Once, long ago,
An old man took me into his shop
And showed me his snowglobe collection.
Every one, spotless,
No trace of dust lining the rims.
I paused to gaze,
No,
Marvel,
At each scene:
Two children ice skating,
A milkman driving his truck,
Ladies reading magazines while having their hair styled.
Every one, spotless,
Until I lightly shook one,
Just enough so the snow sprinkled
The ice skating children,
The driving milkman,
The reading ladies.
But each scene was still, frozen in time,
Still, perfect.
I slumped to the floor,
Heartbroken and tears trailing down my cheeks.
I wanted their life so bad,
But all I could do was marvel,
No,
Gaze,
And lightly sprinkle the tiny figurines.

She plays music
Not from memory, but as she goes
Her hips like the curves of a cello
And her voice like velvet
(Exactly like its notes)
She was as smooth as the mahogany wood
And nobody could master her
(Rather accentuate her beauty further)
Her music was tantalizing
And she taught me how to play it
All throughout the night

Growing up I discovered that it is innate
In human nature
To find, seek, or beg for affection.
I stayed silent in order to watch those around me:
Some were good at capturing attention
Like on a warm summer night
And children and running around with glass jars
Procuring fireflies that shine like precious gems.
These children had the talent of keeping the fireflies
Dazzling for days.
Some sought after the coveted attention,
With their baited fishing poles in hand,
They patiently waited in the middle of the lake
And held onto their prize when caught
Until it died when they would go and fish for a new one.
Perhaps a longer, bigger, heavier, more valuable catch.
Some are light, ethereal,
Like a subtle perfume you can only smell
When you are mere inches away from the wearer.
They are sweet and not too persistent in their ways.
I continued to watch
And place people in these categories.
What they all in common, though,
Was selling their precious:
The fireflies, the fish, the perfume.
I looked to myself,
What did I have to sell? To offer?
Anything at all?
Surely I wasn’t as skilled as the lightning bug trapper
Or as patient as the fisherman
Or as fragrant as the perfume-wearer.
Instead, I was the girl
Who would admire the stars for all they are,
But not try to keep one;
Who would live in the now
Rather than feebly attempting to move my watch
Back a few years.
It was then I realized,
My love is not for sale.

It was March, somewhere near the darkened salty wood
When I heard a girl say something, a cry out to me.
She ran out of the forest as fast as she could
To greet me with eyes the shone like the glass of the sea.

"My name is Avery," a silver flute chimed,
"Would you like to come find shells with me?"
I was stunned; all seemed to be perfectly timed,
She came right when I was about to leave.

The ocean waves crashed like thunder.
It was surprising how comfortable she was with me.
All at once, I began to wonder:
Could this be real life? How on Earth could this be?

In the distance, I heard the bell ring,
Seven o'clock the sun signaled to me.
Avery looked upon my face, began to sing,
Which reminded me of a soft and sweet honey bee.

My boat pulled ashore near the beginning of dawn,
And Avery pulled aside and whispered to me,
"Don't leave, who knows where you'll land upon?"
"But my home is not with the trees."

As the ship left, I could see the tear glisten on her face,
And something was struck deep inside of me;
I could only think of the imaginary place
Where I would once again meet my dear she.

Four years later when my home pulled ashore,
Avery was not there waiting for me.
I could not find her anymore,
Perhaps while I was gone, she had found a he.

Slowly, I followed a path into the darkened salty wood
Where a grave had waited upon me.
There, in silence I stood,
Was my poor little Avery.

Nevermore could I hear her whisper her love for me
Nor the songs that she would sing to the sea.
Nevermore would I feel her heart beat,
The only sound would be the weeping, coming from me.

On this day, I remember it so
‘Twas only  twenty years ago
That he,
He was standing by the sea,
He was standing next to me.
That I,
I was chasing the air,
I didn’t have a care.
It was this exact spot that we met
And what a day we had:
Splashing water, finding starfish, and
Taking long walks up and down the shore.
He held me tight,
Then we parted the night,
And from him I heard nevermore.

Everyone leaves a footprint on you
Whether you like it or not,
As if you were a beach
Filled with many footprints
Of many people, of many strangers;
But the tide incessantly beats ashore
And washes away some footprints,
Regardless how deep,
Whether you like it or not.

I went to the circus when I was thirteen;
Everything was turkus,
All in a rurkus,
And my body brought me to an automated teller machine.

Its face was a gypsy, but there wasn't something quite right;
Then I became real tipsy,
I saw smoking hippies,
And when I woke, I couldn't find my parents by a long sight.

The circus, the circus had closed down.
Besides the ghosts, I was the only one in town,
And the only thing left was a rusted old crown.

5194 the history book told me.
Nothing could solve this, there was no key,
And so I let me dreams take me to the sea.

When I awoke, I wakened with a jolt;
I was under a cheastnut oak,
Covered in a velvet cloak,
And everything was normal, just as it was supposed to be.

This is about the state of heart,
Like when I feel Koi No Yokan and I just know that this is real.
Perhaps it will last this time?
In the past, I have experienced nothing but Saudade and La Douleur Exquise.
Unrequited love? That doesn't even get to the heart of it.
Every time I see him, it's as if I'm experiencing Retrouvailles all over again.
Finally, I, the Ilunga, gave up, but something about this time
Makes me incredibly willing
To let pain through my doors again.
Is it love?
Is it lust?
All I really want is for a Cafuné
And butterflies from our Mamihlapinatapei when I desperately want to kiss him.
Maybe it was a Yuanfen
Or God's intervention.
Maybe one day I will tell him, "Ya'aburnee"
Or perhaps one day he will tell that to me.
All I really know, is that this euphoria is explained through one simple word:
Forelsket.

In bed by eight and then storytime
Lots of time
Just enough time and a short enough memory to know there was a tomorrow
Just enough time and a short enough memory to not understand aging
Until I had plucked all the hairs off my chinny chin chin
And discovered if the big bad wolf was real that he lived inside of me
He ate my years
My dad's pocketwatch was in sync with the grandfather clock
Its tiny hands resonating louder than
The protesting silver cogs
The screaming mahogany treads
"Tik tok...
Tik tok...
Ding. Ding."

When you decide to love someone,
You decide to make an investment.
He sits there with his glass jar,
Waiting to marvel at the heart placed inside.
Some run to this jar
And place their entirety in his possession.
It is bright,
It is lively,
It is a shiny new heart
Regardless of the scratches or dents of previous users.
Some quietly walk by his jar
And tear off tiny pieces of who they are,
Placing them in the jar for him to look after.
The heart may not seem lovely at first,
It is shredded,
It is broken,
It is ragged on the edges,
But it still glows as bright as a full heart.
When you decide to invest,
You decide to grow,
You decide to allow wisdom to come into your life,
You decide to become more conscious of who you are as a person.
However, sometimes we find the desire to move
Our hearts to a new jar
So someone new can marvel at our beautiful heart.
We go back to his jar and may take all our heart out at once,
Or slowly in those little pieces.
But when we get to the bottom of the jar
The final piece of our heart is fixed,
Immovable regardless of how hard we attempt to rid the jar of it.
Although you made a good investment
And learned to try new things
Or become a renewed person,
That one last piece of you is machéd to his jar,
Which is his to treasure
While he watches you place your heart
In a new glass jar.

I don’t fear loneliness, I embrace it.
I have befriended the time I spend alone.
It weaves itself in and out of me,
Between each of my hairs
And worms itself into the sinews of my heart.
I have made peace with my loneliness.
Deep in the darkness of night
I whisper what seems like to myself
But actually to tell the loneliness about my day,
Who I saw, and how I noticed it didn’t enjoy my day with me.
“My love,”
It croons, searching its way through the maze of my ear
Each syllable resonating in my fading conscious,
“You must live your sunlights without me walking by your side.
I will always exist next to you,
But I know I am easily replaced
And eventually you won’t even think of me deep in the darkness of night.”
The loneliness drew fear and sadness from my soul.
I believed I needed it to survive. It was innate for me to want it.
As the tears glistened on my forlorn-stained hair
And pain seeped into the beats of my abandoned heart,
I tried to get ahold of the loneliness,
Further flowing into the grooves of my palm and blanketing my shuddering body;
When in reality I was simply curled around a pillow
Wishing my friend, my loneliness, would leave me
Alone.

I'm not saying it won't be hard.
This is the most difficult thing you will ever do.
I dare you to leave home,
And never look back.
Talk to your family for their benefit,
Only to neglect your own desire to call out to them,
Because that makes it harder.
Forget your friends,
So you may realize how much you don't need them,
And who your real friends truly are.
Suppress old memories,
In order to make room for many more,
To have a real definition of what it means to live.
Most of all, discover what happiness is in purest form:
The sun on your hair,
Fingers aching after playing guitar for too long,
Understanding a language more foreign than you know,
And a smile from a stranger.
All of this for what?
To know the world just a little bit better
And find a home outside of your comfort.

Although language does not unite us,
Measurements systems differ,
And we are alienated by borders
Two things break down these walls:
Emotion
And time
No matter your skin color or ethnicity or country
We all rejoice in the happy moments
And mourn in the sad;
We are all affected by the death of someone we love
And are elated when things go according to the plan we created for them;
We all want to be surrounded by people we adore
And have difficulty expressing the minute details of how we feel.
No matter your history, family, or house you live in,
We are all limited by time
And the constant ticking seconds;
We all look forward to certain events
And enjoy those few extra hours of sleep in the morning;
We all can’t help but feel crushed when we realize all the time we have wasted,
And do what we love in any minute we can spare.
Emotion and time:
Two things all humans are born with.
They come in varying degrees,
But a smile still means joy
And tears still mean brokenness.
Although I can’t tell you how I feel in this very moment,
I hope my laughter and bright eyes will do.

Imagine,
Me, pulling back the universe,
Finding a tear,
Where a star fell too far through
And space is limply hanging loose,
Swaying lightly in a comet's wind.
What would you find behind it all?
Some say that the stars shine
Only because Heaven shines behind them.
Some claim that the moon is made of cheese
Even though they have never visited the desolate rock.
But what if space is like the covers on my bed?
When you pull it back
And place is back over you,
There is your imprint,
Your fingerprint,
And it warms you
By the light of the cosmos
By the proximity of the planets
And no one can see you anymore
Because it protects you
And the monsters of this world
Disappear.

Now is the time I am old
Old as I've ever been, young as I'll ever be
My activities are done
And my body has left me with nothing to do
Too much time
Oh, how I would trade all my minutes now
In exchange for minutes then
To climb with Jack once more up the beanstalk
Or braid Rapunzel's hair again
Now is the time that I am old
And my time has passed
Only to be collected in the wrinkles of my skin
Or gleam of my colorless hair
Somehow inside of my alarm clock I still know the existence of
The screaming mahogany treads
The protesting silver cogs
Now accompanied by the crying red numbers on the screen
But louder than all of their rustling is
"Tik tok...
Tik tok...
Ding."

He brought me
Some
Hot coffee

And planted me
An
Apple tree

I gave him
Some
Soy milk

And gifted him
A
Fresh leek

Then we watched
The
Buzzing bees
Making
Sweet honey

Curled on the sand
Ten miles back,
I saw the ghost of myself
And hauntings of my past;
I saw the shadow of a body
And my bones decaying at last.

Disfigured and hanging from a tree,
I saw my heart dangling above me
And my ****** fingers mangled in debris.

Singing in a valley
Twenty years back,
I discovered the remains of my voice box,
All blistered and full of cracks;
I discovered the accompanying crusty lips,
Lightly humming and unknown track.

Twisted and frozen in ice,
I discovered my one and only vice
And my once golden hair, laden with lice.

My body,
Once pieced together in perfection,
Has fallen apart
And become my collection;
Everything that was flawless
Is now enveloped in infection.

All is gone
I can only see darkness
And my mind's projection of the silouettes of my hands
The grandfather clock is broken
No repairman came knocking on my door
Nor did my house tell me it needed fixing
Soon the dust gathered on the golden bells
And the mahogany fell silent
The silver cogs were equally as inaudiable
The glowing numbers didn't shine anymore
Man, the only creature plagued by time
So accustomed to our sickness
I can still hear, in the back of my mind,
"Tik tok...
Tik tok...
- - -."

Plagued by time* is the most apt description of man
Not enough time
A drowning consciousness in the sea of activities
Not enough time
The mind with a growing number of disabilities
Not enough time
To do anything in a twenty-four hour day
The grandfather clock cannot stop
Even though its mahogany treads are screaming
"NO MORE"
Only to be drowned out by the golden bells
Whispering
"Tik tok...
Tik tok...
Ding. Ding. Ding."

I didn´t intend to forget.
I didn´t intend to kiss you and bite your lip that hard.
I didn´t intend to smile so much.
I didn´t intend to be found on top of some stranger.
When I woke up, it was all a dream,
My memory wiped clean everything I would have wanted to forget.
But when I want to remember,
It isn´t there.
I didn´t mean to drink so much
Except have you ever felt so free?
I was free and unafraid.
That guy thinks I´m cute? Good thing I have no problem talking to him.
I want another drink? Good thing I can charm myself into another free gin and tonic.
Free drinks. Free me.
I remember that it all tasted like water:
My body needed it and I was constantly thirsty for more.
I remember at first there was a burning sensation in my throat,
But eventually all the ***** slid into my stomach with ease
Like I had been doing this for years.
Getting drunk seemed like fun.
The music was loud, the room was dark enough,
Who would know?
Except everyone knew.
Everyone knows.
They know I can´t remember,
Or maybe they can´t remember if I remember.
I didn´t intend to kiss you
Or even meet you in the first place.
I should have just gone home,
But I wanted my new discovered water so bad
And I was dying of thirst.
I didn´t intend to have no control over my actions
My words
My memory.
I didn´t intend to be found on top of some stranger
With sores covering his face and hated by the town.
I didn´t intend to be found on top of the local drug addict.
I didn´t intend to be an addict,
But my body needed water.
I didn´t intend to find scrates all over my body.
Were they from his nails?
Or did I fall over on the pavement that many times?
I didn´t intend to be sick or create a mess,
Except how do I apologize for something I don´t remember?
How can I hold myself with dignity anymore?
How can I confidently say that he didn´t take advantage of me
When I don´t remember?
Maybe if I drink water again,
I will forget that I ever forgot.

Perhaps one day, I'll meet my end,
But until that day,
I'll continue to make amends.
For when that day is come,
I know I shall decay
And perhaps I'll find my way,
To Heaven or Hell I shall succumb.
It is something I cannot transcend,
So unto Death beats its drum,
I shall pretend.

Most people when they wake up in the morning crave coffee or breakfast,
Something to help kick start their day in the right direction,
Except a cup of Joe or omelet doesn’t entice me enough to get out of bed.
I long for the scattered stars in the night sky,
But I don’t mean the twinkling lights painted onto the indigo tapestry we call “dusk,”
That drapes itself onto the setting sun
Just enough that we can still see our hands in front of our faces
And just enough that the street lights are guiding my steps.
I mean the ones sprinkling your cheeks and the bridge of your nose
Whose colors are a newly polished copper and whose numbers never dwindle.
I like star gazing especially when the sun is shining bright
And darkens the skin behind them so they shine even brighter.
I like star gazing when you smile and your eyes crinkle at the corners,
Folding your stars over themselves so much they demand to be spilled onto the grass below.
You probably wouldn’t even notice if you lost a few
Despite the dew collecting on your shoes from when you washed them off your face
Simply by laughing at the horrible joke I just told.
But I would pick them up and cup them in my hands to ensure they were never lost again,
Placing them into a glass jar on the night stand I keep in my memory.
They continue to charm me into slumber days after their light fades.
I like star gazing when I can feel the heat of their glow upon my own face,
In turn making my own cheeks flush pink
(Even though they are trying to match the tawny sheen of your stars.)
My eyes search for their patterns, creating constellations that tell stories of great adventure:
Wings showing how you flew across the solar system to be here in this moment,
Avoiding perils like black holes that threatened to extinguish your stars
Or the serpent you battled to protect the cosmos lining your jaw.
No one exactly knows how many stars are in our universe,
Just as I don’t exactly know how many are smeared beneath your eyes,
But I wish to find out.
I wish upon every single one of those stars as if it were the first time I had seen them
Like dusk is constantly hanging itself on the sleepy sun,
Tucking it in for the night with a blanket made of nebulas and diamonds.
Because every time you smile and crinkle your eyes,
I find a new one. A new wish.
I did not sleep last night; I, instead, talked to the moon.
She told me she prays to have stars like yours.
For beauty was always compared to her,
But now it is your cheeks and bridge of your nose she, I covet.
When I wake up in the morning, I do not hope I remembered to make coffee
Or have enough time to make pancakes.
I imagine the night again,
And hope that one day
The night will wake up beside me.

In this photograph,
Here in my hands,
Lies the most telling tale.
It is a picture of a man,
Dark hair, in his middle years,
But wiser than anyone I have ever seen.
I do not know this man personally,
But he has traveled the world,
And seen all of its tragedies
And all of its blessings.
I have never met this man,
But he knows all of history,
From the beginning of time
Up until the end of the universe.
It's not something we can fathom,
But his mind is capable of knowing the misunderstandings.
However,
This man never existed.
Nor will he ever.
The human race will run
Fast
Faster
Until they can run no more
In order to be like this man sitting here in my hands.
But their goal is out of reach,
Clouded by misjudgment and arrogance.
We will never be like this man sitting here in my hands.
We will never be this man sitting here in my hands.

Four years ago I chanced upon Colorado.
Only then, did I realize how my life could change,
Realize how to truly love, loving everyone and loving right.

I saw mountains, rivers, and people who changed the course of my life. Only now am I headed down a different path.

A new person I became until I met him, from Colorado as well.
Maybe he was different and right, truly right, truly lovely.

Colored winds and beating trails is
How I lived for one week
And never again could I return to my old self;
Never again would I accept loneliness as a friend,
Grasp tightly to the darkeness, or
Engage in affairs that I need not be tangled in.
Daring to change, daring to love, daring to greet the new me with open arms.

Driving through the countryside of Spain
The hills rose enough to be covered in snow,
But not enough to be called mountains.

Small houses perched like sparrows
And the grass was well-cut by sheep.
These animals were the life of the mountains.

Yet grey clouds hung like wet clothes in Spain,
Bringing light mist to kiss away the snow,
But not enough to drown the mountains.

I called this land my home somehow
And the Spanish life permeated my soul.
These people were the happiness of the mountains.

It was the silence that sung to Spain,
The tranquility that froze in the snow,
But not enough to save the mountains.

We are all born into the world the same way:
Gasping for breath and stretching our arms to find a loving grasp.
We all leave the world in the same way too:
Searching for air to fill our lungs once more and the hope that we are not alone.
We all enter the same vicious cycle of life:
Growing up, only to be given the terrible news
That we will only have seventy-some years to live.
You will die and it is a terminal disease
Plaguing everyone.
Good luck escaping.
Maybe you’ll be the first, but I highly doubt it.
I haven’t seen anyone do it yet.
When we are young, we are given the whole crayon box,
Wild, bright, and beautiful colors to create whatever our imagination can think of
Hopefully something just as wild and bright and beautiful as  the colors we use.
Every year we get older
More and more of our crayons are taken away
So that we are only left with a mere few,
All neutral colors.
Our drawings are compared to those around us,
Get put up on the wall to display,
And all use the same colors.
Soon, all the drawings begin to even look the same.
All the same colors.
When you politely ask for your rainbow back,
Midnight blue
Lemon yellow
Flamingo pink
Forest green
Those around you begin to judge.
Your drawings look different,
You don’t fit in.
Many shy away from your vividness, from your life,
Who are you to go against the status quo?
Some share their colors which you are lacking,
Royal purple
Mandarin orange
Flaming red
Periwinkle
And your drawing becomes
A masterpiece
It’s abstract
A product of an active imagination
Everything you want your dreams to be.


The vicious cycle of life:
Being born the same
Learning to be different
Told you must act the same
Dying the same
If we all begin and end in this world the same,
Why keep our lives the same?
Why hesitate when asking for silver or gold?
Why fit in
When we are as unique as our fingerprints?

It comes like the first snow:
Quiet, soft, and lovely
As if its descent isn't detected
Until white frost already covers the ground.

It comes like a hurricane:
Rough, agonizing, and raging,
Only to be broken by the eye
But then destroying any remains in its path.

It comes like dusk and dawn:
Short-lived, luminescent, and dancing.
It's when the Earth comes to life
And love springs from its breath.

It dies like the tide:
Its lulling recesion guided
Only by the light
Of the moon.

A while ago, I told myself that I was done with earthly love.
Not forever, however I thought we just might need a break.
Although it brought me joy,
Brokenness, exhaustion,
And tears ensued more frequently than the happiness I had thought.

My own love of pursuing my dreams did not sadden my heart
Like love often did.
Why would I chase it?
Love is rarely caught and takes far too much work to maintain.
When I am faster and stronger, then I will try it again.

Just a break to discover what lays in my dormant soul,
To decide where my body actually wants to go,
To see it all
All the world has,
To find the most valuable thing the world can offer.

Being alone wasn’t so lonely. I had family.
I had friends.
I had me.
Their touch was enough to satisfy my desire,
My constant need to always be with some form of love.

Then came the summer sun and all it had to give:
The busy beaches, the sunburnt skin, the naught nights,
And him.
This man,
Who would eventually change my thoughts on love.

He seemed normal and I became curious.
“Hi.
So,
What is your name what brings you to this place?”
I wasn’t looking for him, yet he found me.

“I’m sorry, I must be leaving,” I said.
And I ran across the world, the ocean,
Until I could run no more. I was lost.

I found myself in a labyrinth, one constructed of memories and unfamiliarity.
The more and more I searched for answers, the more and more I became lost
Answers that would address my questions were lost in the wood
The once beautiful flowered entrance was forgotten
Until I could only remember the darkened forestry surrounding me
I heard ghostly voices calling out to me, to come home
My family
My friends
I could not leave this labyrinth. It was my home
I came to enjoy being lost and forgotten like the warm summer days
The cool shade’s touch befriended me and I decided that I never wanted to leave
Then I felt a light tap on my shoulder
When I turned around, he was standing there, bright eyed and warm hearted
He nicely asked me if he could help me find a way out
So he took my hand and searched with me, walked along side of me
His voice keeping me company
The light began to stream through the trees once more
And the ground was littered with colorful fruit

He stepped out into the light, a sun flooded field that marked the end of our journey.
He waited, smiling and patiently.
He opened his arms, knowing that I yearned for a gentle touch.
He asked me again, so sweet I could hear the honey dripping from his lips.
So I ran.

I couldn’t bring myself to remove myself completely from the forest.
I backpedalled into the maze again.
I was trying to find a dead end.
I had abandoned goodness and life for darkness and confusion.
I couldn’t shake from my memory the image of
His eyes
His laugh
His touch
And their warmth remained even when my heart did not.

I knew I would find my way out,
I would cross two countries and an ocean to get there.
Perhaps he will still be waiting,
Bright eyed and standing in the open air.
Maybe he knew I would run back in,
And he even whispered, “Take care.”
He showed me what was waiting when I came out.

Love was not what I was searching for,
Yet it is a consequence of
Seeing where my heart rested
Because although it is
Found in many spots
It can always
Be found where
Love flows
Freely.

Would you believe me
If I said
That the moon was afraid
And wanted to hide her flaws?
While we lay here
With our telescopes and astronauts,
She tried her best
To cover herself with clouds
So we
Don’t notice
And
Can’t see
Her craters
Which she calls “blemishes,”
But we call “freckles.”
Perhaps,
One day the moon will see her beauty
Reflecting back at her
In a once dark lake
Now illuminated with light.

Sometimes,
Sometimes you fall completely into pieces
And you feel broken in every way possible,
But not because you are sad,
Not because the world let you down,
Because you feel completely alive
And in love with
Something, someone, a place
So much that you can't hold yourself together.
Sometimes you feel shattered
After discovering what you are most passionate about:
You are consumed and want to be filled to the brim
With everything involving who you are,
You want to concentrate every fiber of your being
To your passion.
Being broken isn't always bad,
Sometimes, it's where you find your secret treasures.

Although sometimes we shatter due to happiness,
I have experienced the shatter, the slow fall apart, and the explosion.
The difference?
Shattering makes you feel as if you are in millions of pieces,
Lying on the cold linoleum floor
And feeling the difference between the air and the ground:
Burning humidity that a hand could cut through
And pure ice like when you involuntarily shiver despite being wrapped in a blanket.
You actually have the opportunity to be put back together and look like new.
Slowly falling apart takes time
And hurts the most, and makes happiness last the longest.
It stings for hours, leaving you smiling long after whatever happened,
Happened.
You actually can pick up yourself as you fall apart to be fixed and become anew.
Exploding is imminent:
You know it's coming, but not when
and then you are plastered against the wall,
No hope of being pieced together and scattered all throughout the room:
Your being so broken and destroyed that no one finds you recognizable.
Pain may be like this, but happiness is even more so like shattering, falling apart, or exploding.
And when your heart does one of those three,
Your brain protests in its loudest voice,
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN THE END!
NO BODY EVER ENDS UP HAPPY!"
But your heart doesn't care
Because being happy for a short amount of time is much more worthwhile
Than being stone cold forever.

My daddy would say to me,
“Those who anger you, control you.”
Who is deserving of that power,
Turning me into someone I am not?
Someone full of insults
Ready to throw,
Someone filled with nothing but spite.
I become someone I am not,
And the little monsters that inhabit my heart
Come alive and feed on my malice,
Growing to an inhuman size.
What my daddy didn't warn me about
Is the power one has
When they make me happy.

She was the daughter of two healthy churchgoers,
A sister of a little rebellious girl,
And a list maker herself.
She made lists of the simple:
What to buy at the grocery store,
What to pack for her vacation,
What she needed to do for the week,
What CDs she wanted to buy.
She made lists of the complicated:
What she wanted to do with her life
(While comparing it to the list of what everyone else wanted,)
Who she would have to say goodbye to
(All too soon and sooner than she realized,)
Where she planned to travel in the future
(Granted she wasn’t drowning in debt,)
How she could easily **** herself
(Even though she had no intentions to do so.)
She was a pensive, well-spoken woman,
Someone who loved with all her heart,
And made lists to make herself feel better.
Lists of the pets she wanted,
The names she liked,
The books to read,
The letters to write,
The addresses of friends,
The dreams of hers,
The movies to watch,
The poems to memorize.
Her lists brought a sense of organization,
A false feeling of having it all figured out,
Despite the fact she knew her life could crumble
At any moment from all the pressure.
She was convinced the world was weighing her down
To be a certain person,
When in reality, all the heaviness came from herself.
She thought she would let down her family,
But she would only let down herself.
A world where the ground was made of words and the sky of paper
Saturated her vision,
And her lists kept her ignorant,
Her lists kept her happy.
(It’s all too sad until you know,
That the list maker is me.)

Tell me:
What if my life wasn't the same?
I made a different decision once
And everything I know now is flipped one hundred-eighty degrees.
I chose to not love him?
I decided to talk to him?
I all together ignored him?
Tell me:
What if my life wasn't the same?
I wouldn't be the same person,
And who I am now, never would have even existed.              
I chose to drink away my pains?
I decided to cause myself pain?
I all together enjoyed pain?
Who would I be then?
Who would I be now?
What if I took the road more traveled by?
Or made myself a new trail?
What if I didn't end up admiring the heavens?
Or instead hopelessly tried to catch fireflies or fish?  
At the right time,                  
Somehow, the right people come into my life;
They may not be the people I want to meet,
Or even the people I think I need to know.        
Tell me:
What if no one I knew now chanced upon me?
Would I even exist as I am?

To go to die
Was what I was told.
To run or to hide,
One of which was bold.
But deep in the night,
I tossed and I rolled.

The war was just right,
Inside and outside
My body, of height
And it spanned so wide.
I found it was they,
Of me they would chide.

Somehow I was prey
Predators would stalk,
Wait ‘til dusk is day,
Build a fort of rock,
Watch me ‘til I got
Far away by walk.

Then I heard the shot
And my eyes went blind.
Oh, my cheek was hot
On the floor. I find
That this is the end
Of all of my kind.

Somehow I find
The falling of stars
Pales in comparison
To the passing of cars
And hum of engines
When I feel your embrace
And peer into your mind

I was once told the universe begs to be noticed
Stars are constantly being created and destroyed
Planets are bombarded with energy
Comets are traveling along their course
(Until some greater gravity, force, or God’s hand changes their track)
Yet the universe
Lives
Breathes
Pulses
Through the land you stand
On the water you float
And the very air you breathe
Varying elements, that comprise
The crumbling ruins of Athens
The cleansing sea mist on port city walls
The terminally ill bodies in which we are confined,
Litter all things like crown jewels
The universe shines from our fingertips
But nothing gold can stay
And eventually our lights fade into the distance:
Boats deserting the shore, never to be seen again
Only after they navigate past sheer cliffs
Bathed in the remnants of the painted nightfallen sky
Our lives do not ceaselessly beat on like the waves on a shore
No matter how much we wish it so
We return to the Earth from which we rose
While still retaining the cosmos inside of our beings
Stars will continue to be born and die
Desolate rocks with still absorb radiation
Meteors will move along their infinite ellipse
(Closely followed by a mile-long tail)
As long as we exist
The universe will—

They told me when I was younger
That I could grow up to whatever I wanted to be.
I could be
An artist
A movie star
An astronaut
A scientist
Anything my imagination could create.
Yet when I began to age,
They started to bend the rules:
I could be whatever I wanted to be
But I had to
Make this much money
Be this successful
Have this much intelligence
Lead this kind of life.
There is a predetermined mold that I am
Expected to fit in order to be
Accepted
By the world.
And I screamed,
“HAPPINESS!
THAT’S ALL I WANT TO WORK FOR!”
However, they couldn’t hear me,
My silent cries were drowning
In a frigid, dying life.
I tried other solutions,
Something else they might take seriously:
Adventure
Passion
Peace
They were still looking for normal answers:
CEO
Professor
Politian.
They were eager to ship me away to cubicle life,
Never to be heard of again.

My sole job
The only task ever assigned and designed for me
Was to be me,
Happy, passionate, creative me
Who would change the world
In big and small ways
Who would shatter the mold I was sentenced to
So that others may know
In a bleak world,
All we need is a little color.

I have ventured off the road
And found myself in a broken barren land
Where everything is unknown
And no directions but the lines on my left hand

I’ll scour and search
Every day and every night
Weary of those creatures who perch
Then swoop down in flight

Perhaps one day I’ll find
Where the snow gathers in whole
The place my heart shall bind
And dust the outside of my soul

I was drifting
Which was more peaceful than the evening before
When I fell off a cliff
Never to hit the bottom.
This time it seemed like a river
During high tide
So I could not feel the rocks
Or algae-clothed depth below.
The waning sun warmed my bones
While the moon voyaged across the sky
And the stars gleamed through the leafy canopy.
There was no use opening my eyes
For I knew my surroundings well:
A bed for a boat,
A duvet for the water beneath my body,
And a pillow to row myself home.

When the winter was over
The frost melted off the grass
Daises, petunias, and clovers
Stood as fragile as glass

Spring came alive with joy
And the sun began to show
As if a child found a lost toy
And his face started to glow

Creatures were beckoned far and wide
Lapping at the stream with haste
Nothing even dared to hide
The Water was not something to waste

Finally, when the day came to an end
The doves sang their tune
And the colors of the sky began to blend
And all was silent by the sight of the moon