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Personal Note:

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Poem

So in standing as a part of me,
as much as the pencil tip still in my palm
sharp broken under fluorescent white rooms
in a pod in 3rd grade,
I wish to know promises beyond good intentions
for this pain is carried right under translucent skin,
where you can still see it if I stretch out just right.
Intentions break as cooling glass
quite often simply from being handled improperly
After all, they are merely fancy, dressed up thoughts
cotton candy whipped and twirled 'round grains
of perhaps a long lost truth or something you once heard
like shapes of poisonous leafs, or the slanting eyes
of a poisonous snake
These polished truths, ground down to where there is
standing room only (in the recesses of your brain)
are thereby pulled up to be tossed, candy coated
and served up as full blown intentions
So, intentions, as well "intentioned" as they are,
can have bits of poisonous fact at their core,
perhaps even pain to be broken off in palms
who winced at the shock of adoration betrayal.
Carrying the skin, as we do,
it's our ultimate job to protect it
and to limit the lodging of foreign items
(candy coated or not)
to a minimum, whether they be lead
or whether they be the kind of motivated intention
that may or may not ever be.
It's with this request that I step back to watch
the cogs of determination sift truths
in blackened brain vaults, pulling out every file 'till
you find the one marked: "ME".
I watch you strip the non-essentials,
having eaten the whipped up sweets 
almost to the point of intention sickness,
bits of non-essential trivia still glistening in your smile,
while you step into the character I love most,
a man of promise,
worthy of removing thirty year old lead from my open palm.

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