Broken buddha: creative writing after a late night discussion with a teenager

You could judge, we all do,
but you'll probably be wrong.
I judged. I got it wrong.
Flaws make the shape.
Learning is imperfect, classrooms aren't.
Dreams make the life, make the path.
Wisdom is earned. Find trouble,
look for the wisdom. Not surely,
but bruises are brown, purple, red, and yellow.
Winning is just golden.

Creative writing #2: Six Years

Laughter, giggling or chuckling. 
Belly laughs and throwing back my head 
to hear my scarred lungs wheeze. 
I forgot you used to do that. 
I've never met a woman who makes me laugh 
as much as you, 
and you would probably laugh that off. 
Your body language is a walk 
along a beach, 
in the sunset, 
with a crowd of people 
smiling and laughing. 
Wearing turmeric coloured clothing 
and tripping 
on the sand 
with a drink in hand. 
I do not see a beautiful woman, 
I see a beautiful existence and a gravity, 
a current that you pick others up in.
I'm sorry things have been so bad.
A photo of a ginger cat relaxing on a path

Thanks to my cat: creative writing on a Saturday morning

Gingy, do not move.
You are my purring paperweight.
It is nine thirty four and all I can hear are the clocks.
I stroke your head as my love rolls over.
Your eyes say 'steady' as the bed rocks
and the covers are tugged.
I stroke the back of your head
and your ears twitch.
You purr and I am grateful,
I cannot remember the last time
I was so clear headed at the start of a weekend.

You are my totem.
I will use you to anchor myself in what others may do.
Whilst you are here I can lie to my self.
You are my excuse to assume
a position of leisure
when all my instincts usually say is work.
Get up. Do stuff.
Be prolific.
Death awaits and life is always ticking and tocking.
But I stretched.
And you turned around and jumped off.