"i think that it's
a cold day
for lemonade,"
i said
and he just shrugged
we were silent
but i didn't care
because when the
wind blew
he would still be
beside me

i always thought
that some things
were hard for me to say
but just now i'm learning
that i really have trouble
with saying everything
although all of these words
crash into me
with a salty sting
and as i'm trying
to pick out the ones
that make any sort of sense
the sea calls them back again
and i'm stuck gaping, breathless
at your eyes
with all of my longing
rattling the chains
in it's prison
inside my craven
heart

when you're a little girl
they tell you how
you're so pretty
with your messy little braids
and muddy mary-janes
but they never tell you
you're interesting
or clever
or good-humoured
as if you're useless
to be anything
but pretty
as if the world only loves
those with empty heads
and pretty faces
and that there is no
happiness
to be found
for one
with only
beautiful
thoughts.

he will appear
he will be gentle
quiet
strong
and he will brush the hair off my face
with the softest sweep of his hand
he will look at me
the way you never did
as a delicate piece of glass
he so desperately wishes not to shatter
he will feel no shame
at the sound of my name
in the same sentence as his
and no embarrassment
at the sight of his hand in mine
he will wipe my tears
when i feel too much  
                                       (like i do)
and then you
will fade
from my heart

My cell
Has no door
Unlike one you'd see
Where a madman slumps
In waiting of release
My walls shine
With the sticky softness of comfort
But beneath the paint
The cold, blank stone
Echoes the void
I have not the energy
To fill
Although this prison
Locks from inside
Still there is
A madman
Trapped within