consider yourself..
lucky?
perhaps, to feel nothing
but elation. at any given
moment

then there's the rest
of us.
you know, the common--
real
humanity.

where tears salt
the food. make oceans
of our water glasses.

yes, its true.
while our tears may fall
and fall
fall
.

we.
unlike (lucky) you,
DOnot.

I'm still stony from the storm.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass. Half of me is underwater.
Half of me sings praises to the sky.

Staring at empty hands:
all I need is air, world, here is my cup.
Offer my tears to the ground,
all I have is flesh and I'm sorry.

The familiar is translating into a shifted perspective,
mapped through my hazy half-watered views.
Questions bubble to the surface, they always do.
What is you? What is me?
Who are my companions, here?
Hands shrivel to a close, I am empty somewhere

so many of you: hiding your sorrows in the drink,
in the non-speak and waters-flowing-greening-the-path
of self-discovery-through-phase-denial;
pain for later,
pancakes for now.


I am so old,
my wrinkles are bared in the sun-exposed rock,
heart beating beside me, cup full of storm-water
and storm-blown watery eyes
dripping softly into the scenery
behind me

the world is infinity

next to that I am a pinprick that never fully bled nor healed

Everyone knows that she's not like others
She's an outcast in this cold broken place
Suppressing her true self til' it smothers
As she walks around here and hides her face

She wants to fit in, be able to gleam
And be a part of every single crowd
But she can't, she holds it in til' she screams
And above her head there's always a shroud

Sadly, she walks through the halls, her head down
Others watching her with a sinful sneer
She turns away and wishes she could drown
All that stops her from coming out is fear

What would they do if she held her head high
She'll never know, she just lets them pass by