I want to dance with you,
in a field of wildflowers,
the dead of night.
I’m no butterfly,
just a moth,
leading you,
to the light.
We spin,
you twirl,
as powder flies,
off my wings.
The moon,
so bright,
she says,
it’s alright.
You jump,
from cloud,
to moonbeam,
and I follow.
You’re beautiful,
and I’m a moth,
dancing with you,
in moonlight.

She used to be,
a fairy,
translucent wings,
dances with bees.
Befriending hummingbirds,
and taking sips,
from morningdew.
Fluttering,
twirling,
in the breeze,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.
Her giggles,
made flowers,
bloom,
like fields.
She had,
tea parties,
with mice,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.

Springtime flowers,
don’t grow,
in this garden.
Not in this mess,
I must confess,
buried it deep,
inside a chest.
It’s gone now,
only haunts me,
when I sleep.
My heart aches,
such a mess,
I must confess,
it’s just,
my chest.

I don’t want,
to be,
your princess.
I want to be,
the girl,
from the,
movies.
The one,
that gets,
chased after,
even when,
it’s her fault.
Even when,
it’s raining,
and life,
doesn’t make,
any sort of,
sense.
I want to be,
that girl.
The one,
that messes up,
sometimes,
but still gets,
three out of five stars,
and you at,
the end.

My closet,
at one point,
was filled,
with,
band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live.
My bedroom floor,
it was littered,
with mismatched socks,
skinny jeans,
converse,
some to my knees,
and combat boots,
even though,
granddaddy was in the navy,
and visited Nagasaki.
Now I’m a hippie,
that subconsciously,
does the hair flip,
and people,
well,
they think,
I have a twitch.
Still own converse,
but I just don’t know,
how to let go,
of my past,
to tell the truth.
At least now,
I’m the reason,
to live.
My closet,
is spacious,
and it doesn’t,
have a door.
But it’s still full,
of band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live?
I’m on the run.

I like,
the way,
your eyes,
sparkle,
and I,
hang off,
the glitter,
in your words,
that you whisper,
in the air.
Is it the,
symmetry,
maybe the,
calamity?
But I could,
slide off,
commas,
dance under,
apostrophes,
and that’s just,
the beginning.
I’m starting,
to wonder,
if the dots,
to the I’s,
are just,
question marks,
to answers,
I may never,
have.
Can you blow,
smoke rings,
like sentences,
and put me,
together,
somehow?

I went to,
a world made,
of water.
To your average,
everyday human being,
it would have been,
a natural disaster.
But you didn’t,
even have to,
swim,
with the water,
in the houses,
you just lived.
And your feet,
they never,
got wet.