I don't want my words to be prisoners.
I demand for them to be unchained from the confines of these pages,
to take the first shaky steps towards peeling themselves from pulp and ink
and into the third dimension.

I want my feelings to follow and tread down
the well-beaten path I have walked on my entire life,
and eventually plant themselves in other people's minds,
phantoms dwelling dormant in their existences.

I crave to hear the sounds of my deepest desires
bounce off the echoing walls of deep mountain valleys,
snaking through streams and disappearing
into the gaps between grains of sand.

But it was one thing to let everyone hear me whisper.

All I really wanted was only for you to hear.

"I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows."
Every syllable was the pitter patter of water on glass panes.

But the feeling he gave me was hurricanes on concrete.

"I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows."
The fluidity of the liquid would fill the crevices in my mind to the very tip and remind me that I was not alone.

You do not have to read the meniscus to look deeper into my being.

"I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows."
He formed his words and dragged them quietly across pavements, reminiscent of the deep tint of the clouds and the rumbling of thunder.

But when the sun came out,
I did not feel radiant
I felt alone.

holding your skin against mine,
exploring the silk surfaces of your mind,
diving deep into the darkness
just to hear the rain and street collide.

i'm a sinking ship,
an eroding shore,
that ebbs past the horizon,
evermore,

i'm a withering tree
losing its scarlet youth,

am i a lie?
or am i the truth?

you were never supposed to hurt this much
they said love would be good for me
for the both of us.

you were supposed to be the breeze in my face as I strolled along the simple shores
not the tiny coarse grains of sand I didn't notice stinging my eyes
or the persistent wave constantly knocking me over
as I tried to savour the sea.
you were going to be the cool wind on a hot summer's day
not the heavy storm that drowned my garden
and the dark cloud obstructing the sun's light so my flowers were never allowed to bloom again.

you were pain
and your grip was endless
why did I think you could heal when you were the cause?

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

The rust color leaves crunch beneath the soles of my leather boots, as I nuzzle my face into my wool knit scarf. The beaten asphalt path is the canvas and the pomegranate leaves are the splattered drops of paint sprinkling the trail. The cold, biting winds of autumn strip the weeping willow trees of their tears. Drooping, bent branches of the willows and birches beg for me to stray from the path into their welcoming, bark-covered embrace, promising not a single splinter. Whirlwinds of crispy leaves grace the peaks and valleys of the meadows, with so much life instilled in their dying veins. The nostalgic hint of chimney smoke wafts along the trail, and I yearn for the warmth that will nourish my chapped face. With a warm core and the wind seeping into the layers of my skin, the splitting wood of the maple branches guide me home.

amidst the mountains
he did roam
to find much needed solace
at this healing home
the familiarity of the terrain
bought peace to his troubled mind
at this place the heavy clouds
he had shouldered
for a long time
were erased in the mountains
abundant sunshine
his mind was in need of repair
so he sought it out
amidst the kindliness
of the mountain's soothing air

With you,
The color blue is never sad.
The north winds are cold,
But there is no chill.
The sun is a friend I had not noticed,
Beaming.

With you,
My hands are woven
And the grass is weaving
A great blanket,
Safe and long and warm
Like your hands,
When they cover,
When they touch me
Like my lost, new found friends
The sun and the sheltering
Earth
And the autumn winds,
I no longer dread,
No longer fear,
With you.