Lupine, lupine, from where did you come?
Your soft purple springings flow from the paths
And white mountain boulders
To linger in green breezes.

Lupine, lupine, stay a while
Though winter’s on its way I still
Know you can outlast
The inconstant summer sun.

Lupine, lupine, hold me steady
Through the tangled hills I roam
Searching, maybe, for a meaning
Something worthwhile, something to call me home.

Lupine, lupine, don’t forget me!
Let my memory live with you
As under the snowy earth I lie
To await the ending of all time.

OCD and nervous, uptight and follows the rules.
Handwriting like type. Perfectionist on notebook paper.
Needs to loosen up. Needs to learn how to fail. A lot.
Lots of failure. Lots of breaking the rules. That's what she needs.

That's what I thought when I first met you.
So I gave it to you.
I gave you lying to your parents and jay walking.
I gave you the triumph of city streets after dark with no one around.
I gave you the cold kiss of rain as you run, laughing, for shelter.
I gave you slang terms, for drugs and *** and even in Spanish
I gave you a safe little pane of glass to sit behind and observe public school's inner workings.

But still you are so afraid. Afraid to play Beatles songs
For French tourists underneath the Space Needle on your guitar
Waiting for Julian that fine afternoon. You were afraid of
Benny, the homeless man addicted to crack who I've known my whole life,
The one who taught me to balance rocks on pencils stuck in the ground.
You are afraid to sing on stage and afraid of being yourself around people you don't know.

I want to give you those things too.
Somehow I wish I could teach you confidence but I cannot.
I would give you fearlessness and thick, foreign swear words and show you how to throw a punch
But you're not ready yet. Be innocent, while you still can.
College will ******* up enough, once you get there.

sound pounds through my head
the sharp click of the forks against plates
and the scuff of my boots on the floor
light refracts against my eyes and my retinas cry
there's itches all over i cannot scratch
and each smell is a toxic chemical
forcing their way through slim, crowded canals,
synapses, etc.; into my throbbing head.
and all that's left is this image
and sound and smell and itch
of you making some other girl laugh,
and no matter how hard i try,
no matter how much i want to
take your hands and kiss your face,
i'm not strong enough. i can't do it.
i can't let myself go like that
without knowing
without seeing and breathing and believing
that you want it too.
you see, the problem is, when i look in your eyes,
i can't tell if it's your passion burning
or mine reflected that i see.

they say
plant your fingertips against something
solid and concentrate on what is at hand
but all I have been able to see behind my eyelids
for many months is your face
and the wood resounds with the beating of your heart

love is a sad kind of trouble
for, knowing what its like to
exist unwavering in perfect happiness,
I have the days I have to fake my way through it.

Plant your fingertips against something solid and concentrate.
I put my hands on your heart, I focus on your rhythm.

honey, no one is an actor.
we're just people stepping into others' lives
the stage lights help
they burn out your fear and give your sweat a source.

honey, no one deserves it.
you're not born with it, you grow into it,
you don't guide it
you let it guide you. you do what is natural and what is true.

honey, i may not show it
but my skin is a silken cage
full to bursting with butterflies with razor-blade wings.
i just don't let it get to me.

honey, don't you get it?
theater, and the arts as a whole, it's life
it's blood and sweat and breath
don't say it's not your "thing" and don't say you've never done this before
you do it every day
every step you take forward is action and reaction
every word you speak has festered in your mind,
memorized for centuries and just waiting to be free.

and all that matters is
if at the end of the day your heart's not in it
wholly and completely, doesn't matter how well you acted,
you've failed.
and if your heart is in it, all of it,
wholly and completely and unbiased and unashamed,
doesn't matter if you skipped a page and a half
(the audience hasn't got the script memorized)
they'll see your passion and they'll know
you've won.

i open my brothers door
silver hinges creak against white wood
earlier today a girl broke his heart
or what was left of it

Hey. (i say)
Hi. (he says)
Are you okay? (i ask, stepping forward, breathing in)
Yes. (he does not seem like he is lying)
Are you sad?
Yes.
Do you need a hug?
No. (he is lying now but i let it go this time)
Okay. (i don't hug him)
Okay. (he turns away)
Goodnight. (i love you)
Goodnight. (i love you too)

softly the silver hinges let the white door click
into place in the white doorframe in the white hallway
in the neat white house on the snow covered hill
where a feeling like sin seeps through all the white cracks

Oh, ******, my little Spanish sorrow,
Me encanta la camino captó la luz en tus ojos
Me encanta la forma tus sueños flotan a través del mundo de dormir
Oh, osito, my little love,
Tú, que hace reír a todo el mundo,
Y tú, que me hace cantar,
Te amo, y no puedo ayudar pero de amar todo de ti.
Oh Catalina, my lost one,
Te extraño, y me da dolor en mi corazón
Te extraño, y me da dolor a amarte así
Oh, mi amor, mi vida, mi sueño, mi esperanza,
¡Lo poco de tu me queda!