Walked into the dressing room
Questioned the fit
With all the lights angled
To illuminate the best places
While inside, the struggle
holding all together just to feel fit, the lift and separate.

It is a wonder how all this frilly lace, thread,  and beading
could make a girl, become woman, turned bride.
its a disposable ideal, one chuckled about since the beginning of time.
Seemingly picture perfect, now the faux retouch
a process where reality turns fake
The day a mere memory

Now about the questions
as we look at the reflection
striving for perfection, but yet it feels incomplete,
next, Watch, strap in, repeat.

there are no yes moments, just...
yes things
the feeling of suffocation
of a day, where this will only be in the closet,
when everyone wants you to dress up
You to play along
you to conform.

(The emotional build up
the pain ensues)
all for a day no longer is about you and the other half
but filled with moments of regret
where simply just having a judge make it happen
would have been better
then seeing family come together

a final step down, back from the fantasy
or nightmare, with increased humility...

it is all clear, the item is beautiful,
but for some, this is a tortured fun.
no single person can imagine
the stress of just trying to celebrate two people forming a marriage,
that this one day can make, break, or dissolve a feeling
with the dawn breaking,
thoughts are revealing.

the last step down off of the stage,
lights, reflection, multiple direction mirror,
makes it much clearer.

can you breathe?
can you walk? Can you talk?
can you sit down and enjoy it?
But if a single no appears, alterations can ****
so save the moment, take picture.
get real.

only in a dressing room
can one reveal the truth, nature, and absurdity
of cloth, lace, beads, and thread.
question the fit.
and live without the regret...
of buying the disposable wedding dress.

Trickling from the sky,
It isn’t any ordinary day
The rain-washes all my sorrows away

Wanting to sit on the edge
Looking out
This window, washes it away

It sounds so soothing,
Wherever I am
Nothing so quiet—
Nothing so sweet
Then the sound of the rain
On my feet.

Every move calculated. Im trying to know.
My math is wrong, or a miscalculation has made another variable.
Another story, another stitch in the tapestry
I can't find the answer. Though I was wondering if I was on the right lead.

The dead end is deafening.
I can only watch as the math is slotted to run.
The production of an answer
A show, a result, of this long division, this diversion.

Angles are perfectly fitted to one another,
But the math and figures don't add up.
What puzzle have i been working with?
What pieces are missing?
Have i always seen a solution, just never attempted to test...
This hypothesis, to seek truth?
Trying the experiment, the observations are clear.
I am not to be here.

Am I the imaginary? The rational?
Can it be equal? Can it be trivial?
Im trying yet again.
How can one plus one be two when in life its three?
Where and when am i me?
Have i fallen down this power of 2 factor tree?
Or am i fractals free?
This is a set of 3.

How about this matrix?
And this issue of multiplicity, these additional matrices?
On the axis, on this graph can you tell me?

My mind is the scatter plot. The images and notes...
Are points, but no correlation.
This conclusion, this test,
I wish i could rest, and divide by Zero.

inhale, think
exhale, release
eventually time can cease.

the presence of being unleashed
quiet to released
with a hack,
and a cough
its something and i know i forgot.

times up
in a white film,
a tacky resin
cleverly gone UP
in a moment
filled with smoke.

I watched a miracle appear
Almost
Ten years ago

and Deja Vu
now its all You.
From a friend,
for a Friend,
and Not a foe...

Behold,
a story of victory unfolds!

uncanny though you may think
that the stink of hell and BS
be over powered and now somewhat plastered
on a wall for the evil eye to dance the
opposite YAW

im sorry did i pull a moment of Leaves?
a published nightmare, once re-visited
with re-occurring themes yet all linked
on a funny little string of life.

now onto these unstable legs,
garbled communication,
just learning
to rely on himself,
transportation
wanting out the cage
and asleep without worry for his age.
but hes adorable
and his actions chuck full of thought

but this all has the same meaning
of moving forward
feeling
a breeze of excitement
an air of delight
when suddenly summer
becomes winter
these logs i ... chuck ...
to a fire to warm the inquires with--
**** these splinters.

to look around the circle of those
i now start in thought
to hold in a varied definition of "close"
i'll keep by the shadow and watch
and if its a connect four
bingo, plinko, and even/or tic-tac-toe
its that feeling of victory
we all love to know.

dont call me a pancake,
i am not a flap jack.
i have pockets for syrup and butter,
and i am obviously hacked.
i can be made into flavors and be savory,
or remain sweet and sugary unbearable.

But--

no matter what you want to call me,
i am a waffle, a baked piece of yum,
so give them one or two...
and dont be the fool.
because its the tool that makes it go...
straight to your lips and eventually to someones hips.

so bake me, shake up the flavor...
stack me into a cake and slice me up,
but when the steam stops...
i am full of love.

Whom of which can I speak--
When the days are full of heat?
Literary giant old and new,
Revamped, and told,"To thine own self be true."

Everywhere he had his ways,
Found dead, on his own birthday.
Upon his left ear a little ring, what did this bring?

Father of Tragedy,
He spoke, writhing with the lost love...

Nobody knows where he goes,
But at Two, we're going to The Globe.

Rain, hitting my shield,
pounding the drums of the domain,
calling-- waiting,
wanting and wished,
an emotion -- is this tears or fears?
Of happiness, guilt, and unsound mind?
Is this the unraveling of time?
Question... calling,
rain, hitting my shield,
will life by this yield?

The humming, yammering of keys,
documentation,
calling, crying,
giving away into dominion,
what will this be?
Millions of miles across the water and air--
with my lungs weak and tired breaths,
heaving inside my chest,
calling, the humming, yammering of keys?
Will this pain or glory fulfill me?

Silence, deafening glory of serenity,
calling, the airen but barren breech,
of this i stand... holding my own wreath,
of green and red, roses dying within,
what will it bring?
Who may bring this to me?
Calling miles across the way into day and falling...
all gone array,
silence,
dark and deep domain,
back from which i came-
holding still my wreath,
this i still seek,
drawing inside i cannot hide...
every breath i hath giveth
taken from me-- unaware,
slowly, crying...
in hopes of...
death, but not dying.

What will it be?
This search still to find...
the seek?
Calling my heart, to the pounding rain of my shield.
Yield, i say.
Yield.