Last night--
You just being there.
I never want you to leave.
Kind,
Strong,
Gentle,
Amazing.
I trust you,
Completely.
The only one I do.
Making me forget who I was,
You make me better than I am.
I can't give you my pain-- It would hurt you.

Drip-drop, drip-drop,
Color filtered through,
Tainted with the remnants of
Tears,
Depression,
Heartache.
Stained with grey.
Irregular,
Morphing back the one best forgotten.
I live on in the
Heavy clouds.
Losing again what an honest smile,
Confidence,
Looks like.
Numb... and alone.

I’m the one at the lemonade stand.
“25 cents, 25 Cents, 25 CENTS!”
She calls with her friend,
Years younger (but they’re BFFs).
Running up and down the road,
Never making a single penny.
But that doesn’t matter to
The scrawny one with bleach blonde hair,
Tamed for once in two braids.
Usually it’s long and
She won’t even let you touch it with a brush.
And sunburned again—for the umpteenth time.

You can’t tame this girl.
She talks to animals
And speaks to the wind (her protector and friend).
She’s a princess
Running away from the evil queen and the crows,
The black sky devils, the queen’s spies.
Hiding when they come,
For they will recognize her singsong voice
And bright blue eyes.

She sings,
Dances,
SOARS above the clouds,
She is the sun, she owns the sky.
Making the world her perfect stage,
A rule breaker,
A trouble maker,
Who fancies herself a country girl.
Her sock never match
And her smile is wide.

Beautiful and
Unbreakable.

Safe.
That's the feeling that has made me
Fall for you.
I don't know why or
How
I trusted you,
You are different.
Making me feel that somehow
I am special
Despite myself.

Wanting your arms around me,
Just to hold me.
I shiver beneath
All the chilling words,
Telling myself that
You lie,
But I will never leave you.
Even if I turn to ice,
Or even if I melt.

He sat there smoking,
His horns an illusion
(For he has no real power).
Black soul,
If he has one.
Making deals only to destroy.
Yet people walk to him,
Smoke with him,
Follow him.

And as they die,
He laughs.

Pounding feet,
Pounding head,
Running.
From everything I use to know,
No longer do I know who I am.
What I am.
What am I?
What they tell me?
In blissful ignorance,
Or a shame?
Both ugly and a disgrace
While being beautiful.
Beauty?
The cover of a magazine,
Something that makes people think more of the
Risqué
Than the lovely.