If your heart
                      has strings attached
                                                        ­  to the stars,
                                 The night sky your puppeteer;


                                                 Then find me.


        Because I need more people connected to a belief in magic.
                                   Who's hearts live elsewhere
            And minds wild enough to fly off into space with me.

Beauty is something,
I didn't seem get.
It took age and children,
Wonder and regret.

But for those who also struggle,
In this word to define,

What beauty really is,
Here's how it works...  
For Beauty Over Time

At youth the physical,
Seems to excel.
Sometimes wit or humor,
Makes a heart begin to swell.

Often beauty,
Is very singular.
How he's so handsome,
How she's spectacular.

It.
Is the word,
That often comes to mind.
Like a lonely single thing,
Can make anything sublime.

And that's not to say,
Beauty can't be simple,
Like how she pushes back a loose hair,
Like my smile shows my dimple.

But over time...

Some things will lose their luster...

Let that not worry you...
For beauty has a great stamina it can muster.

Through memories,
Of laughter,
Of loving,
Of care.

Through weeping,
Of pains,
Of the losses,
We bare.

For beauty is actually,
The weights on a scale.
Telling the stories,
Of our beautiful tale.




"Her hair is so gorgeous!"
Beauty takes a weight...

"*** what a *****..."
Ugly...  
Finds a mate.




In this simple example,
I try to provide,
Note that the scale,
Is leaning on both sides.

Beauty is very,
In the eye of the beholder.
But all those who behold,
Watch as we warm or grow colder.

What I'm trying to tell you,
In far too many words,
Is don't worry about one thing,
That might make your beauty burn.

There are so many,
Ways we can shine.
We can sparkle or glow dim,
Cast sunshine or moonlight.



But I urge you a caution.


Beauty is truly, weights on a scale.


One day, divine in body,
But on another...
Hells compassion gone pale.

All scales are sensitive.
Forever they sway.
It's you who it's up to.
As to where, you add weight.

All the times that you whispered, "You don't love me,"

I came back tenfold shouting, "Yes, I do! Yes dad I do!"

But my kisses fell on the ground, the wind could not carry them far enough.

But my words fell upon deaf ears, ears that must have been burned off once from your own days in the past.

But my eyes could not have been teary enough, my heart must not have felt it enough, my soul must not have shouted it enough.

Was I just not enough?

I watched that door everyday since it was "the right thing" to do to say goodbye to Dad on his way out to work.

God the torturous mornings of feeling my heartbreak in tiny pieces every time I had to say goodbye because I just wanted you to feel it.

I just wanted you to hear it.

But you couldn't. You can't. You won't.

And I've seen the back door close in my face so many times

That one day I let it close on my heart instead,

And no matter how many times you knock,

Or bang,

Or yell,

I will not come.
I will not hear you

And instead of coming to the door I so desperately wish I could open,
I won't even put myself through touching the ******* door ****.