They say that lightning strikes are one in a million.

Then how is it that every time

you hold my hand

or stare into my blushing face,

that a jolt,

of pure electricity

runs through our shared connection,

bound in tiny intricacies in our veins,

restless in our hearts,

our minds?

I would love to believe that,

that lightning only strikes at impossible odds-

but I can't,

not while I am touching you;

my own heart is a live wire and jumping into my throat

with the raw voltage

coursing through me-

terrifying,

exhilarating,

breathtaking-

and belies the science I know

will disagree with me.

It can never know

the passion of traveling at love's breakneck speed

believing in someone else,

trusting them to catch you when you burn up

or to push you up when you can't remember the light.

It could never know the terrible loss of energy

when the one you love hurts,

speared by insensitive sparks.

It could never know

life in all its tiny fractured facets,

believing that one answer is all that is needed-

that lightning is impossible to contain.

I laugh at the sheer ludicrousness though-

Me?

A human lightning strike?

ABSURD.

But you take my hand again,

promising so many good moments ahead,

so many beautiful ideas

and dreams together,

and my heart leaps-

flying and flipping in ecstasy-

and I know-

Lightning strikes are one in a million,

and I was lucky enough to be struck by yours.

thick like steel

these chains wrap in long miles of memories

around my screaming subconscious,

the sharp thorny barbs

of confusion and reflection

spearing my confidence and self esteem

til they bleed out over the cold floor-

leaving me empty inside.

I wish I trusted myself enough to stem to flow,

to stop the bleeding happiness

as it leaks out with all the other things-

but I wouldn't even know how,

that I will just sit here and watch as it floods the carpet

as my memories envelop me

replaying over and over in my head

clacking and clicking into place

like the wind on an old rickety fence-

the one that stands between me and madness.

I scrabble at the walls that cage me in,

determined to leave this wretched hell,

the one I created for myself,

so very long ago-

I WILL see the light again,

I WILL know the kiss of the sun again-

its only a matter of time til someone notices my torment

and comes to save me from myself.

I wish I could remember the times that were beautiful

the days that made me sway

like new saplings

in the capricious breezes of joy,

the moments that sang out with melodies

and harmonies

soothing the sad soul beneath;

but pain is all I can remember right now

and pain is all I reap-

and the only bright spark on the horizon

is the fluttering wings of hope-

the hope that you will save me,

because I can't save myself.

Wildflowers and dreams

grow equally

in fields and souls

waving and dancing in pairs

as the breeze swiftly blows through.

Maiden blossoms

kiss the bees lovingly

and give up their secrets,

one by one,

to the golden sun,

as I dance wildly across the dappled shadows.

You cannot catch me-

I defy you,

you mere mortal man-

I am not some trophy to win,

nor a doorstep to stoop on,

and I will never let you have me.

Yearning,

I will wait for the storms to pass

and the sheets of rain to lift,

revealing my prince-

drenched,

shivering,

cold with anticipation-

He may be rough and unrefined

he may be beaten and broken down

But I will know him when I see him-

for he will shine as bright as the flowers in my meadows

and will have a smile as refreshing

as a cool lake on a summer's day.

I will heal his cuts and bruises,

for they are nothing compared to the fact

that all you'd have me fix

is dinner.

I will bear with his temper and his bad manners

because yours are much, much worse.

I will love him as I could never love you-

you capricious fellow-

you would never stay happy

you would never say 'I love you'.

To you,

I am mere hunting spoils-

just another trapping of finery to collect.

I am ordinary to you-

But then,

that's because your beauty is only skin deep.

wringing hands

I worry

not knowing if the future comes too soon

if the past is too far away,

never certain of the outcome

never safe in my complacency.

I cannot leap without looking for answers,

cannot speak without contemplating the side effects

of a speech with too many pauses

cannot think without running through the paces

of over-reacting-

but can I live a life undecided

when I cannot even decide who I am?

I am one who is not finished,

still learning

still yearning;

I am one who knows the world,

but lives in it anyway,

blindly ignoring and accepting in tandem

the way people are,

they way the city doesn't breathe easy,

they way that no one is the same

and yet exactly alike.

I am one who creates

and destroys

sometimes in the same breath of exhaled air;

I am one who regrets

but moves forward,

who lives,

but never forgets.

I am one who is fearful of her own fate

while not believing that nothing is up for debate,

nothing is ever truly decided.

I am a organized wreck,

a beautiful mess-

I am me;

and I am fearful

that I like it that way.

You call my name

heedless of what the call will mean,

how I will see it through my eyes

how it will save a soul

that has broken and been sold

more times

and to more things

than it can count itself.

You cannot know the impact,

the ripple you will cause

in my deserted pond,

in my drying eyes-

but the innocence cannot lie,

and you are pure.

I doubt,

and I plague myself with worries-

Am I good enough?

What have I to gain?

To lose?

But you quell my racing questions

with a simple touch of redeeming beauty,

a quiet confidence in my ravaged self esteem

that defies logic,

assured that I am the one for you.

You listen to my complaints,

my excuses:

Changing was never easy,

and I never was good at trying,

but you smile,

knowing I will come down to earth soon enough.

I know I've been a devil,

and so do you-

a creature of spouting fountains of selfish vulgarity,

reaching and grasping for all that I could call mine-

refusing to be owned,

or settle for less.

You never cared about the past,

only about the present,

telling me to live one day at a time,

to live for the moment and wait until tomorrow.

But I cannot ignore the aching in my heart,

to be the woman you deserve,

the woman you need.

You call my name again,

melting the ice in my heart,

stoking the fire of determined devotion

that lay dormant for too long before you;

I cannot refuse your siren song,

your elixir of immortality-

it tugs and pulls at parts of me I thought had died,

in ways too profound and mysterious to explain.

I am yours,

for all time,

in all places, my wholesome angel.

Redeemed,

I know my place in the world,

here- at your side.

Rippling laughter

floats in my ears,

your silly smile and happy eyes

dancing in my minds eye,

echoed from my throat like bells

across a courtyard.

You lean in and kiss my lips mid-laugh,

closing them with passion and tempting ideas,

lacing your fingers in mine

as I try to wind them through your hair.

You whisper,

I love you;

your work-worn hands squeezing mine-

once,

twice

needing the tender reply from my delicate fingers

to show you that I love you too,

the words that mean the most to us

captured in a split second

of simple grazing touch.

You hold me close,

as I look into the deep fathoms

of the eyes that stoke my soul's fire,

the passionate spheres that first entranced me.

The world travels by,

time slowed to a crawl-

eyelashes blinking,

hearts racing,

hands holding-

It's just you and I here now,

all the other souls around us

mean nothing for this moment;

Hold me close,

and feel the promise

beating out in waves from my chest-

Hold me,

and feel my heart beat for you,

my love.

Shadows dance in your eyes

dark and sorrowful

as they draw me in slowly-

down,

down-

into their dusk filled portents.

down

past the shed tears

and the broken hearts

through the terrible trials

you've faced all alone

and wrong turns

on well worn paths-

down;

to the small child within

hiding in the comfortable bedsheets

staring at me with fragility,

clutching its lingering dreams to her chest

like a comforting teddy bear,

lost long ago.

Once i knew this face,

these eyes;

every morning  i rubbed the sleep from them

and stared them down smilingly in the mirror.

Now they are a stranger's;

dark, hollow-

hopeless.

When did they change,

and become part of someone I could not recognize?

When did the hopeful child I felt to be

stop dreaming

and give up on her world around her?

How do i find myself now,

in the these mirror-eyes?