from the way his disheveled hair
a hypnotic entranced stare
into your milky way eyes
one I'd give anything to keep
you here or me over there.

a thoughtless action
flying through clouds,
heart racing
skin jumping
to cross into your land.
in the mist of night
when the sun no longer stays
in the painted skies
I grab my bags and race,
race to the ends of the earth
just to meet your grasp.

you pull me in,
like a sailboat to shore
in your warm embrace
with a goofy smile
on that handsome face
and hair like silk
in innocence and intimacy.

a night of passion,
a day long overdue
the sun peaks out yet again
and here I am,
bare,
grinning
waking up right
next to you.

mid-morning breakfast
of pancakes and buttered
kisses
hands at my waist
as though my dreams
and wishes
were born at this place
and time
forever yours
as you remain mine.

two idiots in love,
where reason and crime
treason and bad times
no longer matter.
so long as I stare,
into your candied brown
eyes
just to be in your world
erases the darkness of mine.

the sun sets again
the day I must return
bitter tears
lonely fears
my heart begins to ache
and burn.
I see the sorrow
in those once candied
eyes
and I work,
endlessly
for a familiar face,
that joyful
goober
that started
the race
in my heart.

my love,
I swear
there will never be another
for your smile
your heart
you spirit affects
me like none other.
one day,
my heart,
I swear
I'll join yet another race
through friendly skies
and free of tears
to spend my life
with you
as your wife
for the rest of our years.

with my head up
to the constellations
I thank the stars
to have left the mental prison
where you still are.
your rules
you called the shots
they twisted
contorted
like ****** up
pretzel knots
I smile to know
I broke free from your web of lies.

your smile,
your words,
your notions
they used to mean everything...
now what?
I see fun house mirrors,
clowns with painted faces
a circus of *******
takes the place of what once was.

I look at you with no surprise,
no wonder
no amazement
like an open book
like glass on gravity
I smash you through the pavement.
no matter the time
no matter the distance
your actions boil my blood
seeping my dark energy
like an enchantment.

why are you like this?
why is this **** okay?
like I didn't give the world
and back
for you
to say I was doing okay.
"pride is a sin"
you said it once yourself
back when I was little,
now I'm no longer small
I stand proud
stand tall
knowing if the tables ever turned
the lessons you made me learn
good to know
I can only count on you to say
"welp... **** it all."

in shiny black shoes,
with tiny knee highs
things were different,
life was simple
people were scary
my friends,
my interests
were imaginary.

four little walls
sealed with a door
whispers and giggles
stuffed plushies
strewn along the floor.
looking you in the eye
struck me with fear
raising your tone
twisting your face
into disgust
disappointment
or simply blind rage
made me want to melt
deep
into the contents of the floor.

when I grew older
I felt I was stronger,
the will to cry
when I looked into your eyes
was suppressed much longer.
my friends,
once imaginary,
started having faces
going by names
like Susan
or Gary.

the little flower
still waiting to bud
began to bloom
to blossom
to develop new fears
from choosing
the right spot
on the
big
blue
rug,
to rejection
in my high school years.

now
here I rest,
in a dormitory bed
short, velvet hair
spread across the pillows
night after night
snuggled close
to my plushies
picked up from the old
floor.
nightmares,
night terrors
panic attacks
low-self esteem.
a smile on the outside
isn't as it seems.
I may grow older
may shut off my
emotions,
grow colder,
seem stronger,
the strength not to cry
lasts longer,
I still am that little girl,
that moonchild
sitting
waiting
eager to burst through.
ready to expose
my weaknesses
like moonlight
upon the river.

sunrise,
sunset.
the chill of the air crawls under my skin
like a newborn infant
innocent,
overthinking it,
wondering if something I did
would put an end to it.

the personas three,
three little girls
each in their different ways.

the first one in her puffy dresses,
covered in crayon-stained messes.
it was the one I used to know.
so small and helpless,
so happy and carefree
kept to herself
like a young turtle in its shell.
when I saw her in a puddle's reflection
of rainy days and gray skies,
I saw pure, untapped happiness.
a state of mind that no longer seems
attainable.

the personas three,
three little girls
each in their different ways.

the second girl showed anger.
like the flamed rage
of one thousand demons.
a dragon in her heart,
no filter in her mind
scorching the world and leaving it
with jet-black ashes.
she is the girl, in the rear-view mirror
that I fear will draw closer.
closer, so that I can feel the steam
of her troubled breath
rush past my shoulders.

the last was the one I've come to accept,
the one I choose when I am down.
sometimes I wish,
for a shadow of a moment
I was down for the count.
the number reached ten,
no coming back
and making those crayon-stained
messes,
nothing but torn little dresses
and when I look
in the bathroom mirror,
tears pour down her face
like the sorrows at the bottom
of the glass.
at the end of each puff of smoke,
the bitter taste after every pill,
and the pit in her heart
once filled with love,
is now fear and regret
doubt and insecurity,
all of which makes
little boys and girls,
men and women with curls,
genuinely upset.

the personas three.
three little girls.
each,
in their own
different,
perturbed
ways.

after the sunset stilled,
throughout the house,
with a day of regret
and multiple factors
that changed my mood
dinner was done
laundry was spun
and today
I wanted to choose
good.

as my love far away
punched in the clock
I sat trapped here
in a house
where lunacy grew
like moss on trees.

the clock struck five
father dearest walks in
distress on his face
takes a deep breath
and
views my dinner with
bittersweet disgrace.

next, he turns right
bending down with his might
to see the dishes
are not arranged to his delight
I looked away in sarcasm
to hear the phrase
"half-assing"
and nearly stood up and parted
ways.

I chose strength instead,
nearly laughed when he said
"I know you, my child
I can see your ways
the way you say "yes"
is to run and second-guess
doing things in a rush
because you couldn't care
less."

it's cute, my dear dad
how you think you know me.
never in this house
have I felt so lonely,
so dismissed so ignored
so trapped and so bored
for you to pass
through
your lips
complete
and utter *******
as if you ever took a step back
free of critiques
or attacks
and try on the shoe
of what I do...
to see if it fits.

the other day,
as the moon had risen
I sat at the dinner table.
the morning was sure hell
as you grunt and whine and yell
over something so stupid
as the hair resting upon her shoulders.

her gentle hair on her head
messy and fresh out of bed
needed a sprucing before school
my mother said.
in an attempt
to be of assistance
I brushed away the resistance
of little wisps shying away
from her braids.

a crucial mistake
for my mother could not fake
the misplaced rage
as it reddened her face.
deep into my neck
did my nails dig in
a simple error in
judgment
became a sin.

here I am,
same dinner table as before
to hear her scream indirectly
once more.
in the midst of the bullets
she threw into my ears
there was a painting
nailed on the wall
in the corner of it all
that she should hear.

today, I choose joy,
the words painting in black
the background painted
in colors of warm
made me think back,
she's the one who purchased that.

you choose joy today,
yet anger tomorrow
chose petty next week
and so I chose sorrow.
how could one hang the portrait
of today,
and still,
feel validation
in the words you say?
honestly, it makes me sick
you
two-faced
disgraced
the nerve to make me feel
out
of
place
hypocrite.