Strutting popinjay,
wears many hats,
to be precise:
                     she displays
                     a new hat
                      each day,
                      as her trophy before the world.
                      Each with a new color,
                      and a scent different.
                      Her crude wide smirk
                      conceals
                            ­         a secret
                     each one is pinched
                                                     from her lover of the day.

Some say 3 hours isn’t enough sleep to get by,
but I’m more concerned about getting by
with less hours of you.
I didn’t open my umbrella today,
it has too many broken pieces anyways.
The rain felt cold,
but still gentle.
Always gentle.
You’re always gentle.
I couldn’t use my travel cup today,
I didn’t have enough time to clean it.
Maybe some mornings are supposed
to be spent without something to wake me up.
Maybe I’ll drink honesty in the largest mug
I can find.
One sugar,
not two,
a little bit of milk.
Maybe I’ll carry love around in buckets
until the handles cut through my palms
and leave reminders of why you are worth it.
You can clean them if you’d like,
it will burn but that’s okay.
Just know that you’re worth it.
You are worth it.

A thumb placed on the top. flicked down in a careless and familiar manner. the hiss of gas and burst of flame. blue. orange. yellow. flowing around white. inhale and exhale. the smoke rising peaceful and abstract into the night sky up to the stars who look down seeing a girl young but not naive. living in a world of her own. and despite endless prayers, finding herself alone at the bottom of every bottle with no god to guide her, friend to keep her company, or genie to grant her wishes.

I can't remember the last time i had a real smile.
I lost it somewhere back in 2007.
It hitched a ride on the back of someone's fist and was gone for good,
ran out on me, like a linebacker for the pro's.
I have a smile, i made.
I found some superglue, and some matchsticks, and held it together with my eyes.
I used it to describe the way i wanted people to see me.
It was like a stretched piece of gauze,
because the original scars still cracked through,
and i didn't want people to see,
the real me.
I carry this smile with me everywhere i go,
It's only for public use,
at other times, i hide it away in the kitchen drawer,
with the bills, and important letters,
that i will deal with,
one day.
I sometimes wonder what happened to that smile.
Is it coming  back?
Is it taking a holiday?
Is it teaching me a lesson?
Is it fighting through the hard times to get to me, desperately?
Is it waiting until it is, well deserved?
But still, i guess, i will keep the glue,
as this one seems to be working,
and no-one seems to notice,
the difference.
And i appreciate that its not easy to be a faker,
but at least when you get so good,
you don't really remember who you really are.
And that's really ok,
because no-one needs to find that out anyways,
when you become what you believe,
and find it really does come true.

I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I can hear your ghost in the kitchen
washing the same dish 6 times because
you won’t be able to sleep with ketchup
staining your second favorite dish in the
cupboard.

You told me that if you were a tree you
would want to be a maple, because in
Autumn they leave red finger prints on
sidewalks like ****** clues left behind
at the scene of the crime.

I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I see your ghost sitting on top of
the cushioned window seat so you can
count the rain droplets running across
the glass outside, one finger tracing a
path or water and one finger twisting
your hair again and again.

I told you that if I was a tree I would be
a willow, my arms reaching down to the
ground you stood on, roots reaching out
for the sidewalks you walked on, trunk
reaching up to the clouds you loved
more than you loved me.

I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I am a willow constantly weeping.

If you roam around my house,
              look about,
        up & down,
                           you'll find many paper cranes.

When I feel empty, I make so many,
                     and leave them random places.

You can find them here,
                and there,
          pretty much everywhere,
                              lined up on window panes.

I never felt the need to gather them,
                      and I most likely never will.

If I put them all together,
                 made sure it was forever,
           they could withstand the weather,
                             and there would be a thousand.
              
They say with a thousand cranes,
                       a wish is granted in your favor.

But I have no wishes,
               so I'll sleep with the fishes,
           after my hands tremble to the point of refrain
                                  & I can no longer make anymore paper cranes.

your words crept into my ear
and engraved itself onto my mind
slipping down into the cracks of my heart
i felt the intense and strong emotions from you
and my soul was deeply moved

m.p.