This afternoon, I was pacing
in public.
I stepped perfectly
in the tiles,
perfectly
keeping pace.
Out of the corner of my eye, a little boy, walking just behind me
in my peripherals.
He had blue sneakers on.
I assumed it was my little friend,
coming to play.
But I could've sworn his sneakers were
red.
And how is he being so quiet?
I finally finished pacing, and whirled around
to scare him, make him laugh his adorable little laugh.
But there was no one there.
No one at all.

Why did we forget how to live?
Why did we forget how to love?
Why did we lose sight of what's important?

Why do we fear things we don't understand,
instead of learning how to understand them?

Why do we despise anyone "different"
and pretend to be a myth called "normal"?

Why do we mistreat God's beautiful creation,
and scorn and squirm and say it's gross?

Why do we get to decide who deserves respect, and why do we make those decisions on trivial things, like skin and age and money?

Why are we afraid to take risks, to get *****, to fall or fail?
Why do we hide from pain and blood and danger?

What is wrong with us?
What disease of human nature has cursed us so?

We go about the motions of survival without really living,
and wonder why we're depressed,
why we feel that life is meaningless.
We make it meaningless!

We need to shed the restraints of sanity!

We need to ask ourselves
WHY.
Why are we partaking in this foolishness?
Why don't we seek out something better?
Why do we settle?
Why did we stop believing in magic?

Why did we forget how to live?

I see you when it's stormy
cause oh how you loved the rain
I see you when it's sunny
because you brightened up my every day

I see you when it's cloudy
cause you were always in a mood
I see you when it's midnight
Because you were my moon

I see you when it's snowy
because you claimed you would freeze
I see you when it's hot out
because you loved the summer breeze

I see you when I laugh
because you loved to tell me jokes
I see you when I eat
on that poor old plate you broke

I see you when I'm bored
cause you kept me entertained
Because you wished that you could fly
I see you when I hear a plane

I see you in my bedroom
sitting on my floor
I see you each and every time
I hear my creaky door

I see you in the plants you grew
the vines and trees and flowers
I see you when I hear a child
SWEAR that they have powers

I see you in the darkness
because you used to get so scared
I see you when I'm crying
cause you swore that you'd be there

I see you in the waves
just like when we met
I see you in the shadows
when I remember that you're dead

We use metaphors in poetry.
Something dramatic and attention-catching
to stand in for something ordinary.
Metaphors are poet's best friend.
After all, a poem without descriptive language is just
a really dramatic essay.
So my question is?
How do you know when they stop being metaphors?
Would you even ever know?
If it's dramatic enough,
no one will know.

One,
two, three,
Steps as I
Pace across the
Hard, tile hall-way
Making sure to keep beat.
My feet thud softly in step
with the music in my earbuds.
My hands whirl with the music quickly.
People are staring, but I don't notice,
Because I am not pacing inside my head.
In my brain, I am somewhere different and safe.
I'm not pacing with the music; I AM the music.
It seeps inside every part of my soul, heart, and being.
I grin with pure excitement as I spin in another world.

She wobbles slightly, perched upon her
thin, taught rope.
She prays desperately that she does not fall
does not break.
She has perched up there her whole life, once
hopeful and excited to be
a part of the show, but
She has long since grown weary
of trying not to fall off.
She is sick of the spectacle, sick of perching
on that worn rope.
She misses the pole she once held, that blessed protection
against the wind, rain, and storms,
but it has long since rotted away, as sick of the cruel game
as she was.
She wonders, looking down, down, down
to the jagged rocks below, if it would be easier to just
fall off.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and
lets go
She is no longer a tightrope walker but a
skydiver
She smiles blissfully for the first time as she tries out
her new hobby.