My Heart Breaks (2nd Version)

Baby sister Poems

When I think of all the things

you'll never do...

When I think of all the places

you'll never go...

When I think of all the things

I can't say to you,


My heart breaks.



When I look at your picture....

When I look at your grave...


My heart breaks.



When I miss you...

When I miss your laugh...

When I miss your smile...


My heart breaks!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Yes, I know this is the same poem as the other "My Heart Breaks", I just didn't know which format I liked it better in, so I posted them both! :)

What do you think??

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My Heart Breaks

Baby sister Poems

When I think of all the things

you'll never do...


When I think of all the places

you'll never go...


When I think of all the things

I can't say to you,


My heart breaks.



When I look at your picture....


When I look at your grave...


My heart breaks.



When I miss you...


When I miss your laugh...


When I miss your smile...


My heart breaks!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A Poem about my baby sister. Please let me know what you think!

You, Perfect Murderer

I believe,

I knew you.

Your prefect crimes.

Assume that I'm only-

A speck in time.


This scene is just a metaphor-

For blood sucking and bruises


You say that it's a phase-

And you'll be fine.

So, quote to me over again-

Your heart breaking traits will never end.


Your murderous lair-

Your victims tears glisten in your hair.

It pains me.

But , I'll be fine.

Swimming in your fortune.

Their graves are red, crimson and deep maroon.


And if your secret spreads-

This is the way it ends.

Just come back home.

Leave the hearts alone.


All of your dilemmas-

Make me weak and tremor.

Bloodly screams and moans.

When your world turns black-

Due to your flack and lack.

Remember you were told-

Dust grinded with bone.


Thanksgiving is a day for us to come together with affinity and to exclaim

How thankful we are for what we have, (it’s even embedded in the holiday’s name).


As we give thanks for our family and the numerous blessings in life we’ve achieved

I think it’s also a time to give thanks for the blessings we haven’t received.


For instance I was born with very poor eyesight without my glasses it’s hard for me to see.

When it comes to reading the eye chart, I can’t make out that big letter ‘E’!


But the world I see is a synthesis as colors and light interplay

Where beauty is blended with beauty, Hey, I wonder if that’s why I love Monet?


And my hearing, though better than my eyesight, has never been what I’d call strong

I don’t understand all conversations or hear the words to my favorite songs.


But I fill in the words that I miss so my life can have symmetry

And I sing my own versions of my favorite songs, Hey, could that be why I like poetry?


I never grew to be as big as I wanted, I was going to be a football star if you must know

Nor was I blessed with the ability I had hoped: to run or to catch or to throw.


So I was destined to watch football at home or at the game high up in the bleachers

But I found I liked working with children, Hey, maybe that’s why I became a teacher?


Teaching didn’t lead to the fame and the nationwide adulation

We didn’t have a mansion, a boat, or a limo and didn’t go on exotic vacations.


But we had enough to make our lives happy and more often than not we were glad

For we learned in a world so uncertain to enjoy the things that we already had.


It seems to me as we travel this world no matter how distant, how far

Sometimes it’s the blessings we haven’t received that make us the people we are.


So as you celebrate Thanksgiving this year there are two ways to give thanks, I believe.


Be thankful for all the blessings you’ve been given, and for the ones you have never received.

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And Your Veins, They're Not Fables

Short Stories

   I look up at the sun; I can feel my face turn bright red.  I wipe my sweaty hair away from my forehead with my arm; it’s too hairy for a girl. I step away. I look at the dog house I made. I didn't need to make it; we don’t even have a dog. My ma made me go outside because she doesn't want me to see how much she drinks.

   I walk to the middle of the yard and sit down. I take my hammer and a left over nail and hammer it into the dirt. That's all we have in our yard. Dirt. Most people have grass and a garden and a fence to keep all their childrens in. All we have is dirt and dust and a metal gate that stabs your hands and legs if you try and climb over it. I run my thumb over a scar on my leg. I keep hammering the nail into the ground, taking it out and startin’ over. I hit my thumb with the hammer.

     "Damn," I throw it away from me and spit at it; it lands near the gate. A man is standing there. His skin is dark.

     "You alright?" He says to me. "I saw you hit your thumb with that hammer, there."

     "I'm fine," I say.

   He pushes the gate open and walks towards me.

     "Are you sure?" He says. He squats in front of me and takes my hand in his.

   I nod and take my hand away from him. He smiles at me.

  I hear the screen door with no screen in it open up.  It's my ma, in her dressing gown with a glass of something.

     "Hiya," the man says.

     "Hello there," my ma says. She loosens the tie on her dress and presses the glass up to her neck.

     "How old are ya, boy?"

     "20." He stands up. "How old are you?"

   I laugh once. He looks down at me.

   My ma raises her drawn on eyebrows and closes the collar of her dress.

   He holds his big hand out for me to take. I take it. I get up.

     "I'm Heathcliffe," he says.

     "What kind of nigga has the name Heathcliffe?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "I do." He turns away from me and walks back towards the gate.

     "I'm Lowery," I say to Heathcliffe as he closes the gate.

     "Nice to meet you ma'am." He tips his hat. I walk inside.

     "What did he say to you?" My ma asks.




   I crawl inside the dog house I made. My dress snags on a nail I didn’t hammer in all the way. I see a pair of legs walk in front of the dog house hole. They’re a man’s legs.


     “It’s me, Heathcliffe.”

   I crawl out from the doghouse. Heathcliffe is holdin’ paint cans.

     “I got you some paint for that there dog house.” He holds the two cans out to me.

     “Set ‘em down over there.” I say and point my tool box.  I put my hair back over my ears. I don’t want him to see how red they are. My back is facin’ the house. I hear behind me the door open and slam shut.

     “Yoohoo! Heathcliffe, is that you?”

     “Yes ma’am it’s me.” He tips his hat.

     “Heathcliffe dear, I was wondrin’ if you know how to fix a broken sofa. The leg on ours’ come off.” She leans up against the doorway.

     “Why yes I do ma’am. I can fix that no trouble.” He looks at me and then walks for the house, taking off his dirty hat.

I get into the house last.

     “Heathcliffe sweat heart, could you fix the sofa outside?”

     “Outside, Miss? It’s awfully hot.”

     “You’ll be fine. I’ll even make you some lemonade.” She smiles at him.

     “Alright ma’am.” He nods and drags the sofa out the door.

   My ma sits down by the kitchen window to watch Heathcliffe.

     “Make him some lemonade, will ya?”

     “He’s got tattoos, sweet mercy.” I hear my ma say.

I walk over to the window and look. Sure as Hell he does. They’re nice ones too.

     “I hate tattoos.” She sips her drink.

I smile.


Ma keeps findin’ odd jobs for him to do around the house, mostly outside.

   I go outside to Heathecliffe to take him a cup of lemonade.

     “You don’t have to do this ya know.” I say.  I thrust the cup at him.

     “I know, but I wanna.”


He doesn’t answer me but I see him smiling.

     “Hey, you know, I’ve been thinkin…since I first met you.” I cross my arms.

     “What about?” He says without looking at me.

     “Your tattoos.”

He straightens up. He turns around and smiles at me.

     “I want some.”

     “Do ya?”

I nod. I know he’s gonna laugh at me and tell me girls shouldn’t get tattoos. My mama always says you can’t catch a man if you got tattoos.

     “You got any money?”

     “Yeah, I got some. Not much. I could take some from my ma.”

     “You get a holda’ that money, and I’ll take you to a man; the same one who done this mess to me.” He moves his hand all over the places with tattoos.

     “I like ‘em.”

     “Thank you. So whad’ya say?”

I nod.

     “I’ll come by your place first and we can walk togetha’” he says to me as I walk away.

     “No, I can’t be seen with a nigga in public. Just tell me where it’s at.”

     “Sure thing ma’am.” He usually smiles when he calls me ma’am. He didn’t. I feel sick. I frown at myself.

As I walk inside I see my ma standing at the window, stirin’ her drink.


   I hear the radio announcer’s voice ramblin’ on. I keep lookin through the crack in the door to make sure ma isn’t coming this way. I finally find my ma’s emergency money. It’s not a big wad but it’s enough.  I leave her room.

     “I’ll be at Christine’s,” I say. I walk out the door, slamming the screen.

 I walk into town and I see Heathcliffe sittin’ on the sidewalk edge.

     “Hiya,” I say. I smile.

     “Ready?” He gets up, pattin’ his thighs. I nod. “Where you gon get it?” He looks me up ‘n’ down.

     “My side.” I start walkin’ towards the building.

     “Whatd’ya want?” He opens the door.

     “Virgin Mary shavin’ off all her hair.” I walk inside. Heathcliffe laughs hard.

     “Where in the hell did you get that idea?”

I shrug. “I had a dream ‘bout it.”

He laughs again.

     “Does it hurt much?” I feel sick.

    “Yes,” he says.

     “Oh.” I sit down.

A man walks out from the back.


Nothin’. I don’t feel a damned thing. Heathcliffe walks up from behind me and slaps me on my back.

     “That hurt.”


We walk home. I’m holding his hand. I don’t care who sees me with a nigger. My ma sees us through the window. She walks out the door and walks up to him and I. She never leaves the house.

     “What were you two doin’ might I ask?”

     “I got a tattoo.” I walk right on past her.

     “You did what?”

I lift my dress up. Heathcliffe can see my panties.

     “Put your dress down, child!” She slaps me. She grabs my wrist and drags me to the house. “I knew being friends with a nigga was a bad idea. Go home,” she says to Heathcliffe.

     “No ma’am.”

    “Excuse me?”


I turn ‘round.


     “Wanna eat with my folks?”

     “Sure.” I shrug.

     “You’re not goin’ nowhere, Lowery.” She digs into my shoulder with her fingernails.

     “Yes I am and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

  I walk away from her. I grab Heathcliffe’s hand and walk out the gate; it doesn’t close behind me because it’s too rusted. 

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Together...what a simple word with a very simple mission

But sometimes it’s the simplest words that give life it’s definition...


When you’re first married you have no cares you float on the wind like a feather

You dream of happiness, perhaps starting a family and growing old together.


Then one day you see all your responsibilities and wonder how you’ll ever muddle through

But you do and you wake up one morning to the realization you’re dreams have come true.


You understand life hasn’t always been easy, you haven’t always floated on the wind like a feather

But you’re healthy and happy; you’ve made have grown old together.


True so much time as passed you have difficulty knowing when, or how or where...

But the kids are grown, the grandchildren growing and there’s happiness in the air.


It’s a wonderful feeling as once again you float on the wind like a feather

For now you’re ready for the next phase...growing even older together. 


It’s funny when you’re building a family, when you’re making that daily climb

No matter how you try to extend it, there never seems to be enough time.


In some ways time is your enemy and you wonder if that feeling will ever end

Then overnight all that changes...and time becomes your friend.


And what has made all this work somehow, what has been the glue...the tether?


Near as I can figure, in my life anyway, it’s that we made it through together.

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Deborah and I spent October in the mountains, enjoying the Autumnal views

We were going to leave on the 31st but Bryan made us and offer we couldn’t refuse.


He asked if we wanted to see the Biltmore House Christmas tree when it arrives November 1st

Then we remembered, “Hey, we’re retired!”, so our plans we immediately reversed.


The Biltmore Estate Christmas tree (we got our information from reliable sources)

Is 35 feet tall and enters the grounds on a carriage drawn by two horses.


As if seeing the tree wasn’t enough then let me offer more proof

Bryan said we could watch the festivities from atop the Biltmore House roof.


So from a balcony up on the roof with the colors of fall all around

We watched the Christmas season enter through a gate on the Biltmore House grounds.


We felt blessed to watch the merging of the seasons, as the sky cleared and out came the sun

But the biggest blessing of the day was sharing it all with our son.


A month surrounded by the colors of fall, is enough to warm any heart

But standing on the roof with Deborah and Bryan got this season off to a great start.


As I stood up there marveling at Bryan, our son, and smiling at Deborah, my wife

I thought what a special moment…then I wondered about these moments in my life.


What is it that makes them so special?  Let me now help unravel this myth.


What makes the moments in one’s life special are the ones we share those moments with.

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Is there is a day more joyous than a wedding day? For I can think of none  

Before you answer, in my defense, I just attended one.


Yes I have seen the purest joy of which any God intended

Spread across the faces of the people who attended.


In fact this was an outdoor wedding that so thoroughly beguiled

Anyone who happened by just had to stop and smile.


For the joy of any wedding is not only in its grace

But in the contagious way the smiles keep appearing on your face.


So as I wish Amanda and Andy a love that will forever last

As they head off to the future…I’m reminded of the past.


I’ve known Amanda’s mom and dad for many, many years

Before the vestiges of age on our faces first appeared.


I witnessed joy standing by their side at their wedding long ago

And at the wedding yesterday once again I saw its glow.


It was the same joy from years ago and I would be remiss if I didn’t add

It was etched again upon the faces of Amanda’s mom and dad.


My biggest wish for Amanda and Andy as you move from this time and this place

Is that in 30 years, just like your parents, you have that same joy etched upon your face.


A quick wedding note before I go:

(When all you have to do is attend a wedding there is nothing you have to lose


Perhaps that’s why I forgot my belt and socks while Deborah forgot her shoes.)

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My Brother's Pillow




I don’t remember where it came from. I don’t remember when it appeared. Even though, I don’t remember my brother one single day without that pillow. He takes it everywhere. One could think that the favorite belonging of an almost twelve year-old kid would be a videogame console, a toy, a computer or his dog but not Alex. Alex’s most loved thing ever is his fluffy and soft pillow. This is not the kind of pillow you would rest your head on (Incredibly I don’t like how it feels when I rest my head there). It’s like those pillows you just hug when you are lying on your bed because it feels amazing. It is as soft as the softest cotton candy. Probably it is as soft as a cloud. A bunny would feel like a rock standing next to it. A lot of funny moments come to my mind when I think about my brother and his pillow. I’m pretty sure he’d rather being without me for a month than without that pillow for one week. I can’t judge him. We fight a lot. Nothing aggressive or violent, just those childish arguments brothers always have. So how could I be compared to the most comfortable pillow on the planet? Even I accept there’s no comparison between us. I myself have managed to steal Alex’s best-loved pillow when he’s asleep. The best way to make my brother mad, to really make him mad is to hide his pillow. You can trust me when I say that my brother prefers to sleep hugging that pillow instead of having one under his head. He’d sleep on the floor if he had to choose between sleeping on a comfortable bed with any amount of pillows but his favorite one or sleeping on the floor with it. Have you ever been asked this silly question “If you had to move to a lonely island and you could bring only one thing with you, what would it be?”  Well guess what my brother would say, yeah you are right He’d choose his pillow. His pillow for him is like a treasure chest for a captain, he appreciates it that way, like a treasure, and it’s priceless. I don’t think that my brother would never ever let it go or at least not for a long time, a really long time. And that’s it about my brother’s favorite thing on Earth.






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