Broken glass shatters
I admire its beauty
To reflect my soul

Did I tell you my truth
Did I tell you my lie
Does it matter to you
If I keep it inside

We all get to know
These things in the end
Does it matter to you
If I only pretend

I read what you said
About writing the truth
And how
Creativity is measured
Under your roof

But here in the real world
There's no reason or rhyme
Why must you be
Yourself every time?

Sure
It all sounds good
The rules that you make
Stuck in your boxes
Lost in your faiths...

I like when you show
That you care,
I really do.
You don't even realize
How happy it makes me
When you defend me,
When you protect me,
When you hug me tightly
Telling me "It's okay."
Even now, I mentioned
I missed talking to you;
You swooped in and
Decided you were going
To make it right.
So now we're talking more.
Once again, my wonderful
Best friend and I
Are enjoying our friendship.
It brings me joy
To hear you laugh,
To see you smile,
To listen to you sing
Melancholy love songs
And songs that we both love.
I just wish that our talks,
Our hugs,
Our games,
Our singing,
Our jokes,
Our songs...
I just wish they would turn
Into something more.

Like a plane in the
fog
looking for a place to
land
Like a man in a
homeless shelter listening for the rapture
A pelican on a pier
eyeing his next meal
the last apple on a
tree all ready
to fall

Remember I started with blue
skies in front of me
I studied my flight plan well
I knew I'd be landing

I knew for sure
it wasn't going to be hell
I always tried to do so well,
focusing in on innocence
when ever I was able to

But there are failures of compass
The phantom captain takes
a nap

The instruments may keep on
saying you're right on track
But
the only trust I have is
in the Northern Star
and in Mars high
in the sky.

It seems impossible
to be so lost

Like a plane in the
fog
looking for somewhere
to land.

Like a woman working tables
until two a.m.
Her fitness app keeps saying
a hundred years this shift

The fuel is evaporating
The miles to go before zero
keeps hopping

Like a whale without a culture
no one to talk to
The sky is a 300 mile high
air ocean
I thought I was free
to get from here to there

Like a window with a view
of a brick wall

Phoenix in the summer
A tsunami on dry land
A river without a name
A cougar and no game

Like a lover whose left
and no way to find their name

So many aspects of this life
Departures and arrivals
a one way ticket

There is a great darkness
out in the distance
I know it's getting closer
but
I keep on drifting

Like a plane in the fog
looking for a place to land.

speculation or rumination?
at what point has fact infiltrated
my own imagination?