I am the moment before the sun
I am the light you see on a dark moon
I am the eye of a typhoon

I taught the birds to fly
I taught the child to ask why
Who am I

I put the steps into caterpillars
Showed the leaves how to fall
Tore down every wall

I ran with the Buffalo
Dove with the whales
Know who I am then do tell

I am the dirt beneath your feet
The sky so tall
I am the fly upon your wall

I am the ache in your head
The pain in your heart
I know when to end  , when to start

Who am I

Everything we ever had was built on sand.
we were doomed to fail from the start,
But I enjoyed every minute of catastrophe I could spend with you.

I'm so tired of screaming at myself.
I'm so tired of screaming at everyone else.
I'm so tired of pulling bottles from the shelf.
I'm just tired.

a hybrid soul,
one to blend like watercolour
paintworks into the social canvas,
boys would stare,
at the star, gone dying, who knew
spotlights illuminate
the pretty parts,
the hips and the mannequin calves.
until the sun dimmers, like gods
dipped lantern burnt out,
and bodies are stripped like birds
of their feathers, plucked to glaring
scars and worn out faces peer
into the mirror - who is the ugliest
of them all.

they called her by names,
prettier than her own,
until she trembled into the
valley of the dolls, a dark and dismal
place with discarded arms and legs,
to build the perfect 'woman' -
a vulnerable creature, made to
be loved, to be wanted.

Forgetting how good I have it
Abusing my advantages, an insult
to those who believe in me
Perhaps I'm not meant to be
what I want to be...

I think I have a problem
Oh primeval instinct, take from me
what I've worked for
Take what I've dreamed to achieve

A beer for breakfast a bud for tea
Screaming in my head the hilarious
irony of; "why does it always rain on me?!"
Smiling forever because I'm a joke

I dream of writing a book about my life
Consistently fictional, to seem to the reader as though it is as dark as it feels
But I can't write as the curtain closes