’t let go of this writing passion see I
finally, found something I love, love, love it’s that something I can’t get enough of writing holds my heart clinger than any sticky glove

But if you all have something you love please don’t ever give up!

My Dearest Blue Pajama Pants,
It saddens to me to write this to you, but I fear it is time we part ways. Lately, you appear to be unwinding at the seams, frazzled and weak. I have worn you thin and despite your best efforts, you can no longer provide for me the way you once did.
Indeed, we have been through it all together. I remember when we first met that glorious night in the hospital. I had just given birth to my daughter and was desperate to get out of that dreadful hospital gown. My mother presented you to me, neatly folded and wrapped in soft white tissue paper, nestled inside a colorful bag. From that day forward, I knew we would be close. I just felt it.
We shared countless nights walking the floor with babies, innumerable mornings spent coffee clutching. You always stuck around for the clean-up too. Remember that one time we painted the house? It was late; we waited until after the kids went to bed. My husband rolled a stripe of sage green paint on you, right on the back. You thought you were finished then, but I still wore you proudly. All the mornings we spent together on the bus stop, it never not once bothered me to be seen with you.
Oh, but now, my old friend, you have gone grey and lost color in places, you’ve lost your elasticity, and the holes are spreading. I’m afraid there is not much more you will be able to endure. They say maybe one more washing. So before it comes down to you completely unraveling, I will leave you now, as you still have your shape and your dignity. When I look back at photographs of us together, fond memories and my adoration for you will fill me.
Blue pajama pants: it is time for me to say goodbye. There will never be another quite like you. I will deeply miss you.
Your devoted friend.

Dear Sims,

Where do I begin? For as long as I can remember, you have been a part of my life.

Do you think it’s silly that I would like to express my love for The Sims, yes, the computer game, in a letter? My brother certainly thought my love was silly too. At least, he thought that my passion for you was “idiotic” enough to be captured in a picture and labelled as “husband and wife”. Before I really started paying attention in school, The Sims was my teacher. Basic as it was then, the simulation game taught me what I needed to know to fit in and understand life.

Sims, you taught me about relationships. When my Sim neglected their friends, it was you who taught me that relationships are “…like plants. If you don’t water them, they wither and die”. You taught me that it was easy to make friends. Because of you, I’m less afraid to come up to someone to say hi, to start a friendly interaction. Because of you, Sims, I know how to take care and monitor my relationships because I understand that they require consistent care. Perhaps I may have taken my learning a bit too far on this one though, for I remember my answer to a question I took in my primary school English test on comprehension, “What is the relationship between John and Jason?”. I scratched my head during the test, thinking about how Sims showed me relationship bars from 0 to 100 based on how strong they were. I could not see any numerical values within the comprehension passage. I shrugged and wrote 100%. (The answer they were looking for? Father.)

Sims, you gave me my love for stories. When Sims 2 was released in 2004, I was nine years old. I had just started devouring storybooks then. I remember the pure ecstasy and wonder I felt when I learnt that in Sims 2, my Sims would live, really live. Babies were born, they would grow to children, to teenagers, to adults, and finally pass on. They had memories! The simulation of life became so much more raw, and the pre-made families all came with stories that you could read in a little blurb that introduced the neighborhood and family. Before I started reading Nancy Drew, the real mystery that consumed my life was the question, “Where did Bella Goth disappear to?”. As I played Sims 2, my love for stories grew. I created stories not just in my head, but I could write the stories down as I captured screenshots of the game. My first fiction stories would always be with the Sim families that I had.

As I grew older and delved into the world of non-fiction, self-help books, I found myself easily agreeing with Carol Dweck’s “Mindset”. Innately, somehow I understood I had been living by the growth mindset throughout my life. Sims, it was you again. You gave me the right mindset for life. As I played and watched my Sims do their homework, practice the guitar, read a skill book, and jog on the treadmill, I had also digested the consistent results that hard work always delivered. It became a truth universally acknowledged, to me and my Sim world, that you get out what you put in. Because of you, I’m not afraid to try, to practice, and to put in the hard work. You gave me a growth mindset long before Carol Dweck put her pen down to paper.

Sims, we have a beautiful relationship. You give me so many things, and I give you so many hours of my life. Hearing your theme song, especially those from the 2000s era, gives me a sense of nostalgia and quiet happiness. As with many love letters, I could go on forever about all the things you have given me. You give me an escape when I need a break from reality, even now as an adult. You gave me a head start in vocabulary. Heck, you gave me my first sex education lesson.

Perhaps most significantly, you have given me something I doubt anyone, or anything else, can ever give me. “You can be anything, but you can’t be everything,” was a quote that scarred me as I came of age. I want to experience the world, I want to be a teacher, but I also want to live my life at sea. No! I want to be a wanderer, travelling the world and living out of a van. The pain of this life is that we can only choose one. Nothing can be as good as experiencing it in real life, but Sims, you sure give me a great alternative. Challenge everything.

Love, me.
(72% style)

Dear Grief, my oldest friend,
I’ve known you quite a while.
I met you when I was still just a child.
In a “hood,” I didn’t grow up in, in a life of playing pretend.

Dear Grief, I grieved my childhood.
Dear Grief, I grieved my purity.
Dear Grief, I grieve my dad, my family, my dog, and my kitty. 
Dear Grief, I ache and carry your love with me.

For it is you that has taught me love. 
To love truth for truth’s sake makes sense. But to learn to love you took ages. 
To love and to hold will always be better than to have not at all. Of course, I love you, Grief. 

You hurt me, but it’s a hurt that heals me. You hurt me, but it’s a love that never leaves me. You hurt me, but it’s okay because I love you. 

In your absence, I can smile.
In your presence, I remember. 
I remember my dad, who was the best father. 
I remember my mother, who wasn’t always bad. 
I remember my dog who got me through 13 years, who I was with until the end. 
I remember my kitty and how she was so pretty. 
I remember my mission, to help people heal and smile. 

Of course, I love you, Grief! 
I love you because even though I grieve and have grieved, I’m still here, able to share their stories and keep their memories.
And yeah, I grieve my childhood. 
The one I didn’t have.
The purity taken from me and the pains it may always bring me. 

But I still love you, Grief. I love you because of their memory. I love you because of what you’ve taught me. I love you, Grief. Thank you for riding with me. 

This is a love letter
To my dearest bed
That gives me comfort
A place to rest my head

Where warm blankets
Hold me so tight
And shield me from the monsters
That come out at night

Where I nibble my snacks
And sip my cup of tea
Where I can numb my mind
Watching a series on TV

Where I can make love
To my dearest husband
Where I can lay all day
Not a damn thing planned

Where I can snuggle
My little baby boy
Sneaking kisses while he sleeps
A blessing of sweet joy

It’s where I go to cry
Let my pillows hold my tears
Where I still feel safe
When I’m battling my fears

So in closing,
I would just like to say
Thank you, dear bed
For being there for me every day.

To The Love of My Life,

From the moment we first met, I knew my days would never be the same. You bring me comfort when I’m weary, energy when I’m drained, and joy in the smallest, simplest ways. You are my little indulgence, my stolen moment of joy and peace; no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I always find my way to you.

Some may call it a strange devotion—how I seek you out with unwavering certainty or how I light up at the very thought of you. They raise an eyebrow when they see us together yet again, our familiar routine unbroken. Others may call it an obsession. But I simply call it love. And though I share you with so many others, it never matters. What we have is ours.

You are always there for me, waiting patiently—never judging. The moment I step inside, you are already waiting, my usual order prepared before I even have to ask. With that first refreshing sip, the world slows down. The vibrant magenta hue catches the light, swirling like a tiny galaxy in my cup. For a moment, it is just you and me. Your bright, tropical sweetness lingers, exotic and invigorating, giving me exactly what I need to keep going.

And some days, “just keep going” is harder than others. Some days, Exhaustion clings to me. Doubt whispers that I am not enough. These are the days when the world feels overwhelming and simply demands more than I have to give. But then you appear as a simple, steady comfort in the midst of the storm. You remind me to pause. To breathe. To take life one sip at a time. With you, I can take on anything.

You may be a small part of my day. To others, you may not be worth the daily $5.75 price tag. But to me, you are more than a Venti Mango Dragonfruit Refresher. You are a promise to myself that I can keep moving forward. You are assurance that even when the weight of the world presses down, I can still find something sweet.

So, until the very last drop, I am yours.

Forever,
A Resilient Soul

(P.S. I’ll see you again tomorrow—same time, same place.)

I love a lot of things in life: Football, going to the movies, especially comic book superheroes, I love helping my community, in particular, the youth. I definitely love writing. But New York City’s Madison Square Garden is what I have the ultimate love affair with. It started at the ripe old age of 8, when my mother took my siblings and I to the circus. She bought us these little flashlights from the vendor out in the hallway, before you entered the arena, It was attached to this long plastic lanyard, that you can spin around when they shut down the house lights, more on that later. As we entered the arena, I remember the panoramic masterpiece I viewed with the different colors of the seats, which represented the different levels of MSG. I was hooked from that moment. The different acts, the animals, the acrobats, made my fantasy real, not the clowns though, not a big fan.
The next 5 decades, the love affair has been filled with so many memories. My first rock concert, The Stones in ’75, which was also the first time I ever smelled marijuana. Going to see the Knicks, and my indoctrination of being a rude fan. Being introduced to hockey and the Rangers, having the privilege of actually playing basketball there. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say just every time I would walk into the “World’s Greatest Arena” has always been beyond special and magical for me. I have great memories of the similar introductions I gave my sons and their own experiences both with me, and with their friends, and family. It’s gotten to the point that I felt hurt and betrayed that Trump had his little get together there. I would yell at the TV, asking why couldn’t have this been held at the Prudential Center, which is in Jersey. But besides that moment of discontent, Whenever I see the Garden on TV, either for a live event, and definitely when a moment that I was in attendance for is replayed, I beam with reverence, I cry tears of happiness for an iconic piece of NYC history that I have called my home away from home. The Garden, has been so instrumental in the growth, and development of Bryant, I thank my mother, and my foster family for introduction, and God for allowing me the opportunities I couldn’t have ever thought would happen in my wildest dreams.

From the moment I first held you in my hands, you have been my quiet refuge—a steady rhythm in a world that often moves too fast. With every stitch, you remind me that patience creates beauty, that even the smallest loops of effort can come together to form something warm, something whole, something entirely my own.

You are more than just yarn and loom; you are the soft hum of creativity, the gentle whisper of comfort on hard days. In your embrace, my hands find purpose, my mind finds ease, and my heart finds peace. You turn tangled strands into something strong, something meaningful—just as you have done for me.

No matter where life takes me, I know you will always be there, waiting with open stitches, ready to be picked up and loved again.

In the darkness of night

I woke up from a vivid dream

A familiar connection so strong

Bringing peace, calmness, and happiness

It felt so real

Like I never wanted to wake up

Lying down here in my bed

I felt so safe

I realize

No matter where I am

I’m at peace when I’m asleep

When I awake

My heart feels happy and sad at the same time

That connection that I once felt before

What is that feeling

What is this emotion

Why I only feel this type a way

I can’t fall in love

I promise not to fall in love

Yet, I do when it hits 3AM

I guess when I’m asleep

It was easier to do so

But 3AM awake

I wish for my heart

To not be fooled

ЗАМ I’m in love with you

Laying here in the bosom of these vibrant shades dancing all around me,
The sun began creating shadows amongst the trees
preparing me for your arrival,
Where I lay was now becoming full of life,
Lillies and violets that rested at my feet took shape,
Lifting their heads to meet your gaze as you trotted by,
Your soul-filled blues found its settling place,
I reached for you, and the wind came, circling me with endless kisses,
I was now resting amongst the clouds,
Nothing else mattered in that moment not even time,
Everything stood still,
Staring at our reflections in the puddles nearby,
I was enamored by the sight of you,
Although the atmosphere all around was damp,
We chose to dance,
Forgetting of the inconvenience that took place moments ago,
Kicking, twisting and synchronizing with the leaves on the trees that were now lively as they woke from their slumber,
Tapping against their trunks, swaying with the wind in unison,
This meeting was destined,
But I knew time would soon rear its ugly head,
The race against the clock would commence,
One last embrace because I knew you had a job to do,
Carrying those vibrant colors with you as the sun guided your way,
Your trail still visible plastering the skies with your final touches,
You began to fade away,
So, I chased you, but you proved to be faster than time,
Amazed by the beauty you left behind,
But I’ll wait here, till the tulips perk up, the leaves begin to move with the rhythm of the wind,
You’ll be back,
So, it’ll just be you and I,
Please visit soon.

Dear Coaching Board,

I expected to have to write this letter, oh, twenty or thirty more years from now. Maybe longer! Someone was going to have to pry you and my whistle from my cold, dead hands! I never could have imagined that I’d be writing this letter today. I don’t really remember when I first decided I was going to be a coach- it was just always part of the plan. Teach history and coach basketball. And for eleven years, I did that. But, of course, you know that! Ever since I ripped open that Christmas present fourteen years ago that Dad had so carefully wrapped you in with a shiny new whistle, and a pack of 3X5 cards (because all good coaches use 3X5 cards!), you have been with me through all the practices, late night bus rides, exhilarating victories, and agonizing defeats. You were at my side when during our very first year coaching, we won a District Championship! You were at my side seven years later when we stepped onto the court at my alma mater as a coach, not a player. I remember staring at you in disbelief after my girls won their first playoff game in over a decade. I remember my girls staring at you in confusion because they couldn’t follow my “scribbling”. Do you remember the game when I broke my marker on you because I was trying WAY too hard to make my point? Of course, you do! You were not happy with me that night! You have seen me laugh with my teams, cry with my teams, and shout for (and at) my teams.

But more than those exciting basketball moments, you also witnessed the times I chose to set you aside because one of my girls needed me to stop talking about basketball for a minute. You saw me the day I had to pull one of my starters aside during a big game to say, “Your team needs you on the court, but I will not put you back in this game if you have that attitude again.” You sat on the bench as I told my point guard, “I care more about your health than winning this game, so you better not lie to me.” You were in my hand when I looked at one of my players and said, “You have no reason to be discouraged, you gave more than 100% today, and that’s all the Lord requires of us.” You watched from the sidelines the day my star player ran to me as soon as the buzzer went off and whispered, “I’m with you all the way, Coach.” You were there for every pre and post game huddle that ended with prayer and quoting Colossians 3:23-24. You were always by my side, and I loved you. So why are you packed somewhere in a box in the basement now? Why can’t I bring myself to walk downstairs, find you, and walk onto the court with you again?

Two years have passed since I first put you in that box! How has it been two years since you and I last stepped on to the court together? Two years since I last scribbled ferociously with a blue marker all over your slightly stained white surface during a quick time out. Two years since I dropped you a little too hard on the floor beside my chair when I got excited that my youngest player made a basket! It’s been two whole years since I threw you, again a little too hard, on my chair as I took a brisk step on to the court to yell at one of my girls for making a terrible pass. Two years since I held you firmly in my hands as I confidently followed my girls out of the locker room to face our opponent. Actually, that last part is not completely true. We’d have to go back more than two years to find the last time I was confident walking out of the locker room. You, of all “people”, know that, too. Because that tenth and eleventh year, you stayed inside my coaching bag much more often. I can only imagine how I made you feel. I should never have left you zipped up in that bag, but I felt like I didn’t know how to use you anymore. The confident twenty-two year old Florida coach who won two District Championships and one State Championship with you, was nowhere to be found anymore, and I don’t know how (or if I even want) to find her again.

Did I ever tell you why coaching basketball was always part of “the plan”? Remember all those huddles that ended with prayer? That’s why. Because when I was a young athlete my coaches ended every practice and game with prayer. Because my coaches taught me that loving basketball and pushing to be excellent was important, but it wasn’t the MOST important. Winning was our goal, but it wasn’t THE goal. Because my coaches showed that they loved me, even if I wasn’t the best player on the court, even if I messed up, even if…the ball game wasn’t the most important thing to them. I was. And I knew it. That’s why I wanted to coach. So I could be that coach to a quiet 11 year old who was shocked she even made the team, to a cheerleader turned to basketball player who just wanted to be an encouragement to others, to a 4’11 (and ¾) guard who always tried to play as if she was 10 feet tall, to a quick young 7th grader charged with guarding the other team’s best shooter, to a frustrated 8th grade post player who just wanted to be successful, to a quiet 10th grader who just loved the game and grew into a leader, to a hesitant emotional 9th grader who demanded perfection from herself, to a…well, I guess that’s enough for you to understand. At some point, you were in my hand as I talked to every single one of those girls. You know more than anyone just how much I prayed for, cried over, laughed with, and LOVED my girls- not for their basketball talent- but for WHO they were. That’s why you and I were on that court together.

You have probably figured out by now that this is a goodbye letter. As much as I obviously loved our time together, the world of Christian school sports has changed. We have to be the best no matter what it costs. If the season doesn’t end with a Championship trophy, it wasn’t successful. The attitude our players exhibit on and off the court doesn’t matter, but the win tonight does. Missing church or service opportunities is acceptable, but players better think twice about missing practice. “Better” only applies to the sport, not an athlete’s emotional, social, or spiritual maturity. Watching this change take place over the past several years broke my heart and I still wrestle with an overwhelming sense of grief. Grief for the next generation of athletes who aren’t being taught, as I was, WHO we play for. Grief for the young athletes who aren’t being taught that your attitude and character is more important than your talent and statistics. Grief for the athletes who will grow up believing that their success is determined by a scoreboard. Just…grief. What I wouldn’t give to be a 16 year old kid again, fist confidently in the middle of our team huddle before playing one of our biggest conference rivals, and saying with the rest of my teammates, “Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance for ye serve the Lord Christ.” What I wouldn’t give to be a 26 year old coach again, holding you confidently in one hand with the other fist confidently in the middle of our team huddle, reciting Colossians 3:23-24 with my team. But that’s all in the past. It’s history. I never could have imagined our time together ending this way, and I don’t know that my heart will ever truly heal from what it lost.

John Wooden once said, “Young people need models, not critics.” I think of my coaches who modeled what a Christ-honoring person looks like. Who, because of that example, had an eternal impact on the girls I later coached. I can’t help but wonder what this new style of Christian school coaching is modeling…and what the result of that will be. That is not a question I am going to get an answer to today, and this “Dear John” goodbye is already longer than I intended. So, thank you. Thank you for the memories. I truly am sorry for leaving you in the basement these last two years. I am sorry the layers of dust will continue to build on your once white surface, but I promise that if the Lord ever calls me back into coaching, you will be the first to know.

Until then, know you are missed, old friend.

“Heartily” for Him,
Coach P

My Darling TA,

I am counting the hours until we can be together again. Waiting for the endless frigid winter winds to cease their blowing, for temperatures to rise, for warm spring air to beckon us to answer the summons of the open road. I know you want it too; you miss me just as much as I miss you.

From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew we were destined to be together.

Your bronze metallic sheen sparkling in the balmy sun, accented by the thin golden lines framing your sleek curves. The majestic phoenix, fiery plumage resplendent across your glinting hood, reposing in a state of honor, regal presence guarding the realm.

You complete me. I am the pilot, the guide on this journey. You are my royal chariot, your deep baritone purring; keeping time to the beating of my quivering heart. The pulsing vibrations reverberate through my being. Pains and worries float away through the unveiled t-top, as the gentle breeze ruffles my hair.

From the moment I slide into the seat of honour behind the wheel, and turn the key, our shared adoration takes flight. Slipping into reverse and pressing down on the pedal, the rendezvous that awaits us on the horizon fills me with anticipation. Gliding onto our route, the familiar sweet scents of sultry summer air mingle with the subtle hint of gasoline.

You make me feel young again, the comforting glow of nostalgia; I am transported back to a simpler time. Cruising the countryside, the soothing hum of your engine joins in the chorus resonating from the archaic cassette player: “Don’t stop believin, Hold on to that feelin”-etched in my mind forever-I will never stop believing in us, my love. I will cherish this glorious feeling for time everlasting.

I know you think you are ageing. Rest assured, I will be by your side to help you navigate the speed bumps and the potholes, steering you safely around the bends in the road. Working together as a well-oiled machine, we will ensure you are aligned, well-maintained, and polished to a dazzling gleam.

Always remember, you are not just a ‘car’. You are an icon, a legend in your time. As we coast the streets, the awe and adoration on the faces of onlookers is clear: they wish they could be me. There are no words to express the pride I feel at their admiration and envy. You are the talk of the town, my dear, and all mine.

As winter nears its end, I count the days until we can be together again. I am my best self when I am with you.

I remain,

Always and forever,

Your copilot in love.

Dear Unsealed,
I love the smell of the ocean.
I love to feel my toes in the sand.
It is a potion
Of a notion
As I walk upon this mountainous land
Of sand and sea and valleys
And alleys
Of sandcastles built upon the sand
Of our America land.
I cried today,
Along my paths highway
Of illusions
Of delusions
Of lies spewing from control freaks
Of tweakers and tweaks,
Of I just want to sit on the shore
Forevermore.
Look at the ocean.
Look at the sky,
Of notions
And potions.
I pray for peace to calm the turmoil
Of dictators and liars in high places,
That creates turmoil and hate and boils,
Of ugliness in all spaces.
I carve my peace of calm
On the beach,
To reach prayers of songs
To the universe to bring peace
As the calm after the storm
As the fisher in the boat of life,
Not of strife.
I sit on the shore,
Forevermore.
To smell the salty air, and the cries of the seagulls
As they fly up above
My head.
I see the ocean.
I see the beach,
Of I love the smell of the ocean
I love to feel my toes in the sand.
It is a potion,
Of a notion
As I walk upon this mountainous land
Of sand and sea and valleys
And alleys
Of sandcastles built upon the sand
Of our America land.
I cried today,
Along my paths highway
Of illusions
Of delusions
and potions.
As peace flows through my body
As I sit on the shore forevermore
To embrace the ocean
As a potion.
I love you my retreat
Away from mean peeps.
A retreat from hate,
Debate,
To relate,
We are all a part of earth,
Before birth and after birth
To death of all.
I pray we all learn,
The ocean way,
To yearn,
For love and truth.
I love you, ocean of dreams,
And schemes to cherish your embrace
Of romance
From birth
Tio my ashes
Are spread in the love
Forevermore
Upon the shore.

PEACE AND LOVE CONQUERS EVIL!

You shade me with love and allow just enough light with your fenestrations. An earthly treasure I’ve found, beauty in every leaf you hold. Watching you grow from a baby to a teen plant now, I have learned some of life’s most important lessons; removing things that no longer serve me, hydrating for rejuvenation, and moving into a different space since I’ve outgrown the old. I can’t wait until you tower over me so I can shade myself under your large leaves some more. As life becomes more complex, you stay consistent. I may grow old and wrinkled, but you will continue to thrive in your greenery. Thank you for teaching and loving me. Even when I’ve reached my lowest points, your resilience to my neglect is unmatched. Your forgiveness for me shows in your growth. I love you, my monstera deliciosa.

Crimson red,
resembling dripping blood,
a whisper and a scream,
a flame of passion,
allure of elegance,
a picture of love.

Prick me,
thorns surround,
and make me bleed,
yet delicate petals,
tender, a fragrance so sweet,
with beauty that marks the world.

You are my favorite,
no other can compare,
one, or a thousand blooms,
making your heart skip a beat,
dancing with romance,
enchanting radiance.

Majestic in every way,
the queen of the garden,
dangerous to the touch,
yet I can’t resist,
the thorned nature,
that draws one in,
sweetly divine.