The Unspoken Land – From Spill Your Guts and Use Your Words

Most of your friends
know of their names.
Others say they are
privates or shames.
But I know they serve
an important purpose,
so much so that
we do them a disservice
by hiding them in
the drawers and closets,
just come out and say them,
the names of the four “its.”

There’s the butt, the penis,
vagina, and boobs.
The gang’s all there
and the humor is lewd.
They mostly go by safe names
people dub them
when they discuss the stuff
that’s going to outlive them.

Why must we muffle
these beautiful creatures?
They are as much
a part of our features
as the face, the shoulders,
the tip-top of the skull,
but they can be misused
and abused,
made hurtful.

Some people start
with a female part,
but then they flip
and a male they start.
A they or a them,
a he or a she,
it doesn’t quite matter
who you’re meant to be
as long as you love
and are kind to your peers,
for no one should dictate
life’s cheers, jeers, and fears.

Others remain
A woman or man
and love their own kind
and stick with their clan.
Man crushes on guy,
lady treasures a gal,
you do you,
don’t get caught in the trowel
of hate, hypocrisy,
bias, and mean;
to try and understand
is the best way to glean.

So if you can find
a safe place to spill
your guts, your feels,
your flailing free will,
keep these in the back,
unless needed to hack,
the code of life,
which could bring you strife.

You might use these tools,
to ward off fools,
or to keep your cools,
or to spin your spools,
but whatever you do,
don’t use them to drool.
Take great care,
preserve them like jewels.

My Veins – A Poem from Spill Your Guts and Use Your Words

This one goes out to all the vampires and labbies out there.

Keep on sticking and keep that microscope lit.

I used to think
the blue strings in my wrists
were sparkly mirages,
not roads that take twists.

Through my body they carry
my blood to and fro;
my veins and arteries,
swoosh, swirl, and flow.

But then I got older
and found that my veins
are keys to locked doors;
my veins hold the reins.
My bloodwork tells secrets;
big ones, in fact.
Such as how much I need
to drink water to last.
Or how much I should walk,
how hard I should try
to push myself further
and make myself fly.

Neutrophils, lymphocytes,
microscope, show me the light.
Leukemia creeps.
Anemia is cheap.
Go on, platelets,
pile on in a heap.

I tried running blindly
from the vampiric lives
that came quickly at me
with needles and knives,
but they tackled me down,
tourniquet so tight,
jabbed ever so gently,
I felt not one bite.

Now I am floating,
only able to enter
if invited in
to the heart’s red center.
My lab tests disclosed
my current state of living.
I think I’ll go back
to donate and keep giving.

My Feet – A Poem from Spill Your Guts and Use Your Words

I attempt to trample
Ten thousand steps each day,
It’s struggling yet fulfilling,
My shoes they start to fray,
The bones in my feet,
They ache and complain,
The muscles persisting,
Feeling no refrain.

My feet are my livelihood,
My solo means of movement
If they are to turn off,
I’d still find a way in.
A wheelchair,
A stroller,
Skateboard or scooter,
Anything that rolls,
And keeps me uprooted.

One day I’ll get strength
To walk ‘round the globe,
To traverse the Pyramids,
The Cape of Good Hope.
Glide on the Great Wall
Stroll the Taj Mahal,
Hop over cherry blossoms
In Japan as they fall.
Skip through the Colosseum,
Hike the Grand Canyon,
Tiptoe softly through
the Tower of London.
Tap dance in Stonehenge,
Stomp in the caves
Of Patagonia, Easter Island,
Peru’s frothy waves.
I’ll gallop in Greece,
Trot through Barcelona,
Parade through Sydney,
Roll out of Roma,
Race sheep in New Zealand,
Bury toes in the sand
Deep in the Sahara,
Death Valley and Moab.
The journey will round me
And offer me growth.
I’ll walk where I want to,
I’ll admire not loathe.

Saunter, stride,
Traipse, and tread,
I’d walk until
My feet were dead
If it meant
I could fully immerse
In the pockets and folds of
Mother Nature’s purse.

So paint your toes,
Massage your feet,
Give those tarsals
Good pieces of cleat,
To stand on,
To walk on,
To go through the day
Your feet need your kindness,
Not focus astray

These two little darlings
Hold you upright,
They grow funky toenails
They get cold at night.
Or sometimes get sweaty
When in front of a crowd,
Or trip over sticks
When hiking above clouds.

They can cramp and break,
Sprain and pose,
Rub them and slather
On lotion with rose.
They deserve the best kicks,
They hold up your knees,
Tickle your feet, go on,
Give them a squeeze.