there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

We waste our lives
chasing some false ideology
of what it means to be beautiful
dressing ourselves up
in the latest paper doll clichés
of magazine quotes
of how to look like a “10”

hoping to see something
other than our own reflection
in the mirror
hoping that a layer
of white washed lies
and vibrant coats painted
over fabricated truths

will somehow make us feel...
how do they say it
on the West Side?  
“I feel pretty and witty and...”
isn’t it somewhere around here
that the truth gets lost
where we allow the definition of beauty
to get painfully distorted

that we hand over our paychecks
and self-esteem
for the latest cure and concealer
to that ugly feeling
we get when we are left by ourselves
to face the doubts of our truths

and what is that truth?  

how was beauty defined
before we had a vocabulary of deception
before we danced to radio jingles
and sang along with our self doubts
what did beauty look like
when it was out there
alone in the dark
what was it that was beautiful
before we opened our eyes...

what was beautiful then
is still the same
as what is beautiful now...

and it is nothing we can define
with our words
or our books
or the noises we make when we speak
it is nothing we can see
with our eyes

it is as simple
as it is easy

it is there inside all of us
beneath our clothes
and inside our skin
and protected by our bones
and our marrow

living and blooming
every time we exhale
and every time we inhale

the truth of what it means
to be beautiful

is in just

being

and this truth is sung  
with every beat of our hearts

I sat on my toadstool
watching bees drink from Dandylions

I could see across the flat calm sea
a blue sky come to visit

I feign would dream a summers dream
but that poem is already written

I will go my own way
happy I was entranced for a moment.