90° angles becoming 45° becoming 10°.
Hands at 12 o'clock sliding down to 6.
Silence

How long have I been like this?
How much longer do I have?

10 feet of concrete
Is topped with sandstone tiles
And covered with a cheap rug.

2 string-worn tennis rackets
Lie side by side pressed into the rug
By my knees.

Soon. He'll be back soon,
And then you can stand up.

"** le. Ng zo det ki he luoi."
Words in my native tongue release me.

4 legs of the stool
Slam into the floor
As I drop it from above my head.

5 minutes later I've peeled
The wires of the rackets
From the grooves
In the skin of my knees.

2 days later
I can finally walk normally again.

But this was only
*Punishment #372.

I will ask only once:
In all the 36 months
We danced around each other
Did you ever want me as a lover?

Did you dream of holding my hand,
Of sinking into me like quicksand,
Of romping with me in Dixieland,
Of making plans with me beforehand?

Did you?
*I did.

Unfinished sentences have become my forte.
Unvoiced emotions have become my norm.

When you see penguins or giraffes,
When you taste pancakes or lo mein,
When you hear josh turner on the radio,
When you drive through the eclectic neighborhoods
Of hilly chilly San Francisco,
Will you miss...

I will always love...
Even though I shouldn't...
But maybe one day...
Yeah...
One day this won't hurt so much...

Right?

When will I see you again?
When are you going to forgive yourself? When will you be whole again?
When are you coming home?
When will you love yourself too?
When are you going to live for you?
When will I see your smile again?
When are you going to let down your walls?
When will we be free?

*How do I answer the girl in the mirror?

They say we're all looking for someone
Who will love us as we deserve,
Someone who will take in all our flaws,
Put up with all our idiosyncrasies,
Accept all our apologies,
And say "I love you" over and over again.

But what if that isn't really what we need?

What if what we need is someone
Who can see through our painted masks
And coping mechanisms and backgrounds
And upbringing and learned habits
And realize that we love them?

What if what we're really looking for
Is someone who will let us love them
The way we know how.

What if what I'm looking for
Is someone who accepts
The freshly washed car
Or vacuumed living room
Or home cooked meal
Or day at the theme park
Or new pair of shoes
Or message on the mirror
Or giant bear hug
With a whispered "thank you"
As my way of saying "I love you"?

What if to be loved,
What we really need is someone
Who will let us
Love them?

My hands are rough with callouses
And my wrists sore from the bearing weight.
My knees creak as I rise from my seat
And ground is cold to my bare feet.
Skin marred with scars
And a soul just as mottled.
A past with more dark
Than light in its memories.
The albatross hangs round my neck,
And we share a name: Unwanted.

Who will want me?
Who will love me?

I would ask
For space,
For distance,
For some degree of separation,
For a pause,
For an intermission,
For a break,
Before I lose myself
Completely
In this
Swirling,
Twirling,
Whirling
Billow of emotional haze.

*Can you give me that, please?

When you walked out
On your daughters
And husband of 22 years
With the fear
That you would never
Be worth anything
In the eyes of the world
If you were merely
A housewife and a mother,
Did you think they didn't love you
Because you were just
Their wife and mother?

Did you not understand
That you were the other half of his soul?
And the bringer of life into the world?
As such, the universe
Could never think of you as mere!

I haven't talked to you
In close to a whole calendar year.
How could you possibly
Understand how I feel?

When you get tired
Of roaming the earth,
Will my name be on your lips
As you recall the sweet memory
Of strawberry wine and rose hips
Perfume in the air
You breathed under the stars with me
On the night you told me you loved me,
You wanted to grow old with me
But first you had to go see the world?

Have you seen enough?
Climbed enough mountains?
Sailed enough seas?
*Are you ready to come home to me?

Most days I'm ok.
I get up in the morning
Happy to go to work.
I eat my lunch under the pine trees
With a little lizard I've named Bob.
I get home at night and throw on
Smooth bluegrass while I make dinner.
I've got my routine and hardly vary.
But on the days that stray
From my habitual cadence
I also find my thoughts wander to you.
And even though you've been gone
For some time now, and we've both moved on,
I can't deny the existence
Of that small hole in my heart
You left behind.
And I wonder,

*Do you have one too?

Everyone says
"Oh, don't worry! It's just a phase."
Or even worse,
"You'll grow out of it soon."
And so you begin to think
That the quirks and smirks
You see in the mirror
When you've wiped the shower fog clear
Are somehow wrong and undesirable
To the masses of others outside your door
Even if what you see makes you happy.
And so you try to hide
Behind conformity and masks
Of aloofness,
Of apathy,
Of indifference,
Of nonchalance,
Until you yourself begin to believe
You've passed the phase!
You've grown out of it!
You're finally someone whom the world
Can pour its love and adoration on!
And so you wait for that sparkling moment,
When you go from ugly duckling
To ravishing debonair desirable swan,
Yet the days turn into weeks into months,
And finally years have passed away
But nothing happened.
And you find yourself wiping away
The shower fog with a tired hand
Only to see the quirks and smirks
That used to make you happy
Are gone and for what gain to you?
Where are the masses of adoring friends?
Where are the praises of who you've become?
You're all alone like you've always been.

But I ask you,
Is this really who you want to be?

Where's the girl who recites Chaucer?
And rolls down grassy hills?
Where is she whose snarky comments
Could hours of hilarity fill?
Where's the girl who laid bricks
Side by side with her father?
And imagined up the neighborhood
Olympics with his other two daughters?

So I'll ask you again,
Face in my mirror,
Are you happy?
*Is this who we're going to be?

If you knew how your actions
Are like dagger blades ******
Into the deepest parts of my soul,
Would it matter to you
To pull them out and tend the wounds
They leave behind?

Or would you turn
*Yet another blind eye?

We sat neath the stars
Until our view was marred
By a layer of clouds
Bringing rain.

We jumped in your truck
In the attempt to duck
Out of sheets of water
And thunder.

It was cozy inside
With you by my thigh
Warming me straight
To the heart.

But it's cold tonight
As I try to hide
In my car as it rains
Outside.

Where rain falls
Your memories follow
And I find
I'm all alone.

Entropy--
The gradual decline into disorder.
Deterioration--
The process of becoming progressively worse.
Decline--
The gradual and continuous loss of strength, numbers, quality, or value.

Recover--
Return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
Ameliorate--
Make something bad or unsatisfactory better.
Wellbeing--
The state of being comfortable, healthy, or happy.

My fingers tap out a rhythm
On the steering wheel of my car.
The stereos are blaring country
Tunes of liquor, love, and loss.
As I drive the streets of A-town,
Which I know like the back of my hand,
I wonder why the sky is blue
And why I can't remember you.
I tried my best not to forget
The sound of your voice and tone
But along the way in the last few years
All but your name have drifted away.
Try as I might, I can't recall
The sound or shape of you,
Try as I might, I've lost hold
Of my last ties to you.
Losing you the first time
Was a dagger in my heart,
Losing you, the memory,
Is drowning in the sea.
And this is what I ponder
As I wander through my life.
It's no wonder that they've dubbed me
The melancholy poet who lives in 7b.

I run
Hard
Trying to leave
The demons
Behind
But they run
Harder
And I can't escape
The sound of my feet
And the heat of their breath
Beating out the silence
In my retreat
From the wounds
That fester once more
And bleed
And break me.

There is no such thing as turning a corner
And seeing hope set before me.

There is only the running
Hard, harder,
Fast, faster,
Gotta just keep one foot landing
Then the other.

In circles
I run.

Until the day I say it's enough.
And let the demons just out of reach
Catch up
And steal the last sliver of soul
I've run so hard to keep hold
Of.

I know I'll stop running one day.
I know I'll watch them steal me
Without a fight or care.
I know I won't scream when the pain
Of losing my soul comes.
I know I'll just stand arms slack and head back
As the skies pour one last rain for me.
I know my eyes will close knowing I have no soul.
And I know all this will be my last reality,
But it'll be your face I see.

You've been with me always.
I wish you could have stayed with me always.

But I run
Hard
And alone.

Always alone.
Because no one can keep a runner.
Because no one can love a runner.

Sometimes it happens like
Butter on toast,
Smooth, creamy, and delicious.

Most of the time, it's stilted
And halting.
Like hobbling through a parking lot
On crutches with a full leg cast.

Sometimes it comes from
The haunted recesses
Of the traumatized human mind.

Other times a frog
Or butterfly
Or other passing fanciful inspiration
Invokes the need for

Rhyme,
Meter,
Syllables,
Phonemes,
Morphemes,
Words,
Language,
Prose,
And poetry.

We write to describe the world around us
But much more, the universe within us.

Our words give life and tangibility
To the impalpable things,
And they take away some of the fear
And pain and grief and unconscionability
Of the corporeal things.

And in the weaving
And shaping
And forming
And rhyming
And jotting
And sketching
And rapping
And moulding
And writing
We find emancipation and satisfaction.
And thus...scrumpdillyumptiousness!

I waited beside the sea tonight
For the moon to rise above.
I listened to the waves
As they crashed on the shore,
And pondered the meaning of love
And loss, life and longevity,
And why clown fish live in anemones.

The cold salty water
Breached the shore
Where I sat,
Wiggling my toes in the sand,
And the sudden coolness
Shocked my mind
From the depths of deep consternation
Over the feelings of solitude
Amid the crowds,
And into the sharp reality
That I had chosen to sit alone
With the sea,
As is often my practice and habit.

I pulled out my paper,
Wooden board and fountain pen,
And began to scratch out a letter,
For what Lord Byron once said
Is very much true
Especially for us who are hermits:

*Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.

How is it that I long,
No, yearn,
For a place I've never been,
Never seen,
Never touched
My toes to its land?

How is it that I pine,
No, crave,
For a home I've never lived in,
Never sat down in,
Never woke up
From peaceful slumber in?

How is it that possible?
To be so full of feeling
For that which I have only ever imagined:

Home where tranquility prevails;
Home where joviality reigns;
Home where love utter saturates.

Home where
My hands know their crafting dexterity,
My feet know their dancing steps.

Home where my heart beats.

How is this feeling more real
Than that which I have lived through?
For it is;
This longing tells me it is;
This yearning proves to me it is;
This craving solidifies its existence.

I want the intangible to become tangible.
I need the imaginary to be reality.

I found my Voice hiding in a box
Thrown in an dusty attic corner.
I coaxed it out and brushed it off,
Gave it some warmed milk for comfort.

I found my Voice but had to trick it to speak,
For it refused to utter a word and kept silent.
I found my Voice, but I had to wonder,
What's the point when it hadn't wanted me?

I gave up on my Voice; tucked it away in my pocket.
I forgot it existed until you ran into me.
"Oh!" my Voice cried, cracking and straining.
And we both were stunned into silence at the noise.

My Voice became familiar
As you coaxed it back out.
And the gleeful mirth we shared
Became my normalcy.

And I forgot to wonder how my Voice sounded
Because you made it possible to hear every day.
I grew to love my Voice and what it would say,
But I forgot my Voice was bold because of you.

I haven't heard my Voice in awhile now.
The day you left, so did my Voice.
I've gone back to wondering if I'll hear again
The strong sure ring of my Voice.

I'm determined to learn the secret
Of finding my Voice and keeping it.
Because I don't want to ever rely
On another person to make it so.

So I'm practicing now
But I've a long way to go.
That doesn't matter though
Because I already know
What I'll say first
When I find my Voice again:

I'm so much better off without you.

Shards
Of paper hearts
Floating away
On winter
Blizzard breezes.

Shards
Of dreamless hopes
Floating away
On glacial
Running rivers.

Shards
Of my life
Slipping through
Trembling
Bleeding hands.

Shards
Becoming
Infinitesimally small
Grains of sand,
Ground up,
Spit out
Until I am nothing.

Everyone thinks I'm quiet,
Shy, with very little to say.
They might even think
There's nothing going on upstairs
Because of my silent stare.

But if they'd sit down with me
Over a nice cup of tea
I'd tell them tales of *******,
Fluffy, Caesar, and Fang.
I'd weave in stories of Polly,
A-town, and tar-babies.
I'd tell them what it's like
Balancing between the worlds
Of a mixed racial identity.

First love and heartbreak,
Triumphs and failures,
Cheesy puns and knock knock jokes,
Triumphs, woes, and despairs.
I have words for all these things,
If anyone would lend an ear.

Silence doesn't mean we have nothing to say.

All of us have much to say,
*When we have someone to listen.

got a lot on my mind today,
as i write this letter to you.
all the words that i wanted to say
but never had the strength to do:

now that you're gone,
i can finally breathe again

sigh

**It feels good to breathe.

I* will take no prisoners.
I will leave none alive.
I will **** every soul that resists
And every one that doesn't.
I will keep my blade wet with blood
And my face dry of tears.
Sorrow and anguish and pain are gone,
For there are no emotions were Depression reigns.
There is only silence.

Black and white dreams
Streaked with stripes of red.
Sepia-toned visages of the dead.
And the symphony plays the most haunting melody:
Silence.

You said
"You should let me love you,"
But you have no idea
Of what loving me entails.

Loving me
*Means accepting the silence.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
The only light
Casting in
The window
From the moon.
A hand held
To her lips,
But it was so dark,
No one could tell.
All they could see
Was the gentle bob
Of her head
And shake
Of her shoulders
As silent sobs
Coursed through her.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
And the night
Played a symphony
Of sounds--
The crickets
And frogs
Each greeting the next
As the cicadas chirped
Their own Hellos
In reply to
The wolf's lone howl--
Which masked
Her gasping breathes
As she lost control
Of her tears.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
And she fell to her knees
Unable to stand
Anymore
While the weight
Of her world
Pressed with great might
Until she cried Mercy
And surrendered.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
And I could only
Watch in the mirror.

I decided to be nostalgic
And flip on the Fresh Prince.
The "gentle" comedy cheers me up,
But then again, laughter is infectious.
I'm on a marathon now
With this show on reruns.
Watching every episode
Until one...

You watch a sitcom and expect
To chuckle and cackle along with the audience.
You expect your heart to be lifted
Out of whatever darker place you've been.
You don't expect it to hit so close to home
That your throat closes up
And your lungs burn with the need to breathe
But you can't
Because suddenly where there was the sound
Of deep throated guffaws,
Of bellyaching mirth,
Is only uncontrollable weeping and sobs
You never knew a sitcom could draw.

Will: I didn't need him then, I don't need him now.
Philip: Will...
Will: No, you know what, Uncle Phil? I'ma get through college without him, I'ma get a great job without him, I'ma marry me a beautiful honey, and I'ma have me a whole bunch of kids. I'ma be a better father than he ever was, and I sure as hell don't need him for that, 'cause there ain't a **** thing he could ever teach me about how to love my kids!
[long pause]
Will: [breaks down] How come he don't want me, man?

That echo in my soul:
How come she don't want me, man?

SLAP.
My muscles tense.
SLAP.
My jaw tightens.
SLAP.
Sounds begin to dim.

Inhale.
One, two, three.
My pupils dilate.
Exhale.
Four, five, six.
My hands form fists.

Inhale.
Seven, eight, nine.
My heart hardens.
Exhale.
Ten. Ten. Ten.
It'll be over soon.

One, two, three, four, five.
Slow your heartbeat.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Be still, still as stone.

"You're basically a good daughter, but..."

Words can penetrate the stone hearted.

Words uttered a lifetime ago,
Yet I can't escape their ringing in my ears,
In my stone-hardened heart--
The center of this stone statue.

I can’t concentrate.
Jumbled thoughts lead to
Unfinished consciousness.
I move between scenes
Like a bee flying from
Flower to flower.
A wolf’s dark eyes stare back at me.
Can you see her?
Her grey black coat
Dewy with the morning rain.
My emotions won’t percolate.
The dam of memory
Stops everything from flowing.
She’s back—
My wolf shadow.
She runs with me
From the terrors in the night.
Fingers fill with adrenaline.
I can do anything I want.
Suddenly flying through space
Like Superman.
Arms by my side.
They’re the only things I could count on
To always be by my side.
Her dark eyes grow dull.
A wolf alone is a wolf doomed to die.

There are days of restless worrying,
And sleepless nights of fear.

Then are days of numb oblivion
With nights of terror-filled dreams.

Like relentless waves pounding
The weakened beachhead of the shore.
Like bloodied knuckles punching
The shredded remnants of a sandbag.

This, my cycle of the
Inevitable,
Unavoidable,
Inescapable,
Unpreventable

Stirring­ up of the
Indescribable,
Indefinable,
Inexpressible

Anger that resides deep within
My broken soul.

Yet no one knows.

I am a calm, placid lake.

A deep and dark lake
Sitting in the mouth of an active volcano.

I keep looking back over my shoulder
Waiting for someone to call out
But there's only silence.

I keep looking back over my shoulder
Wondering when the other shoe will drop
But there's only silence.

I keep looking back over my shoulder
As if the next time there'll be a different view
But there's no change.

I keep looking back over my shoulder
Because I keep hoping to catch a glimpse
Of hope for my future in my past.

But my scars have healed.
It's only my finger tips
That can feel the memory of the pain.

If only I could keep looking forward,
I'd see my footsteps leading my way
From the darkened alleys of the past
To the brightly lit highways of the future.

It's time to drop the hope to find hope
Somewhere behind me
And just live

Without looking back over my shoulder.

That's the real hope.

The plan was
(Perfect)
To grow up,
(Ideal)
Find love,
(Dreamy)
Settle down,
(Hopeful)
Have kids,
(Heartwarming)
Grow old,
(Long-term)
Still love,
(Perfect)
Die happy.

But life happens and
Plans become
(Unexpected)
Survive,
(Guarded)
Rebuild,
(Solitary)
Relearn,
(Stressful)
Reconstruct,  
(Sacrificing)
Revitalize,
(Inspiring)
Thrive,
(Satisfying)
Live.

"I keep thinking
That you're going to walk
Through the door
And then everything
Will be ok.

I keep thinking
That you'll call my name
And meet my gaze
And then my fears
Will dissipate.

I keep thinking
That you'll save me,
And whisk me far away
And then I
Will breathe again.

I keep thinking
You're my safety net.

But you'll never be
What I need you to be,
Or what I want you to be,
Will you?"

*Asked the face in the mirror.

When I was a kid
It was so easy
To get lost
In the depths
Of my overactive imagination.
I dreamed up worlds
Of saturated colors
In arching storylines
With characters I knew better
Than I knew myself.
They were my escape.
There were "Kristen" and "Melanie",
The sisters who loved unconditionally
In a southern style home
Transplanted to the landscape
Of the Pacific Northwest.
There were "Tadgh" and "Samantha"
Who wrote melodic masterpieces
To match the turbulent serenity
That threatened to pull them apart
With every corner turn in life.
There were so many others
That I poured my time into,
Creating a universe
I so desperately wanted
To permanently live in.
Though I was their creator,
Their molder and former,
I was also a mere visitor,
Just pressing my nose against the glass.

Now sometimes I wonder
Whatever became of those characters.
Did their stories turn into the fairytales
Everyone hiddenly desires for themselves?
Did they wind up finding love
And family and happiness and peace?
Did they struggle and fail and lose at life?

Some say I could go back,
Find the threads of their unfinished tales.
But that isn't possible.
It isn't possible because I've grown up,
And the door in the back of the wardrobe
Has become a flat panel of wood.
And I'm left with my nose
Pressed up against the glass of memory.

Artemis ran through the woods tonight Calling her dogs to her side,
For the hunt is on, in the Moon's light,
And will watch her claim a prize.

Her bow at the ready with arrow nocked,
String drawn to her listening ear,
She scanned the wood for a sign of deer,
Before she let fly a sure shot.

The stag she bagged was great and mighty;
Her dogs helped her carry the load.
Thus this treaty she gave to sweet Aphrodite,
But in vain--she went home alone.

"But one day her eyes are opened
To see the truth from a different view."

And that's what you and I need.
That moment of looking at our own lives
From a different point of view.
On the one hand, it's *our life;
We're allowed to get caught up
In the chaos of it,
Be selfish over it,
But at the very same time,
Our lives touch and are touched by
So many others' lives.
The reasons so clear to us
For why we live, act and do things
The way that we do
Aren't so clear to others.
And that person we're endeavoring to be
Isn't always the person others interpret us to be.
That discrepancy is what causes friction
That will endure and break us down,
Unless we open up an honest conversation.
To understand our selves is one thing.
To understand how others see us is another.
But most of us are too timid,
Too scared to learn the other side of us.
So we distance ourselves,
Cutting off those who "just don't get me."
But if we communicated,
If we listened to how others perceive us,
Maybe we have a shot at salvaging
These relationships that make our heart
Beat
Soar
Sing
Full
Whole.
This isn't conforming to be
Something others want us to be.
This is understanding we are not merely
The person we make ourselves to be,
But also the person others see us to be,
And finding the person in between.

I run down unlit streets
Like the hounds of hell are at my feet
And I can barely keep
Going my own heartbeat.

It's the witching hour
And I've got a taste most sour
Like brimstone and fire
Because the night holds only the dire.

This is my end and my defeat.
This is my fall and my surrender.
And once I give in...
This is my home and my familiar:
The moonless sky my soul's twin,
For in darkness and shadows we live.

The clarity of life is gone.
Left to our own dark devices.
We are the haunted, the ******.
Those forced to exist without sleep.

I hold your hand
As your bones grow cold.
I wish you didn't have to go.

I hold my breath
As yours fades away.
I wish I never had to see this day.

I keep your pillow next to me,
As my own muffles my screams.
I keep your picture on my wall
Because I don't want to forget at all.

Please.
Don't go.

Would you go back in time
To do or say something different?

Yes.
Even if it didn't change
The course you chose in these last years,
I would do Thanksgiving '09 over again.

Actually, I would redo only one moment:
We were standing in the hallway
Of the house we'd been forced to rent
When all our fortunes had been lost.
You were storming out to greet me
With a frosty, icy glare.
My hand was raised in salutation,
My eyes were both eager and wary.
Before I knew what was happ'ning,
My glasses lay shattered on the floor.
Without a second's hesitation
Or look or exclamation,
I had run out the front door.

I would that I could redo that moment!
And this is how I'd hope it goes:
We meet in the hallway,
And your fist comes towards my face.
But before you can punch
My 21 year old visage,
My hand will stop you
And force you to look into my eyes.
Then I will say, "Mom, I love you."

Maybe your eyes would soften.
Maybe your heart would too.
Maybe you'd choose to try again
At being daughter, wife, mother.
Maybe you'd choose to stay.

And maybe history can't be amended,
Rewritten, retold, or changed.
I just wish my last words
Could've been "I love you."

Listless bones
And weary muscles
Flop on a floor-bound mattress.
Crooning tunes
And lilting bassoons
Flit on a fan-turned breeze.
Despite the heat
I find respite
In this brief pause
From reality.

Dust-covered two-lane highways
Catch the footfalls of my meanderings.
Meadowlarks and Phoebe-birds
Sing backup to my tuneless whistles.
Clouds illuminated by God-rays
Paint the sky above my head
And the Man in the Moon
Smiles as I bed neath a willow for the night.

I am a wanderer, a vagabond, a ***.
The iron wrought train tracks
I secretly ride pass through the fields,
The forests, the mountains and valleys,
The cities and suburbs, the small towns too,
Home to so many who choose there to dwell.
But my home is the open countryside,
The fields of wildflowers and bushes,
The occasional oak or poplar for shelter,
With a stone for my pillow
Anywhere I wish to rest.

I am a wanderer, a vagabond, a ***.
I am the outsider.

A slice of pie changed my life.

I had worked so hard
To be a person worthy
Of someone else's love and care,
I had changed myself
To fit the mold of someone
Others could pay attention to.

Isn't that what we all do?
Make ourselves loveable?
Simply because that's the thing
We want most in this world:
To be loved.

But then you didn't know me,
You didn't see all the things
I'd done or the person I'd become.

You were there.
I was there.
And that was enough for pie.

It didn't matter to you
What I could do.
It didn't matter to you
Who I was too.

You loved and you cared
Because you wanted to.

A slice of pie changed my life.

I would that you could see
The twinkle of the stars above
As the wind sweeps through the trees
In a night warmed by summer.

I would that you could hear
The crinkling, crackling bonfire
That burns in a wildflower-filled field
As the crickets sing their own song.

I would that you could taste
The sweet strawberry wine
I left to age for days, just for this night,
In a brown flip-top bottle.

I would that you could do
So many things like these,
For that would mean
You were still here with me.

That would mean I hadn't stood
Alone on that hill in the Northwest
In the bone-chilling ache of winter
Watching them lower you down.

That would mean I haven't lost
Days, weeks, months, and years,
To the sepia-toned fading memories
Stored away in a lockbox in my mind.

That would mean
*So many things to me.

By some twist of fate
Your old bedroom is now mine.
It's been completely redone though.
All the holes from the nails
That held up your favorite posters
Are puttied up and painted over.
The carpet I accidentally melted a hole in
When I was trying to burn away
The memories of our painful past
Has long since been pulled up
And replaced with hardwood flooring.
I've filled the space with furniture
And put my touch on every square inch.
I've done my best to erase you,
But sometimes at night as I'm falling asleep,
I hear your laughter and see your smile.
And I wish with all my heart on that shooting star
The Fates would've given me
Just a little more time with my favorite sister.