In sunshine's rays the flowers bloom and sway,
from warming breezes blessed in sweet array;
The turquoise sky alert with wondrous sheen,
as tiny wisps of clouds float through the scene.

And on the hill a group of maple trees,
show off their velvet green in bundled leaves;
While lilies' solemn dance compels our eyes,
to smooth and gentle grasses where we lie.

A wicker chair of white sits in the meadow,
a parasol of lacy pink creates cool shadow;
And in a basket filled with hearty treats,
are fruitful gems just ready for a feast.

How ever-pleasant are the solstice days,
their moments of delight in cheerful ways;
And when the sun has lowered past the hill,
myriads of twinkling stars embrace us still.

She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
like secrets.
She will take them out
like postcards
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
eyes close
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that  
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.

The tune
will carry her.

Like it did
the times when
voices broke
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings
would snap
and hurt.

My mother never smiles,
but her soul is a garden filled with joy.
Her eyes shine like a full moon,
glistening at all the darkness in the world.

She yearned to be free,
her soul tangled in the roots of oppression,
while her eyes were haunted by images of discrimination.

As a child I wondered why?
Why does my mother never smile?
She’s so beautiful like the stars in the sky.
Even roses are jealous of the redness blushing beneath her eyes.

I think I even yelled,
“Mom, why are you so unhappy?”
But I was just a child,
I didn’t see the love that filled her bubbly brown eyes.

My corrupted character debilitated her spirit,
believing she was,
    ungrateful,
    unhappy,
    and cold,
as a tundra and I was a palm tree,
but really we were both tulips,
and she was just teaching me how to bloom.

She’s a hero who never received her praise.
Depicting her sorrows through colors on a canvas,
meditating herself to solace.
She knew how to leave this world behind,
for the sake of her own mind.

As I aged,
I suffered,
I spiraled into multiple dark holes,
    I blamed,
    I begged,
    I screamed,
with silence taped across my mouth,
“Why am I so unhappy?”
But unlike my mother I always smiled,
and it was always a lie.

This taught me the limits of a smile,
and why my mother didn’t need to smile,
because a smile is often just a lie,
she expressed her happiness on the inside.

I fell into a pit swimming with fear,
battled demons I thought were my friends.
I’d assumed sadness was a punishment,
but it became my reward.

My mother taught me I didn’t need to smile,
the sadness helped illuminate the good in my life,
and it was okay not to always be fine.

My mother exposed me to my soul,
how tender it is and how harsh I am.
Depicting the reality of what life is,
since I only saw it as a sin.

The world takes a turn for the worst
and it’s a little less safe
and that is to say
the danger that was there yesterday
grew a little stronger today

how many more lies
will fools swallow
before the find their own little girl
not a little girl anymore
but a ghost of who could have been
nothing more than a broken thing

broken by a boy just being a boy
who will grow into a man
believing he can take
whatever he wants
when ever he wants it
and that no
somehow always means yes

that being drunk
is a good enough excuse
for any one
with the right kind of money
and the right kind of name
the kind that comes
from being born
in the right kind of skin

the kind that believes
its culture is a good culture
a good culture
where boys will be boys
who grow into men who are men
who are nothing
but cruel monsters
pretending to be human