Am I doomed to become like her
A distant cold shell of a woman
Who seems like a ghost that no one can put to rest
Hardened over time of being misunderstood

Or will I grow up like him
Angry at the innocent people who cross my path
Self absorbed and manipulative
Someone who people avoid when they're out in public

Better yet will I find myself in the middle
Angry and hostile
Cold and detached
But twice as alone

It was a beautiful, and warm Monday afternoon.
Physically, the world felt in place
The sphere around her bore in serenity and tranquility
Except her mind.

She laid her body carelessly in a bed of a thousand lilacs,
Dawdled by thoughts
She was unready to explore her surroundings
But the world craved her undying attention
Unfocused, discomforted, content
The wind fleeted swiftly through her hair,
While the lilacs obscured her of pollen

She could hear everything, but simultaneously, nothing at all.
Too much or too little, it never seemed to be enough.
Just as she laid her head back on to the bed of lilacs
The wind danced in ******, tempting heed of her

It was a charming afternoon
Most would say,
But her mind danced along the brass of the wind,
rather than attending in curiosity  

Once again she laid her body back onto the bed of lilacs
Trying to comfort her discomforting thoughts
Finally
It was quite and her mind now felt at ease

Carefully, she listened to the wind
She didn’t miss a beat
The rhythm felt smooth—natural
Chills struck down her spin as the wind tackled through her tangled hair
Ironically, she felt at peace

A sudden shadow casted above her undistributed body
The lilacs comforted her in a way that her bed could not
The wind started to silence itself
Composure diminished from the realm of her thoughts

Quietly, she listened to the raspy and familiar voice that would not stop humming
In a chuckle he asked, “why are you laying in a bed of flowers?”
He didn’t even notice that they were lilacs
Flustered by his sudden appearance, she opened her eyes and realized that it was time to leave the garden
She stared at him for a moment before she actually responded
With a slight nervous laugh, she responded honestly “I don’t really know.”
Dazed and confused, she gathered her strength to stand up “It’s been a while...”
But before she could even finish her sentence,
The brassy wind started to chime
“Want to go grab some coffee?” he nervously said.

She wanted to write just was on her mind,
What she really felt, but she couldn’t.
She found difficulty putting her feelings into words  
And her words into perfect syntactical form.
She knew the moment it all crossed her mind, she would never be able to write a sentence of all of her hurt.

I told you things I’ve never said aloud.
I told you of the procession of men in my past who have left me -
Scattered pieces of myself, crushed like glass,
Crushed like a little girl whose daddy walked away,
Crushed like a woman whose brother never called,
Crushed like a lover who wasn’t enough,
Never enough, never worth the fight.

And as you held me and flicked my tear-soaked cheeks and said,
“I know, but I’m here now.”
I should have seen, in that moment,
Nothing would be different.
You could only continue the traditions of your predecessors.
Knowing this past changes nothing in our future,
Your sutures were poison, cutting the wounds deeper and deeper until

I
      Bled
                Out.

How do you look someone in the eye as they say “I would never”,
Knowing that they already did?

O vehement artist,
What secrets do you keep?
In each splash and splatter,
What insights do you reap?

From your brush fall gentle
Droplets of Persian blue,
Riddling the papyrus
With a sumptuous clue.

Rivulets of color
Drift razzly down the page
Dancing with bravado
Like actors on a stage.

The murky, azure paint
Gives way to curious shapes,
Soon to evolve into
Soothing, luscious landscapes.

This humble masterpiece
Warrants credence in art.
For art’s a divine gift
To both the eyes and heart.