The weather
it's sobbing, but not really.
My heart
it's trembling, really.
Cause I look,
and sometimes I see
but sometimes I don't.
So I wonder as I look her,
Fishnets, mascara and hair 
like silk 
(I must admit to envy).
And I do see
Your hat- hers now, if only momentarily
(I must confess to jealousy)
You make it delicious.
And I ponder and hash and squirm about 
This **** Symbology. 
I hover on knife's edge and ponder this to:
Shall I fall
         jump
         or tightrope?
Maybe I'll astonish and grow wings.
Such marvelosity.
(I'm feeling whimsical- practically bubbly
And yet, still morose).
And so the weather cries
And so, too, my heart.

It came to me in parts
I fell apart for you
Parts of you seducing bits of me

First I looked at your eyes
They are extraordinary, you know?
I've never seen that precise color
Brown, but light, like chestnut or cinnamon
Or some exotic spice...
I could ramble for ages

Next I noticed your hands and shoulders
and smile
They're loose and open,
Nothing to hide.
That's important,
I have enough to hide for the both of us
I'll tell you stories one day
I'll tell you secrets no one's ever heard

Then, I think, I heard your silences
They are deep and full of...well, something.
They have this quality to them
They become our silences...
I don't need to ramble with you.

Then I had a dream...
I dreamed we were together
In a crowd of people by ourselves
And I leaned over and kissed you right
on the freckle on your cheek that mirrors mine.
And you smiled at me.
And I woke up and I realized I was happy
Even your shadow made me happy.
And I think that comfort defines us

Then I felt something cold
It was a flash, like lightning
A girl smiled at you-
(you smiled back, being the friendly type)
It hit me
A twinge of jealousy!
I was, frankly, surprised
I still hadn't suspected anything

Then I felt something warm
When I sat by you I could feel your presence
Not like electricity, more like a change in pressure;
I could feel your warmth, your comfort
And we were a good foot apart
You're just so solid.

And then I knew.
I knew, you sneaky *******,
that I'd fallen for you.

There's a devil in me
Her name is Marianne.

She's my impulsiveness
my scorn
my haughtiness
and, yes, my insanity.

If I'm the balloon the boy let go of, she's the one who murmured to let me go- convinced I could fly

But-
  I CAN NOT FLY.

It is a simple thing.

I am no bird.
I am no balloon.

or maybe i am.
but I'm a penguin.
or a thin-skinned animal balloon.

Perhaps I can run, jump, dance

I CAN NOT FLY. 

So I must beg the boy,

*     don't
          let go
             of me.

please.

i'll float too high and 
     P O P!

Ah, but panting into his other ear is 
Marianne.

I wants to try out my wings!

I want to 
kiss that boy,
slap those *******,
steal a car,
run away to Europe,
become a ninja,
ride a dragon,
and on
and on
and on.

Just let go.

Let's get this straight, Marianne.
I CANNOT FLY.

The boy?
  doesn't love us
Those *******?
  are people too.
That car?
   is not ours.
Europe?
   is expensive
Become a ninja?
   we're afraid of the dark!
Ride a dragon?
   they aren't real! and we're afraid of heights!
And on and on and on?
   where would you stop?
I CAN'T FLY!
I'm a penguin!
I am charming
        sweet
        graceful, even
But-
  We will not live your dreams.

    please.
                       don't let go.

she gasps,
I want to dance!
I want to sing!
I want to shout!
I want to laugh!
I want to love!

I WANT IT ALL!!!

Fling us free, up into the blue yonder!
Live fast and die young!
We'll live forever-ever-ever!

YOU CAN FLY!
WE'LL SOAR ABOVE EVERYONE!

i whisper

no.
   hang on.
   don't let me go.
   hold me close.


i can not fly

She is a clear vibration of a violin string tight with tension, shivering in song, singing in pain.

She is a dustmote dancing in the dusk sparkling in dullness, joyful even at the end.

She is the warmth of an old flannel blanket passed down through generations until it's softer than a kiss.

She is the shine of a lucky penny in your pocket.

She is the cool of a breeze in summer sweat.

She is class.
She is kindness.

She is the Singing One.
She is my friend.

Dreams are dark purple
  So lacking-light they're nearly black
  They are vibrantly ultraviolet
So thick one breathes them in
   You can taste them in your lungs
   Heady, intoxicating
A whirlpool of purple ideas in a turquoise sea
    Schools of merfolk glisten silver,                          
        flick through your sleep
        waltz in your mind

Dreams are luscious fruit
    Pomegranate seeds bursting in a spray
       Of bright red, like fireworks
       Just sweet enough not to pucker your lips
       Just sour enough not to curdle your tongue

Dreams are soft fabric
    Warm like cotton
     Smooth like silk
      Sensual like velvet
Blankets to cuddle and wrap up
    til just a nose is left peeking out
    eskimo kisses with snowy air

But always,
above all,
Dreams are seductive
   one must crawl out
   clawing at the waves
   Escaping up to lighter shades

Hitting air with a gasp.
A shock every morning.
Heart pounding pulse jumping

Every morning I must ask my self

Between the dark luscious soft seductive sea
And the cold rushing gasping heart attacking air


*Which is the dream?

A big yellow one, too.

Squintin' at the moon
I feel so lonesome
moodily morose
and positively pensive
Cool light is beamin' down
Chills me to the bone and soul
not so very uneasily
Just a bit lonesome.

I need a bit of warmth for my belly
So very late at night
Won't you be so kind, good sir,
To rest a while, share a drink?
I know your mama said don't take candy from strangers
But we're both just travelers
on our long and dusty roads
Come over to my side
and walk with me for a while.

If beer dulls a memory
brand sets it burning
but wine is the best for a sad soul's yearning,
What can I get you? Tonight I'm drinking wine, the very best.
Share a glass of memory with me, bitter and sweet.

Let us gaze back together.

Do you remember the three hour drive back from the choir retreat?
I'd baked cookies for you and everyone, but forgot them in the trunk of the minivan. When I came back, you'd stolen my seat in the sweet spot and doomed me to the front passenger seat by the parent driver and a kink in my neck. You didn't even eat my lemon bars. Everyone loves lemon bars.
We listened to three hours of pop music. It all sounded the same, except Ed Sheeran's A Team. You had to explain why it was so, er, salacious. I got it subconsciously, I was just to tired to understand the lyrics just then. I'll never forget the look you gave me when I initially protested the song's innocence.

Do you remember how we used to argue every day?
We were both used to being right, I think. I can especially recall convincing you that nothing could be proven. That disappointed me. I wanted to be disproven.
I remember debating the concept of infinity, and the shock of being proven to be, quite conclusively, wrong. You were smug; I was chagrin-full.

Do you remember the first time we danced?
You didn't know what to do, and I was two inches taller than you in killer heels. I kicked them off to dance on the grimy sticky floor, to put you more at ease. It's tough being taller than the boys at your high school.
Then my only friend there left, and you and your best friend went upstairs to play the pinball machine, and I sat alone for the rest of the night.

What do you remember of me?
How did I come off?
Was I satirical, or sarcastic?
Was I funny, or tasteless?
Was I graceful, or chilly?

It does matter to me.

See, what I need to warm my belly this evening isn't drink nor memory.

What I need is you.

Sit by my fire, hold my hand, kiss my lips.
Tell me a story, write me a poem, sing me a song.

Tell me you need me too.

This isn't a poem or a story this is stream of consciousness baby a dangerous thing cause you might drown and you might get bored but I am arrogant as hell and I believe to the souls of my feet that I am a glittery gleaming river of crystal and fire cause that's a soul baby and we are made of the square root of energy-over-the-speed-of-light the same stuff as stars and God's breath and hot **** that's a wonderful thing that we are alive darlin we are alive so take a deep breath cause when's the last time you did that I'm looking at you love and I like what I see you're a pretty nice guy really though implying a question sorry dear but you know we don't really talk and why is that oh yeah we are surrounded in practically prison by busybodies guards again sorry dears but you know it's true and is that the reason or is it that we have nothing to say empty like an old cocoon butterfly's fluttered by and that's really what I'm hanging like a small winter coat on I'm getting slightly dusty musty so come and wipe me off I want to see if we can have an actual conversation I know basically nothing about you except you like Moby **** and you can dance both of which I gotta admit are major pros but I know that being young handsome and pleasant to be with are bad reasons to love someone thanks to Nellynicole are you Heathcliff dear lord I hope not he is such a bore according to the Cardplayer although he was a joker lets not kid ourselves here but  come on he's related to Liesel and she loved Rudy and that was good and right and terrible and tragic and heartbreaking and oh god Rudy why did you die sobbing over you I loved you like a friend a brother a lover and you aren't even real so why am I hung up over YOU?!

(inhale)

I've got a confession and an apology cause I'm really really sorry like a cat left out in the rain I feel all bedraggled but there's nothing I can do about it but baby I'm sorry

(deep breath)

I don't love you.

(sigh)

I just don't love you baby, I don't even like you that way and I feel bad cause I care for you and I don't want to see you hurt but I've got to do it cause like a splinter it'll hurt worse the longer I avoid it and it'll fester and smell and I got to rip it off now quick as I can like a band-aid

(gasp)

It came to me when we were walking that I didn't want to hold your hand in front of everyone and let them see and I'm sorry baby cause I know I been leading you on because I thought I liked you enough that it wouldn't matter but I think I only love your shoulder to sleep on and your coat to cosy up in and I guess I didn't like your lips enough

(gasp)

And you know I'm sorry for leading you on but I think it's not just my fault you see there was something off about you and I've been hearing things about you and her and I don't want to be just a hookup to you cause baby I'm just not like that I need a guy who can stand by me and not just for the weeks that we've known each other cause we're both gonna go home a thousand thousand leagues away might as well be on Pluto

(gasp)

I wish I could love you.
I wish I could hate you.
This in-between-ness is just- distasteful. 

(sigh)

I'm sorry.

(exhale)

Personal prayer is all very well and good.

Sunday morning worship is all fine and dandy.


But ya know what?

Sometimes you just need to throw your arms in the air and bellow, "HALLELUJAH!"

*Love those kids

You want to know how to rule the world?
You want my recipe for total *******?
Fine. I'll spill.

1 cup butter
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar.
Mix till creamy.

Two large eggs.
1 teaspoon vanilla- real, none of this "imitation" garbage
1 teaspoon almond extract
Beat in well

2&1/4 cup of flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
Fold in.
Don't mix too much or they'll be tough.

Stir in an entire bag of chocolate chips.
Add nuts if you want.

Bake at 375 for 10 minutes for each pan.

Food isn't just the way to a man's heart.

People will do anything for a cookie.

To all the authors, poets, songwriters, etc.

Make me smile like sunshine, make me laugh like light
Make me cry salty tears, make me mourn in dark grief
Make me rage lightning bolts, make me anger cold as coals

Make me fear, make me calm, make me relieved, make me despair.

But please, please, please
Never
Ever
make me bored.

Ba-***.
Ba-***.
Ba-***.
Ba-  CRACK

(hear that?
    
             my heart just broke.)


And- it's your fault.
All of you.
You hideous, gorgeous, creatures.

Everything you write
Makes me want to cry
Breaks my beating heart
Takes, and takes, and takes.

                         And then

Everything you write
Gives my heart hope
Lives in my soul.
Returns, returns, returns.

How can we do it?
How can we possibly do it?

Play god?
Give life!
Give death!
Take hope!
Take mourning!

Every day, we create tiny universes, pocket worlds, works of art.
Every day, we destroy the same.


Only one explanation.

**We must be mad!

i memorize your smile (crinkling
newspaper -just the comics section- rubbing off  indelibly on fingers) in curl of my eyelashes
i remember your eyes (so beautiful they require existence
trees and stars and baby's fingernails) in the place where singing comes from
i impress your voice (thunderstorm without lightning, roar without lion, waterfall without rocks) in the spaces between my fingers
i save your kindness (dog patiently loving the persons particular, but more amazing because of humanity) in the souls of my feet
i carry your heart (I carry it in
my heart

She is the blur of the chatter of a crowd at the State Fair, happy, jostling, buying, wondering, marveling, buzzing.

She is the heat of an oven opened to remove the brownies, rushing in a wave to flush your cheeks.

She is the bright blue breeze of easy laughter between close friends lightening the load on Atlas' shoulders.

She is the opening bar of Für Elise, hauntingly inviting, beautifully questioning.

She is the delicious contrast of hot sun and cool breeze.

She is patience.
She is comfort.

She is The Listening One.
She is my friend.

I find you-
                     (   extraordinary
               relatable  
          moving
desolate )

Heartbreaking.

Your poems are-
                   (   poignant
               beautiful
       elegant
stunning )

...(sigh)

"I still want
her blackness,
to taste her magic,
to kiss
the devil inside her."

This is poetry I dream of. This is what is inside of me that you have words to make beautiful. This is extraordinary.
I hope you realize that.

I believe that each of us must do three things.

We must explore.
We must find home.
And we must make the world a more beautiful place.

This is the hardest thing to do.
Yet you make it look easy.


Keep writing.

She looked sheepishly around the empty room, and licked the sugar off her finger. Only the walls laughed at her.
She was drinking bitter coffee and a sweet apple. Now, the coffee is too sweet and the apple has soured.
So much for sugar.

You make me feel like
always dancing
always touching
always kissing

You make me feel like
always laughing
always singing
always leaning

You make me feel like
I am so close
to love.

I don't know what's going on
Mostly cause you don't tell me.
Really, people don't tell me things;
And it bothers me.
In case you haven't noticed,
I like knowing things.

I can tell you how to hold yourself on stage so you have presence.
I can tell you what the third derivative of of the position of a car is, and what it means.
I can tell you how to make people want to do what you want them to.
I can make music that sounds like sadness, or anger, or unadulterated joy.
I can make you feel strong, or ashamed, or beautiful.

And you know what else I know?

All of this means jack-****.
Because I can't help you.
Any of you.
None of you will let me.
Frankly I wouldn't know how.

But, you have a new ring,
And you have a new tattoo,
And you have a new scar,
And you have a lying problem,
And you probably have a drug problem.

I can't help.
I don't know how.

Some of will read this, some of you won't.
It doesn't really matter.
I don't think you know who are,
In both senses.

I don't know who I am either.

I doubt you do.
I mean, know me or you.

I think the first thing is,
Know thyself.

Des milliers et des milliers d'années
Ne saufraient suffire
Pour dire
La petite seconde d'éternité
Ou tu m'as embrassé
Ou je t'ai embrassé
Un moment dans le froid de l'hiver
À la maison de la danse
À la maison
Sur la terre
La terre qui est un astre

The knack to flying is throwing yourself at the ground and missing.

You tell me you love me, but I’m not sure you know what love is, or how fast it flies, or how much it resembles a UFO, or what kind of weapon you’d use to shoot it down.

Hope is a thing with feathers.

The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.

Do you love him?"
Deryn swallowed, then pointed at the screen. "He makes me feel like that. Like flying."

So let the rain come down
Like a waterfall
In a world that's older than time

Two beings met there
In the rain soaked world
And the Music plays her song

And the melody
Was a symphony
But the Magic listens well

He hears and he laughs
And he falls in love
He's too late to save his soul

And the Music plays
And she sings and seduces
She an actress far too well

But the Magic,
He's learnt a trick or two
He's diced with the devil hi'self

And he's fast as the wind
And slick as a sigh
He might play a tune or two

So the Magic and the Music
Oh how they twist and they turn
Not such a match in Heaven or Hell

And she skips to his beat
And he sweeps to her tune
They can match any paradise you choose

But they speed and they rush
Start to lose control
It's more than any mortal can bear

And they turn and they twist
Round and round they spin
Getting faster as they go

And they start to melt
Like a sunset sky
From the world that's older than time

And just before the Music stops
And the Magic crumbles down

They weave with each other
Each become the other

And they whisper to the world
That's older than time

But mostly just to themselves:



I


                                            ­                  love                  

          

                        *you
  





But so softly that it's lost
To the wind

Pounding
pounding
pounding
i feel
the bass
pounding
to my core
my center
my heart
my soul
and the music
superfluous
unspecific
and beautiful
flowing
through me
my blood
my veins
i am bass
i am music
i am rhythm
i am dance
**I AM

She is sunshine spackled on the bottom of a too-turquoise pool in the first days of July so gasping-hot with your friends in a barely-broken-in bikini.

She is the creak of an old swing straining higher-higher-higher to bruise the eggshell-sky for the last time before you jump and fly and land in a green plush carpet

She is the softness of a new marshmallow melting in a mug of Mom's homemade hot chocolate in snowball hands.

She is the hope of a new day, a young year, another chance.

She is also the slow stone in your stomach when the other foot falls where you knew it would.

She is a bear hug.
She is a flowering tree.
She is a warm cookie.
She is an expected sadness.

She is The Laughing One.
She is my friend.

She is the sway of new-lovers' hips to an old just-forgotten song as they blush and laugh at the strangeness of each other's eyes.

She is the infinite majesty of a starry night sky in the wilderness, untamed and terrifying in its beauty that plucks at the primal heartstrings, mere existence telling us we are insignificant.

She is the gentle light of an orange Harvest moon, shining on friends and enemies alike.

She is the fierce heat of summer-simmer sun.

She is the ache of too many tears tracing tired tracks.

She is an exotic new food.
She is the swoop of a roller coaster.
She is the chill of a spring breeze.
She is the crispness of an army bed.

She is the Weeping One.
She is my friend.

Luscious lilting lullabies lightly linger in the air.
Wondrous words whispered in willow trees wink through windows at the widows and the wanted alike.

Lovers make words delicious and insinuate dangerous kisses with few syllables.

Friends make words kind and embrace warmly with charmingly unaware, patterned banter.

Betrayers make words smooth and deceive easily with conscientiously phrased flattery.

I tell you truly-
I am not your lover,
I am not your friend,
I am not your betrayer.

I tell you truly-
I am a Creatrix.

I am a writer, a poet, a dreamer, a weaver,

I make words true and beautiful, honest and shimmering.

I dare not tell you facts-
I tell you the truth

Like a many-faceted jewel, the truth is.
Infinitely large and various,
yet singular in beauty.

Weaving willowy whispered words.
How wondrous.

O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your namethroughout the earth! You reveal your glory in the heavens above!
My God, everywhere I look I see Your power and Your love. How beautiful is Your creation! Yet You alone are Beautiful; all else is beautiful only through its' share in You.
  From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise on account of your adversaries, so that you might put an end to the vindictive enemy.
The littlest child knows how to praise You: with their whole heart, whole soul, whole strength. Let me be as a child, oh my God.
  When I look up at the heavens, which your fingers made, and see the moon and the stars, which you set in place,
Your creation inspires such wonder in me, oh Lord- what perfect stars, what gorgeous moon- yet all merely reflect Your wondrous light
  Of what importance is the human race, that you should notice them? Of what importance is mankind, that you should pay attention to them,
Lord, I am insignificant. I am nothing to Your glory,
  and make them a little less than the heavenly beings? You grant mankind honor and majesty;
But in Your overwhelming love and charity You care for me. I gain honor and status only from You
  you appoint them to rule over your creation; you have placed everything under their authority,
God, may You grant me the wisdom, strength, and patience to care for Your world,
all the sheep and cattle, as well as the wild animals,
for Your creatures,
the birds in the sky, the fish in the sea and everything that moves through the currents of the seas.
big, small, cute, hideous, and everything in between.
O Lord, our Lord, how magnificent is your reputation throughout the earth!
*Oh God, praise Your holy name!

Dear it,
*******.

I just don't care anymore.
I probably will again in the morning
But tonight, midnight, new day, I have the will.

This is actively not caring.
It's quite an effort.

Cause I let knives into my heart
and they twisted the blade.

I trusted them,
I thought they were my friends
and they were, at first.
Actually, until recently, they were.

So **** it.
I'm done.

Love,
      Artemesia and Marianne

  

       *yes, you're playing with the big girls now...

I'm
    f
       a
          l
            l
                i
                     n
                            g
...up
....down
.....inward
......onward
.......apart
..........t­o pieces.

I wanted to hug you
To make myself feel better

Life is short,

and sorrows sting,

And death his final toll will ring,


Still yet-
Still yet-

The birds will sing



their music.