What if I left?
Hit the road like the
Weary Traveler that I am?
Would anyone know I was gone, or would they only notice the
Work that has one less body to attend to it?

Like an addiction, I crave the
Back roads
New adventures
Memories created
Scenic views
Wonderous splendor
Strong breeze
Fresh air
If I swallow this drug one more time
(Just one more, I promise, this time I swear will be the last), then maybe I can find myself enough to
Stay.

So let's go, I need to feel alive.

I have a best friend
He's not like any other
His hair is
Red
White
His nose is
Red
Big
His eyes are
Amber
Fire
Where he once was
Stoic,
Now he's
Silly
Once was
Guarded
Now is
Guarding
Once was
Careful
Now is
Carefree
Once was
Stressed
Now is
Strong

Always patient
Always forgiving
Always trusting
Always kind at heart

My best friend.

Today I jumped the chasm with my own
Two feet.
Pushoff.
Feet through air.
Eyes wide, traveling beneath my feet to the
Gorge below.
Breathing in the screams of the
Helpless who were grappling with gnarled hands; reaching for my
Ankles to pull, but then
You held me; Your
Breath caught my arms and You
Carried me.
Feet on dirt;
Eyes on You;
I am home.

Decisions, decisions
Like a ticking clock
Decisions, decisions
When ever will it stop?

Pinwheeling, pinwheeling
From my ear to ear
Pinwheeling, pinwheeling
Which one to choose? Oh dear!

If I choose the one, I may lose myself.
If I choose the other, I may lose everyone.

Bustle
All the city hustle
Clang
Watch the high rise train

Smile politely
Returns a hat tipped slightly
March along
To the pavement song

See the sights
From the top floor heights
Fun-house reflections
In the Bean, deceptions

Stars at night
Made by buildings' light
Sleep's almost done,
Time for more fun!

Sometimes I feel alone and I want to die
And I want to die, but this poem doesn't rhyme
And if this poem doesn't rhyme then why do I try
'Cause if I try then maybe I won't want to die.
And that's how you make a poem rhyme.

Thomas O'Reilly was not a fool,
Nor was he depressed or teased at school.
In fact, he was nobody, a no one at all,
Which is why he thought it nice to take a large fall...

So they'd know who he was, a real person now,
One who could choose how he left his mark on the town.
He thought death romantic and noble and right,
He thought it each day, morning, noon, and night.

What Thomas O'Reilly didn't know was, however,
When you're dead, you don't know if you were thought clever
Or nice or smart or worthy of greatness;
All you know is your version of your own self-hateness.

The greatness is in you, hiding somewhere,
It has a small voice, because like you, it is scared.
But if you find it's location, it is sure to come out,
Then loving it will make it scream and shout.

So don't be like Thomas, and live for today;
Find out what it is that makes you okay,
Try something, everything, anything new,
There's a greatness in everyone, yes, EVEN YOU!

WAKE UP
I want to
GET UP
But the weight holds its
Thick arm
Across my shoulders and it
Yells gruffly, "You do not deserve this day!"

We wrestle for a while, this arm and I,
And some days it tries to
Strangle me

But I
Always
Win

A weight is just a
Weight, no matter how
Heavy.
The arm is just an
Arm with no body, unless you give it
Yours.

I am a Queen
Cut from paper
Folded however you want me;
The creases show your wavering.

I am a Queen
Colored in gold
Left blank my heart for you;
Which you forgot to draw.

I am a Queen
Who could blow with any breeze;
Glue my feet to wood
So that I can never leave you.

I am a Queen
In a wax palace
Which melts with your touch;
But your flame can destroy me.

I am a Queen
Giving Paper Orders
To Paper People who know of no better;
Who you place before me.

I am a Queen
Sitting on my throne of cardboard,
Reigning over all;
Except you who manipulates me.

I am a Queen
Only two-dimensional,
But just as malleable
As you would like me to be.

Life is an ocean,
Leading nowhere but to some vast horizon
No one can touch.
And all the while, we go through peaks and valleys...
But if we're really honest,
We are riding the valleys,
Waiting for that next cycle,
Waiting until the next great fall,
When we reach a valley again.

Thinking of the canvas clouds,
How they shield my eyes from the sun's sharp dagger;
And turn their backs against the windy stagger.

It's as if I were boat on wind-swept seas,
Tilting with the tide,
Listing from side to side.

And my canvas clouds are there,
Holding me upright so I do not fall,
They love me, without a word at all.

I don't know if you know how tired I am
Tired of putting on the face of someone who's
Not crazy
Not terrified
Not overwhelmed
By the waves crashing overhead

My ears are ringing from how deep below the surface I am
My lungs are burning from holding my breath every moment
My tongue has teeth marks in it
My heart beats doggedly against its scars

And all the while, everyone stares at my drowning; tells me to stop struggling and just swim, ******!
But they've forgotten that I never finished swim lessons from all the times I broke my arm growing up.
They've forgotten, but me? I remember.

Dangle your feet off the edge;
It hardly feels like dangling at all when the
View is a theatre backdrop in full detail with
Moving cars that you could reach out and touch.
Still your heart panics at the thought of stepping off the
Boulder you've been standing on for so long, though you feel as if you would be
Stepping onto the theatre backdrop and leaving your
Shoe print on it.
It would be a long fall, since it's
Not a theatre backdrop after all.

I miss the
Salt water
Salt breeze
Hot sticky nights
Beads of sweat that formed on my
Temples for doing the
Smallest tasks.
Broken car
Bad roads
But the view,
My gosh, the view.

I miss the
mangy dogs
feral cats; even the
nasty centipedes and the
hairy spiders and the
Old dog laying in the sunlight with an ocean backdrop.

But most of all, I miss the
Friends that made my days worth living; the
Laughs
Antics
Shoulders to cry on
Friends that became
Family

I miss walking the halls and
Knowing every face.
Saying hello to
Every face.
Working hard and having it
Mean something.
Less pressure.

I miss my old life so badly sometimes that it
Hurts.
Life is
Tough now.

I am
Attempting to remember without coming off as
Pretentious.

I am
Grieving. Part of me
Died that day, on that plane, when I

Left.

When you look at me that way,
My stomach turns to ice and my thoughts freeze.
I utter a sentence but it sounds from far away
Flames rise in my cheeks as I've said the wrong answer

What a funny thing it is, to be made of both fire and ice

Where were you when
The clouds turned pale
And
The moon drank blood
And
The sun took its hand off my heart
Uncoupled and free, my heart ran to the
One thing it knew:
You

But where were you

Heart searching; hands finding, but it was
Not you, only
The ocean that ate
A shell
Held up to the ear, it listened to
You, but the only sound was
Silence.

Winter is a time for just
God and me. When others complain of the snow, God reminds me that he made the snow just for
me:
Pure.
White.
Innocence.
Rebirth.
The silence of a cold winter day - the silence is for me, one who hates noise.
The blowing wind is God's proclamation that He loves me; I can feel it down to my
Hair billowing, down to my
Bones. It sends
Chills up my spine.

Do You remember when I was 10 years old and I took my
Hat off in the wind just so I could feel you, and I lay in Your
Snow arms for hours, listening to the
Deer rustling through the dead trees?
The clouds turned silver as the sun sank in the hazy sky, but still I couldn't go inside; didn't want to end
Our time.

Even now, when the slush melts to puddles and the air begins to feel warm, I find I can't wait for
Snow again.