this day was no different than any other,
as we went through the tunnel onto the highway,
I think back to this mornings homily,
how the deacon spoke of this city's cross on the mountain,
I hung onto the rosary beads around my neck,
as if I was still looking for some answers,
and as ignored the smell of exhaust fumes,
as they mixed with the scent of chain smokers,
like a disastrous duo,
and focused my body outside the car window,
clenching my rosary beads I saw the cross on the mountain,
Holding them up the the window,
my cross covered the one on the mountain like it was its lost child.
for five minutes I felt like I had nothing to ask anyone,
I felt like my life was okay,
we drove into another tunnel,
and took a right on the exit ramp,
I never felt more peace in my life,
then I did as we drove home
that night,

I feel as if this world called earth, had made me come undone,
so I decided today,
that I'd sleep it away,
as I transport my brain many miles away,
as my mind runs for miles upon miles,
until my mind becomes my body,
and I'm at a beach,
feet in the sand by the tireless ocean,
I look up to see the sun,
as my mind makes me float like a child in the water,
but instead of water i'm sent into the clouds,
strait into the sun,
the heat surrounds my body,
my mind does not remember things like gravity,
and I sore away,
from this dull world,
I am destined for brighter things,
things where the people on earth wont crush them,
where you're never given false hope like an early snowfall in October,
as to show you that planet had no plans of a winter.
How come the earth is so bitter?
the earth doesn't need snow for me to feel cold,
as our actions have made blizzards we can't shovel ourselves out of,
and cries of children young and old,
from near and far,
from up here I can see it all so clear,
that we cause more problems than were originally hear,
if we could learn to let other ask for our help,
maybe they might of before,
but now since we thought we knew best,
our whole worlds become a mess,
and we have worse problems to deal with then a war.
so I shoot past the clouds,
into the sun,
knowing that help is an art of asking,
rather than controlling.
and until our world can master this art,
nothing will save me or anyone from falling,
when it gets torn apart.

he pulled rainbows out of clouds when the skies were dark and grey,
he'd do this day after day,
as if to show her the beauty can show from underneath all the pain.
even though he couldn't make her pain wash away,
he could try to push it back so it would fade to a smile,
making her laugh for just a small while,

his job was to serve her,
and show her how to be happy,
even when happy days came by fewer and fewer for him,
he got up and did his best to make her happy,
pulling the rainbows out of his sorrows and showing her,
see, things aren't always as bad as it seems,
sometimes he wished someone could open their heart up,
and pull there rainbows out and show him how to be happy,
but no one did,

and each day he tried to make her smile,
as she smiled more he smiled less,
and her rainbows grew brighter though,
and his faded into the black and grey of the skies,
as if never to come back,

You may have created me
But you will never be my parent
You killed every chance you had
Didn't even spare it
You've shown nothing but abuse
Using the term "dad" as an excuse
******* us all up with your selfish desires
Loving you will never be required

I feel as if you have passed away,
gone away and won't come back to stay,

Like the rain that is scared to cry,
I have done all I can,

I have Tried,

So I sit each day outside
waiting for you to come back to me,

like the rain,
I stand over closed flowers,

I cry out for you,

as tears drip off my face,
rolling on unopened  petals,

as they take the rain's place,
unopened petals open up like new,

and I can only wish they were you,

but they are not,
moving away my crying eyes from now open petals,

but neither you nor the rain,
come back in time,

as I and the flowers rot.

_____________________

­when I was a kid,
I used to color,

I used to color the whole page,
inside,
and outside of the lines,
like how out of the box I was,
you couldn't contain all of me in a box,
even if you had boxes,
I'd escape,
and break free,

When I was a kid,
I colored inside,
and outside of the lines,

while in school they told me how I was out of line,
I was far from out of line,
I always made sure I was inside the lines,
but sometimes,
sometimes its as if my imagination got the best of me,
and I got to escape there conforment,
even if it was for a second it felt so great,
as if I was in prison and I got to go outside for the first time in years,
my adventures in my head couldn't break through to the real world,
like reality came in and arrested my imagination,

when I was a kid,
I stopped coloring outside of the lines,
and only colored inside,

To feel like a square peg going into a round hole,
as they tried to shaped me into what the saw to be as standard,
shaving down my unique edges,
like it was a crime to be so different,
as if I saw them try to expand to fit my square ways of thinking,
not once had they thought it could work out better,
then lining the squares and triangles and hexagons and countless others up,
to get sanded down to be as close as they could make them to be to a circle,

I'm not a kid anymore,
I'm much older now,

I still color inside the lines,
to make my beautiful pictures,
and sometimes,
like when I was a child,
I color outside the lines,

*because sometimes no one has to know,
when you've made a masterpiece,