Authenticity Poems

The silence between the words

I love the silence between words, because when I’m talking to her,
every time she stutters, my heartbeat waits for her words to make me alive again.
Every time she looks at me, I think that maybe she’s the one.
Every time I confess my love for her, her silence between the words makes me feel important.

Was she

My soul was killing my flaws

I look at my soul killing its flaws. I appreciate it and let it do so. But when I came back to earth to show them a perfect human, I realized my mistakes made me who I am. Without my flaws, I am just a perfect human—but not me.

Finding Reality

I hear again and again, of people searching for what is real,
Looking for the answers that they seek is like climbing up a hill.
Their truth and their authentic self, they seldom if ever will find,
If all they do is listen to others and never use their mind. 

Based on the things I’ve seen and heard;

Taking A Look Inside

Should a man dare to look within?
Search secret places of hidden sin?
The lack of which could be exhilarating,
But those long loss, debilitating.

Even those revealed can be a gift,
Confession, forgiveness, they could give a lift.
Or an insight into his authenticity,
Could open his eyes that he might see.

Through the illusion, that’s led him astray,
Guiding him back to

Quiet Turns

Each morning drifts like mist—
soft, uncertain,
but somewhere in its hush,
I feel the weight
of something turning dark nearby.

I once imagined
this place would be still,
that the walls would not echo
with things unsaid.
But peace, it seems,
is not something we always share.

Patterns repeat—
whispers circling like wind in a cage.
The days loop like shadows
on the same old path,
a wheel that

To Walk Beside You

"To Walk Beside You"


I met you in the silence
Between laughter and retreat,
Where fire met still water
And wild hearts dared to meet.

You saw the storm inside me
And called it too much flame,
But it’s the heat that forged my spirit,
Not a thing I’ll ever tame.

You asked for open softness,
For a love that wraps and mends,
But love is

The Prismatic Self

I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer
a soul bare-r (but not always my own); a word-weaver. 
I pull at thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs
and cirrus, frayed dungarees and threadbare memories 
until I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems.
Sometimes I get caught in my own knots—
I cut myself loose of those naughty strings.

I

Society's Demise

In our society those who are pure are mistaken for weak.
They are taken advantage of
"Whipped into shape" by society
"Oh you don't eat enough" ends up being 
"Are you going to eat all of that?"
"Why don't you have any friends? Are you depressed?"
to
"You have too many friends are you that desperate?"
Being "whipped into shape" by society

Ten Gallon Hat

I come from the borough of Queens, New York
My classmates call me a Klutz and a dork
Those names pervaded my soul, taking a toll
Being at the bottom of the totem pole.

Then Dad took me to the town of Tortilla Flat
I walked into a store, bought a ten-gallon hat
I started talking like John Wayne, also bought

Unmasking to Genuine Authenticity

To unmask a false identity is to identify genuine authenticity.
It's painful, no, it kills me, but it's the only way to heal what's deep.
Pain in my body, it was a lie to me.
Deep regrets built in from long ago.
No.
Deep pits that have since grown cold.
The shame was underlying, and i craved the construct of what

Authenticity

Unveiled and untethered , I stand tall ,
A reflection of truth , without disguise or fall.
No masks to hide , no scripts to recite ,
My soul's raw beauty , in pain sight.

The armor shed , the walls laid low ,
Vulnerability's gentle glow.
Embracing flaws , and imperfections too ,
A masterpiece , in progress anew.

In authenticity's warm

Ain't Here

What a tragedy 
Nothing but life 
No love just reality
People making promises 
They say they'll keep 
But I've been wondering 
Where's the loyalty

Mindless sayings and
Heartless love 
Who on earth are
We supposed to trust
Family supposedly
The best remedy
But really just
a lot of misery

punked

We’re on October break, which is a 6-day weekend. For the last two weeks, everyone’s been making plans.
“What do you think of Cancún?” Sunny’d asked me.
“The only people going to Mexico are on the cheap or trapped in a trunk.” I’d answered.

After two weeks of weighing every conceivable terrestrial destination, amenities and available attractions, we

AUTHENTICITY of POETRY

When  people comment  
on the style or way 
I write and the words 
I use to express and convey 
my thoughts and views.
I tend to stop and ponder 
my road less traveled . 

Acknowledging,  appreciating , 
admiring the authors, teachers 
scribes of many nations 
and the outer regions of the universe ,

Gentle's Deity

Once at my lowest, yet I stride,  
With the poise of a boss, I take my pride.  
Light beckons softly at the tunnel's end,  
In lands of the blind, the one-eyed man ascends.  

I need no admiration; the draw’s reversed,  
She sent her photo—a sweet smile rehearsed.  
Alone in

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