Nest

It takes two to build a nest, sometimes more.
The outer shell must be hard, with softness at its core.
It must protect from the outside, sufficient place to grow, to hide.
It must be in the perfect location, within the family's space
where friends can visit but others find no trace.

A human home is much the same on a larger scale.
The roof must not under bashing storm fail.
The core (dare I say the mother's heart) must be the softest comfort;
and vicious as the father when left as last resort.
It must be large enough for all to grow, but small enough to keep all close.
Enough city for me, enough country for you; a cocktail mixed to perfect dose.

That is what this crow desires--what this family requires.
We could build up from the ground, or rebuild what we've found.
However we get our nest, be sure, for you, for him, for us--the best.

A little goes a long, long way.

Gripping at a past
that managed to pass
while one's mind went astray.
Whatever was lost at play
was better spent than that which is lost in other ways;
Anyways, lovers and friends get too serious in life
and even holiday is strife.

Mistaking friends for enemies because
they want to do what's best
for a full grown woman child.
No trust in her abilities.
Questioning each decision and act:

Judging her driving as unsafe,
her little mishaps as more than common place.
Mistaking her day dreams as sanity ripping at the seams.
Seeing her stress as indication of a mess
bigger than can even exist.

No faith in her abilities
a raised eyebrow if she trips or slips
or giggles in fits.
Nothing is good enough.
Weak is too weak, but don't be tough.

Tearing down her self-confidence
three grains
one complaint and two judgements
at a time
If only she would let if fall
she'd have no one to call.

But she won't even let her foes take her down
and her friends will have to force her to the ground
to take it all away.

And what's worse is she knows the love is there
and that they do really care
but they are hurting when they try to improve

She wonders if she'll have to move.
Confidence in self is secure
but the other didn't endure
even a little bump

it's like they waited to jump
at something, anything to fixate upon
and all her credibility with him was gone.

She wants back her biggest fan,
who wouldn't question if she shot a man
Who knew that the scissors in her hand
could only do good.

Maybe she's not quite the woman she had been,
but that's life;
we're torn down and build ourselves back and then
life goes on until it does not
but each other is what we've got.


She wants things to be as they should.
Perhaps somethings do not ever heal
like confidence in others; and perceptions' unreal
consequence. Suddenly it all makes sense.

Excepting Control

Having perfected the entity, not a feather out of place;
The countless hours of effort forgotten;
Permitting no reality to alter personality.
Monitored existence, automatic expression, erupting happiness, time.

The excitement of careening across the solid double line that separated
self from other id;
Accepting negative spaces in positive places;
Somehow excepting control.

The forgotten hours of effort, like da Vinci with his paint;
the ceiling of creation crumbled, and this artist wears the taint.
Once done can be undone, destroyed and redone again.
Countless hours of forgotten effort waisted, and for what?

Mingled souls, a solid chance, empty goals, a desperate call.
No longer can the personality perfect the self,
as its sum equates others who must equal all.

Perfecting the entity, not a personality out of place
nurturing each soul
Permitting no reality to alter family
Never Excepting Control

Getting Back

Captured in a breath or gasp
released in a sigh or crash
Amazed by a drop of dew
perplexed by precarious you.

Tortured by self failings
amused by the tortured's flailings
Flailing to amuse the crowd
Failing and remaining proud

Designs on life inspire strife
designing death with a metaphorical knife
Scrambling to get back to once when were
who was if I could then again purr

Confusing, you say, to me
I grin
Being the lost one free
again
except to perfect and just be

And the crow laughs

I smile, because not everyone can
laugh with me.