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Coming Off Small

Counting The Long Days, Tilling The Greens

All Tarted Up

Don't Tread On Me.

why We celebrate the losers

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

I Long For Stars

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

All Beings Considered

Little Water Bug ( learning the lesson of true pain)

Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

And Even Stars Die

Crowded Out

I Feel Fine(r)

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Max on the max

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Boy Restored

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

(A Prayer of Intercession--Brief Joy)

Love A Cat

Cuba Libre

Fragile Shell Of Morning


A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

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The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

some days
the light goes on in the attic
the consciousness begins to grow
I am my lover's heart
I am my brother's keeper
and also the keeper
of the sister I've yet to know

we're one and all
sons and daughters with a legacy
one of addiction
one of pain, one of grief
we point the finger to outsiders
that surround us
saying we're so not like them
but that's a false-front belief

all of us are addicts
this I've learned to know
all addicted to something or someone
all with baggage we have to let go

look at all the people you see
the parade of people on the street
some look fancy some look dirty
inside they're all the same
they're trying to be invisible and discreet
no one wants to expose their secrets
no one wants to have their sins laid bare
no one wants to know the world is lonely
that there are judges every where

sometimes the light goes on in the attic
sometimes what's up there lays undiscovered
the dusty files lie unclaimed unrecognized
and rarely seen
the truth is that we all are addicts
and if you think not
you're lost more than you seem

point the finger at the others
at the problems
call and label them what you will
but the problem is in the attic
and that its dark there and for some
it always will
be that way

our problems are our ladders
our worries make us whole
our secrets are better shouted
our weaknesses give us soul

gather up all the broken people
gather up the broken planet
gather up and bring them to your attic
see how a little light
helps you see yourself and your relationship
to it all
and then you become a part of something
and you become someone
become the light that attracts
a whole new world.

Legal Copyright for this poem/work and also for this
writer/author Melissa A Howells and also for this
legally copyright site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

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