i've talked you all off ledges,
balancing on my own,
but honestly,
i don't care.
i rather like the feeling of uncertainty,
the butterflies that can
quite literally fly me off the edge.
i rather like the sweetness of the wind,
the cool air,
head in the clouds.
i rather like the view of the stars,
beautiful constellations
distracting me from my thoughts.
i rather like that my legs can swing
back and forth and back again
almost like a kid again.
i rather like seeing the city from above,
people milling about aimlessly,
a little adrenaline to spice up the view.
i rather like being on the ledge
nowhere to go but down,
sure, it's a little cramped,
but it's okay, I suppose.

It rains diamonds somewhere,
I know it does.
Jagged edges cut my face,
dig into my cheeks.
The tears create scars,
cloudy lines
burning,
hidden with covers of laughter.
So precious,
yet they leave behind
a searing pain.
Dripping off
the ends of my eyelashes,
leaving traces
on the backs of my hands,
the tip of my nose,
blurring my vision.
Scratching off what's left
of my blush,
my happiness.

she’s sitting on a cloud,
laughing,
windswept hair caught
in shiny lipgloss.
the cold air,
fresh and sweet,
makes her smile,
and pull her coat tighter
around her.
she swings her legs,
glad her faded purple converse
fit well.
looking down,
amazed by the city
below her,
far, far,
below.
tiny people
walk on tiny sidewalks
oblivious
to her presence.
skyscrapers
keeping her company
in the misty,
violet night.
she grins,
her hair flying about,
feet swinging
happily,
laughter making her giddy,
in awe of the buildings
in the mist below.

I'm lost,
and that's fine by me.
I'm following a faint song
that keeps me focused,
fighting,
but not alive for long.
I'm blinded by tears,
stumbling through
a forest of sadness.
I'm tripping over roots
of way larger trees
partially obscured by mist,
the rest obscured
by stress, anger, rain.
I'm stuck in a teacup
pacing the tiny area,
drowning
in some sort of drama
all the time,
every time.
I'm stuck wandering a forest,
in a teacup,
lost in a tiny cup,
walking in circles,
tripping,
skinning my knees,
scraping my elbows on the bark,
blood dripping,
tears dripping,
leaves in my hair.

I’ve got flowers
of all types in my pocket,
stars hung up
in the sky,
a dress
made out of sweetness,
honey, ice-cream, and pie.
I’ve got plans
for some tattoos,
a tiny blue flower,
stolen right from the clouds,
peaches and cream,
and a strawberry,
picked from the sunset,
delicate, pretty, almost a dream.
I’ve got a lifetime left
of laughter,
of tears,
and hearts shattered,
swept up, stored away,
memories clouded by sunshine
and London fog lattes,
talking with friends
in a timeless, gorgeous café.

Red roses laugh
at the dawn broken day,
an anniversary of sorts.
Marking a moment when
clouds stopped looking
so sweet, so kind.
The night
was so angry,
stabbing with each
whine of wind.
Stars that fell
from sparking eyes
that night
pinned up to the sky
a reminder
of what was taken.

nothing like going back
to the golden days
when getting up 20 minutes earlier
was a fun thing
to put on a bit of mascara
and lipgloss;
the blush was natural.
now 20 minutes of sleep
seems like a treasure,
worth everything
and never to be given up.
back when laughter was sunflower yellow,
music was neon blue,
and friends were a sweet purple,
their smiles like lavender
addicting and easy to find.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
when choosing the font for a paper
was an hour long experience;
the funnest part of writing anything.
now no writing matters
to anyone
unless it's 12pt font,
Times New Roman,
double spaced,
and with a heading in the top left corner.
back when school was light,
homework was a breeze,
and the only thunderstorms
were those that involved
coffee shops, window seats,
and copious amounts of hot chocolate.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
filled with warmth
and honey
and a whole lot of butterflies.