it was warm and dry last summer
so i painted my face with mud and stain
and set out to find my own space of the earth with my name on it
somewhere i'd finally fit in
i never did find it
instead
i tattooed my skin with road maps to memories that i can't quite get back to
i still can't get back to you
so i picked up a lost boy on the side of the road
with a lying smile and deceptively blue rain puddle eyes
he dosed me and broke me
lifted me up with ***** hands
and set me atop a psychedelic pedestal that he could pull from beneath me
to watch me fall to the ground and writhe whenever he liked
he liked to do so often
he broke me
he did
like an empty bottle once containing bitter beer thrown at a door
so when the rain came to the plains
i dropped him off in the next state
and hurried home to gather up what pieces of myself still remained
i made me from scratch with my own hands
to suit only my own standards
but still
maybe now you'll like it
soon the leaves began to fall
and i got lost under their burial mounds
shroud in the season of decay
i saved a breath to weep for my own death
but it didn't last long
i got over it quick
crawled out of momentary depression just in time
to see the tulips die and the skies ignite
with winter sunsets and nightmares
i felt like things were changing and so should i
so i set aim for the skies
spread my arms and hoped for flight
even just a tussle of warm breeze to liven up my paper sails...
just something to pull me out to sea
to sky
space and waves
it's all the same
i just wanted to get away
all i gained was new callous and a few second-hand paper-backs
i didn't get much farther than a couple states away
but any sky tastes great when all you're craving is some change
the days got short quick
and the warmth ran away to play
while i stayed behind to hold down the fort
and hopefully to set forth to find whatever it is that i'm constantly searching for

an aerosol angel with college-ruled wings
and paint stained fingertips
stranded in a sea of pigmentation
lately, she's been feeling out of place
not all compasses point due north

a parrot in a sea of sharks
who's never learned to sail

they're selling tickets to the ****-show on the shore line
catch the half priced sunday matanee
save the date

a trapeze ******* with a choke hold on the universe's coat tails
tap dancing through star charts and love poems at the pace of lightning's strike
some failures just have to be public
if lessons are to be learned
the prettiest ballerinas aren't afraid to fall

she's learned the hard way to find beauty in skinned knees
strength in stubbed toes
and faith in a broken heart

no point in dressing up, honey
prince charming doesn't frequent freak shows

he's an arrogant flake, anyway
her best bet is a strong man
or a fire breather
when looking for a boy to bring home

one man to bare her burdens
and another to scortch the wreckage of what's left
careful what you wish for

butterflies the size of funnel cakes shake her rib cage to pieces
silver confetti on pitted pavement

he looked so handsome beneath the neon lights
horrified and ecstatic all at once
like a lost boy in neverland

scanning the crowd of strangers for any possible princess tiger lillie's

someone to ride alongside on the ferris wheel all night
untill the sheriff shines his flashlight down the path that points them home
alone

but handsome boys know little about matters other than themselves
so she's gotten good at feeling bad

it's time to find a man
someone who can build things instead of just break them

the snow falls sincerely sorry,
like a pale yellow skirt at the foot of your bed-
i always said, "i didn't mean it".
but i meant it.
it's that time of the year,
where you'll wrap yourself in wool and leathers,
in hopes no one will feel just how cold you truly are,
but i can feel it.
you drink your whiskey straight,
yet feel too inhumane to rest your lips on the same bottle
as the only people who've ever loved you drink from.
your glass gets frosty.
you blow hot, pungent air between your teeth like steam,
in hopes we'll see you as some frightening machine,
instead of how you really are when you forget
that you should be holding up your fashionably unfashionable walls.
you're just another washed up actor,
who somehow lost the ability to differentiate between being on-set,
and being alive.
so you lie.
frantically,
frivolously,
and frusterated,
that nobody you trust can trust you to be you.
the scenes that you build get muddled and confused,
rendered too busy by your lack of attention
and over-use of the exact same hues.
you used to seem so beautiful,
until i found your pallet
under your worn-down mattress...
you only paint with grey.
oh, how you tried
to hide the colors that i am under a tweed cloak of comfort ability,
but i don't fade,
and i most certainly do not run.
i change every day,
and when i begin to hate the direction that my masterpiece is heading in,
i change course entirely.
i abandon the compass,
and the guide books,
and stampede across the pages,
until i become the new and improved version of who i was yesterday.
stop pretending,
and just be.
you wear your "fight" face everyday,
as if you may have to chase a pride of giggling hyenas away
at any given moment.
put down your knife and act right,
no one here wants to hurt you.
you hurt me,
you tried to hide me,
and you lied to me.
still, 
all i want to do is teach you.
teach you to let go of your charade,
to embrace the life you've made,
and how to paint the sunset as a sunset-
not a eulogy.