Maybe,
he held me close that night,
not because he loved me once again.
Or that he wanted to feel my
body underneath my summer length shorts and cropped tee shirt pressed up against him.
For maybe,
we both just needed to be held for awhile.

We hurt,
thus we rant and vent,
until our throat reaches the rawness,
of our hearts.
But,
for the unlucky few,
words are not steady.
Telling is the equivalent to confronting.
And not a soul,
enjoys the irony and redness upon the face,
of bittersweet confrontation.

Why are we at this stage of uneasiness?
Why is our mind so free,
but our mouth trembles to speak?

Day by day,
Minute by minute,
Second after second,
my mind cannot just simply "think."
No.
My mind befriends itself.
Telling it all the joyous moments.
All the laughter I've shared with my loved ones.
How blessed I am to witness the sunshine of this life.
But you see,
my mind also
shares when it is confused.
Uneasy.
Maybe there is something to hide.

I plead to discover,
as to why I fear in blossoming in these emotions.
My mind has something to tell,
something colorful and wonderful to say..
but my lips will not dare to move.
For maybe,
I uphold confusion.
Am uneasy.
I have something to hide.

Do not be mistaken,
for I am a joyous soul.
My eyes glisten,
in a sense of staring up,
looking beyond.
For one day,
some day,
a sinless life.
The support,
it never lacks in excellence.
All ears and eyes to myself,
if I am in need.

This may only appease,
those who are close.
If your eyes are scrolling,
at this particular second,
then here is your answer.
I do not comprehend why my mind has befriended itself.
For yes,
I have befriended you.
My mind,
oh how it adores you.
But my lips,
will not let it slip.
So,
when you see my fingers gripped to a pencil.
My hand in furious motion,
just know,
my mind is also befriending the paper,
thus setting itself at ease.

You friend,
may not know every detail.
Every confused thought.
Every uneasy glimpse.
Or every hidden secret.
Perhaps I don't open easily.

Perhaps I am just beginning.
Perhaps,
I am just born.
Perhaps the sapling in the back and I,
are circulating the same.

You see,
that apple tree over the hill,
through the woods,
bloomed at grandmother's for a reason.
But her pie,
of the sweetest scent
is upon my table.

Perhaps I am just beginning.
Perhaps,
I am just born.
Perhaps the sapling in the back and I,
are circulating the same.

You see,
that apple tree over the hill,
through the woods,
bloomed at grandmother's for a reason.
But her pie,
of the sweetest scent
is upon my table.

Ma'am picked her,
while she was just about ripe.
Taking what was most precious.
Maybe it was for the best.
Maybe,
we were only to benefit.

She took what was precious to me.
I couldn't quite imagine
my life without an answer.

Perhaps I am just beginning.
Perhaps,
I am just born.
Perhaps the sapling in the back and I,
are circulating the same.

You see,
that apple tree over the hill,
through the woods,
bloomed at grandmother's for a reason.
But her pie,
of the sweetest scent
is upon my table.

God chose me to go a different path,
to die in the arms of love.
To die at the feet,
of one who's eye's are pure,
and preached his humbleness.

She did not speak often.
Her lips need not, for her
body could talk.
Her lips dipped in the reddest
of all wines of the vineyard.
Figure so long.
Gentle but never frail.
She was grace,
in the purest form.

My heart was fatal,
but she,
she wore beauty as a shade of happiness.
A color not known by the human eye.  
Her body moved,
how it moved to a twinkle.
She spun me off my two knees.

With the cross of a ribbon,
and a finger of rouge to the cheek;
I was ready.
I prayed.
I pleaded
For my fragile heart to morph.
She flew.
She danced about my soul, and before the eyes of heaven..
I did could not imagine a death any greater..
than one of a love for my ballerina.