My unfolded hand reveals a collection of
wishes that haven’t been created yet
A dandelion for my sanity
and a wishbone for my brother’s health
The misty rain promised to collect these hopes
and turn them into something real
I twirl my body into a spin with arms stretched
to grab a handful of solemn cloud
But soon the thunder crashes
carrying my song away
the lightening strikes turning my wish dust to fire
And the ashes in my hands remind me that
dreams don’t come true without a nightmare to prove it
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
The starlight fell into your eyes
and became a series of blinks
as teardrops seeped out
from beneath your eyelids
As the clock's hands reached
for the number twelve,
I reached
for your hand
to remind you
that warmth comes from blood
and blood comes
from being brave.
I wore my Cinderella ball gown
but kicked off my glass slippers for a night
to remember
that sometimes you need saving, too.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
Cold wintry nights were not her favorite kind of eve,
especially when she was already warm by the fire with Henry - she didn’t want to leave.
They were two wrapped together hands that stay warm in December even without mittens.
Their eyes were through and through passion. With each other, they were so profoundly smitten
Henry’s love for Cora traveled deep as the sea
and Cora’s love for Henry, like a young sprouting tree.
For they had only known each other what some might call a short while
but they knew right when they met, their love would not be described as shallow or juvenile.
They shared and they reminisced about the day they first met.
They spoke of laughter and of joy, the kind that no enemy can ever threat.
She gazed into Henry’s dancing eyes, which were hallmarks of his heartened ****** features
And she asked with anticipation, “Henry, how are we such loving creatures?”
He answered, “Cora, as good as we are, were raised in shelters of hate
but the both of us became stronger after breaking through the metal barred gate.”
Cora remembered each stinging slap generously distributed by her brother
while her ears still rang with harsh words and empty threats yelled by her mother.
And Henry, such a young boy was he
when told by his father what a man really ought to be.
His body should able the strangling fingers’ grip
and wear the accessory of a bruised, ****** lip.
Cora recalled the screeches, her baby sister’s blue cry,
while Henry relived the visions of a couch covered with beer bottles where his careless father did lie.
But the past remains just that when your soul cries for that one
who stands and lays and walks beside you until the moon turns to sun.
Henry and Cora both drag a dark past
but never cease holding their gaze and each other’s hands because they know what they have will last.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
If the glass is half full
then why don't you make the extra effort
and fill it all the way
and make me believe
that I'm worth the extra time
and that I am more
than five or six dreary days a month
If rainbows never appeared in the sky
then there would be no proof that it rained yesterday
because you only believe that
everything should be colorful
instead of the grayish tones of a murky day
that somehow lands
in my category of beautiful
Lines only exist in your world
because you're so used to drawing them
but lines
to me
should never be drawn
but rather created
with the intention of outlining something important
Take your time sending that apology my way
because for now
I need to take my own time
learning how to control the enthusiasm
I would have to accept it ever so quickly
As to be drawn back to you so easily
avoiding all quality of dignity
and all aspects of self respect
because I want to believe that people can be perfect for one another
I want to believe that you can be the perfect outline to my world
And I know you can
Just try.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
Someday my body will feed the plants
that have protected me from misery
as the trees provide shelter
from the rain that tries to erase the tears clinging to my face
that I need
to prove
that I can still feel something
I should be thankful to the gods
who thought I had the strength to bear this pain
that presented me with things
that should never be classified as living nightmares
Someday I plan to open every door
in a vacant, rundown building
to symbolize how open doors
mean nothing
if no one is there to stand behind them
and celebrate the strength you gained
that allowed you to turn the ****
and find the key that someone hid
many years ago
And maybe someday
while I'm at it
I'll prove that broken dreams
only become broken if they fall on cement
and shatter
so I recommend spending your entire life
in an empty field
all by yourself protecting your dreams
the soft ground would provide security
and the loneliness
would provide serenity
And somedays may come faster than tomorrows
so I should start planning my somedays now
while there's still time
while there's still cliches that I believe
while I still have hope.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
If I tell myself
that I don't care anymore
it saves me
the guilt
of burdening people with this illness lurking
in the depths of my soul
it saves me
the stomach aches
that manifest whenever jealousy decides to creep underneath my skin
causing tingly, warm sensations to fester so willingly
and it saves me
the hate that I have for myself because I know I will be responsible
for taking my own life someday
If I tell myself
that it doesn't matter anymore
I'm able to breathe again
because maybe I've forgotten how to
after all of these years
of rapid heartbeats and shortness of breath
And if I am able to forget about everything that happened in my past
then these scars are only as real as the blood on my skin
only as visible as their own pasts
But if I didn't care
and it didn't matter
and I was able to forget
then my strength would only be as strong
as my ever-changing imagination
that everything can be perfect
My story would only be as powerful
as the wet grass
after a thunderstorm that has ripped through a field
changing one type of day to a different one.
So for now,
I will rest
and dream
and realize that
forgetting is really remembering the pain
that caused you to never want to keep any memory
that had the ability to tarnish new ones.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
I'm tired of saying my heart is broken
because
I don't believe
that a heart breaks
If something is broken
then it can be fixed
but hearts are not meant
to heal or to fix
they are meant to
scar and to remember
They are meant
to inherit a piece of this earth
to withstand the pressure of change
for we must remain ourselves
To be the one part of us that can be heard
by the eardrums of one hundred and three planets
and four million stars
A heart does not symbolize the love received
but the compassion we render to the souls of others
My heart is not broken
my heart is not crushed
my heart is beating
my heart is here
I am alive.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
I gazed down at your fingertips
holding a mask that always seemed to readily cover your face
whenever emotion threatened
to seep out of you
creating puddles
that could soak my knees
but never did.
And because your stories
are too explicit to repeat
I guess they were told to me
to prevent you
from ever knocking on death's door
to find more answers
like you did
that one December eve.
I was the blood that kept you alive
but failed to keep you satisfied
as if surviving isn't a goal we all should aim to achieve
but a victory that we are blessed with
when we feel we have been defeated
And as hours mold into a day
I realize
some afternoons are not meant to be productive
but to run around in circles
following the same questions
we have asked for years
My nightmares built a kayak
to cut through the ocean of lies they told to you
and if my arms were strong enough
to bear the weight of burdens that were forced upon you
maybe I wouldn't have collapsed that night
because to be strong for you
is to be everything in this world you need
They were the tools you used
to carve a lie into your soul
and say it back to me
every time I said three words to you
Maybe two can become one
but one will never look in two different directions
when being chased down
by the memories that lurk behind our futures
and lock away our pasts
Because the possibility for you exists
that someday your heart will become
more than an *****
but first we must sever the hope
that bonds our hands as one
First we must adopt identities
from an orphanage
that only houses broken personalities
and destinies
that have been obstructed
by fallen dreams
and shape them to be our own
to prove that hands are miracles
that fold euphoric memories
before placing them in a box
that shall only be opened
on the murkiest days
If these hands can hold masks to protect us
and assemble a better perspective
then we have mastered
the art of definition which creates who we are
But I will stay by your side as long as
there is enough oxygen for us to breathe
while being in such close proximity
because standing beside you
is the one thing you need
turned backs are not.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
I stand in the dark
because resting would be too easy
and so would loving you
and so would hating you
for purposes that don't belong in understanding eyes
or careful hearts
As the snow fills the air with white crystals
and blankets the ground in cold
I realize the only reason I believe it's winter
is because you told me it was January third
as if your words are a food source
that my hunger craves
and life depends on
as if you could be all I need
Next time the skies turn grey
I will paint them blue with white clouds and airplanes
to make you believe skies aren't what determine
whether or not it's a good day
And if you ever wonder why the stars are full of edges
ask sky who outlines them
and it will tell you it's because
everything leads to making points
not proving trust
which you, in fact,
already knew.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
Love as solid as the air that we see in the cold
surrounding our souls
breathing into our frustrations
for days of isolation
and weeks of pain
that never made us stronger after all
A dreamcatcher hangs above my head
just to make it easier
for you to ****** those dreams away
And hearts are not meant to feel
but meant to suffer
from lies
that flow like blood
pouring into crystal vases
to feed the red roses
you sent to me
as another apology
for words
that should have remained unsaid
But said is the tense you seem to use
as if filters were only for water coming out of silver faucets
I have become the alphabet
as you manipulate me into any sentences you wish to spout off
I have become the mirror
that only shows you who you really are
when you're the one who chooses to look
I have become the trees
that you cut down
just to feel warm at night
I have become useless
Useless to everyone
except you.
As if uses are things that you abduct
to never have any intention of giving back
And those lies
and those words
and the "I love you"
were all the things
I used
to feel like I do now.
But I would give them back
Oh, how I wish
I could give them back.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC