Reality
being what you make of it,
can be
an impending life sentence
tremble in your boots
little humans
you
are not in control
Or
if you try
very very hard
this reality monster
can be
shrunk
a small toy
to be kept in a pocket
to be taken out
from time
to time
as a simple reminder
that we're not actually invincible
just strong
it's what you make of it

Trickling down the stairs you looked at me and said,
"I thought you'd left, the door was open."
"I left it for you,"
The words fell out of my mouth like stones,
They meant that much
"I wondered if you'd follow."

She sits with her thoughts
They're pretty **** loud
Keeping her company
Underneath the cloud and haze
Of talk, laughs, and often fake
Smiles
She lives in her escapism
It's a bright and colourful world
Flowers and lights and alleyways
And a little sadness
Secretly
She hopes one day
That someone might stumble in
You can't always escape on your own

Looking up at the sky I can see the ghosts of all the things that have fallen on my head
Unceremoniously, bang.
It hurts a little
A lot
They leave marks.
But I'll wear pretty hats.
Distraction

I have to collect them all
together, in a big pile
proof that I survived the crazy dance around the house
day to day
it's exasperating
pinning them up on the wall
they fall off and I trip

You wouldn't care for it much
Nor would I
It's a big fat bore
I'll fall into a pile of leaves instead
watch them flutter
twirl around and become my new world
Autumnal

I'll drag them behind, if that's what I'm meant to do
no intention to really
I'll huff and be tired
but if there's double knots and super glue
well
a sigh for the weary
and onward

Temper tantrum
Coiling woes
This is how
The whirlwind goes

Chip your tooth
On candy sour
Try to fix
On every hour

Dangling daisies
Out of Reach
Time to think
It's stifled speech.

I've been thinking
about
the art of speaking
auditory rhythms
and the like
in my very personal
opinion
these audio utterances
so often used
by the population
have become
somewhat
like pollution
fogging gracelessly
over the small drops
of wisdom
uttered
in near silence
if you actually listen
you'll probably hear them
somewhere
under the blurtations
of the unconsidered
thoughtless thoughts
they're there.
If you listen
the art of quiet
uncovers many surprises

How, if at all
do you repair a broken mirror
if you can't stand to see
the reflection?
Picking up the fragments
leaves splinters and cuts
and of course,
you've run out of bandaids
whats easier,
gritting your teeth
and shoving it all together
or
running into a bare wall.
Is either really better than the other?