the walls and floor were blue
in the long standing home of jazz.
i sat in that room on a wednesday afternoon
and felt that color
travelling in my veins.
i imagined the room was filled not with
sunlight and the chatter of teenagers but with
moonlight and music in that melodic silence.
i tried to absorb the aura of
that room to have for myself and breathed deeply
so i would remember the taste of blue. i imagined
myself boldly uncovering the piano on that stage and
imagined the names and legends embedded in its keys.
i heard the music of times gone now,
resounding against the walls and coloring the
wild yellow audience to subtle periwinkle and
deep sapphire and even wilder blue and
suddenly i realized why the sky is that hue;
God Himself must have taken a seat there, in that
modest blue room on
18th and vine
and it made perfect sense.
this beautiful revelation i found on
a sunny wednesday afternoon
is dyed in blue.

We meek children took the stage like we
borrowed it. I approached the grand piano,
and, asking for its acceptance of my novice hands,
seated myself before it. To my immediate right,
prepared for some unknown challenge,
waited our band, our rhythm and melody. Arms raised,
fingers gently hovering over keys and strings, we
eyed our cue and took it.
Three songs turned us from an uncertain bunch to a
formidable combination. We stole that stage
(as best as any high school combo could do),
and suddenly the stage lights didn’t feel so hot;
those lights shined for us. I left that piano
as a princess leaves a crowd in awe.
We proved superior.

dont ask me where i am;
dont ask about the view from the peak,
how it feels to brush shoulders with the clouds
like passersby on the street, dont ask about
how delicious the air tastes in my lungs.
i am not there, not there yet. see,
i stand not as an omniscient god,
presiding over my special throne, but as a
mortal traveler, muddy and sweaty,
seeking fulfillment, and always hiking forwards.
my compass pumps blood through me and
one day it will fail and my journey will end,
but for the time being i hike.
ask me how my heels are bruised, how my
back curves, misshapen, from the weight of
my aspirations. ask me the number of times
i crashed onto the icy earth, her gravity
dragging me, but always stood again
because i am stubborn.
ask me if the freezing air chills my frostbitten fingers anymore
and pains my chest to hold. and please
ask me where i am going; ask where after all this time
my heart finds warm blood to keep it beating, and
what i hope to see at the peak of this mountain.
ask about my failures, my successes,
and how my hike draws as much inspiration
in the journey as it does the destination.

roses smell of sugar and spring
but they will wilt and wither if they are not new.
chocolates taste creamy and bitter and sweet
yet they too will disappear; they simply won't do.
diamonds sparkle with the beauty of the earth
but even they dull in comparison to you.

when i have woes weighing on my heart
you listen, and that's enough

i carry my heart and it is full of emotions
and those emotions are like
waterfalls crashing with the momentum of pure gravity but
they are equally the eye of the storm in that
the scenery blurs in ugly destruction but
here all is quiet and serene
i carry my heart with me because
it is too intense, too restless to
wait for me to return from my life's voyage
rather, it shapes the ocean's winds
and guides me across the unforgiving world

Sometimes I am afraid
to begin something new
because I don't want to end up
just short of my destination
or rather I
don't want to find out if destiny
prefers my misery over my dreams
or maybe it's easier to
never begin in the first place and
I can waste away lying down
instead of dying in the heat of battle

if I start something new I also risk
losing my way  (again)  and
with things as they are
I should avoid new beginnings
I should stay as I am,
stagnant and afraid

yet I long for the feel
of the earth beneath my feet as I
walk forwards
for it is always stable

she reaches out before her,
gazing longingly into the sky,
and draws her arms back to her side.
her chest rises and falls.
her feet begin to push against
the ice and she glides like
a dove riding atop a gentle breeze.
she crosses her steps with elegance and
swiftly flies to the end of her terrain.
as she turns to return,
her knees dip and spring,
propelling her into the air.
her legs cross at her ankles
and she becomes a twisting airplane.
her feet find a landing on her thin blade.
she leans into the center of the rink,
clutching her leg,
and spins with a slow, melodic grace.
as she lowers into a crouch, her tempo rises,
and she becomes a brilliant storm on ice.
again she rises and she strikes a stellar pose, head high--
she tells her audience
the queen has arrived,
and she wears ice skates.