Have you seen this girl?
Description?
Here.

She
is an acid-wash-jeans-and-
black-boots-wearing,
leather-bracelets-with-­flannel-flying kind of girl,
the kind of girl who would rather speak
only if spoken to,
because she prefers to tell her stories through
tubes of watercolors and reluctant poetry,
and her look,
she’s heard this a lot of times, can be quite the
back-off-you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me kind, but
once you’ve jumped that hurdle, the rest comes easy.

Gold
must be stuck in between her teeth,
because every word she says is wrapped in wisdom
******* together with strings of grace, and
sprinkled with good intentions for good
measure
the length of her hair
and you will find that there are still
so much more stories woven
into the strands, you
will see galaxies in her eyes
paintings on her lips
and there are flowers blooming on the tips of her fingers,
try telling her this.
She will blush,
or she will laugh, and you will wonder
if the broken pieces of mirror on the floor
were really just an accident.

But roses have thorns, too.
Some days are thunderstorms,
and there are times when
lightning does strike the same place twice,
and she’s had a lot of those days.
Maybe she’s gotten used to
having her hands burnt from
trying to heal the earth where
it was struck, and
despite the countless times she’s
tried to wash her hands,
she still can’t get rid of the smell.
One day she’ll see that there
is new skin growing from her old wounds.

Other days her lines
just won’t draw straight,
and the blues and yellows
seem to have confused themselves
for greens and reds, and she
forgets that she is being shaped
by someone else, that
she is a work in progress
and that her cracks are being mended,
being molded,
she only has to allow it
to begin.
She’s been building walls,
but it’s time
to tear them
down.

When you see this girl,
tell her not to be so ******* herself.
Tell her
that she is more loved
than she thinks she is,
that inside her coals
are diamonds
tell her to stop worrying
to stop thinking that she
doesn’t deserve anything, well,
she doesn’t, but
remind her of grace.
Remind her that she
is worth dying for, that
even before she was formed, blood
was spilled so that one day
she’d learn how to smile,
how to cross canyons
on an invisible tightrope,
how to hope.
Tell her not to forget that.

So, have you
seen this girl?

Description?

Here.

Take a good,
long look



in the mirror.

The Cuckoo called.
His cry plaintive,
His voice etched with pain.
          I searched for Him.
          I parted The Veil, The Wall
          But like the Broken Window, He is not seen.
Our paths merge.
A pattern of Knots and Crosses.
And to His reflection, I call
          Fly with me, You of The Sky.
          Fly with Me, for a Better Tomorrow.
          And together then, We can rejoice,
           *In the Insanity of our Lives.

Every silent morning
Gazing with warm eyes
From the cold, hard mirror
Is my image.

But when night falls,
That image disappears.
Gone with the wind
Away.

Do I cease to exist?
Why can't I see that person anymore?
Am I just
An illusion?

We lost it.
So we went searching,
through trees and grass and hills,
by the river, under rocks.
And all the while we throw daggers
At each other.

We lost it.
And in our hearts we want it back.
But in our minds,
our pride won't let us.

Where did you put it?
No, you had it last.
We search, pointing fingers, glaring.
Blaming each other for misplacing it.

We lost it.
But still we cling,
hoping we will find it.
Under the bed, on the counter, in the fridge.

We lost it.
But we're too afraid to leave.
Because we're the last place we had it.
So we stay and search,
we look in books and in offices,
searching every bar and the bottom of glasses,
too afraid to admit its absence.

Because we cant remember the time before we found it.

I have a feeling
that we are dancing
in circles
with our words.
Both trying to hide
the same thing.
Maybe it's just a fantasy,
but I can't help feeling
we're missing each other,
by inches,
with every spin.
If we could just stop,
read each others thoughts,
remove doubt,
would we just echo each other?
But we don't stop,
we dance on.
The whole world dances on.