We thought he'd never see sunrise,
Now sunrise is all he sees.
Up in heaven with our other passed loved ones,
He's smiling cheek to cheek.

With the angels singing hymns,
And he glancing down,
I'm sure he wants to say:
*"It's alright, I'm okay now."

I want to be the arms that hold you in the middle of the night.
The ones that you never expected to feel so good but offer you comfort you only could find
When there's a pen in your hand.
Or a bottle
Which ever would make you feel better I want to be the hand that reaches out and passes you a life jackets
but never let's you sink into it alone.
Because I know what it's like to be left in an ocean with out any thing to float you to shore.
Let me be the raft the guides you to land and let you know that not all of us are alike.
Some people need patch work in order to support you.
You've been grabbing pieces that never knew what it means to be a part of a whole.
See I used to be a tree.
An entity of life feeding others the oxygen they needed to thrive.
So it's in my nature to be life support.
The kind that doesn't need to be given credit for being the only ear with in whispering distance.
Applaud me with thousands of kisses.
Shower me in acceptance and I'll photosynthesize it into love.
Deeper than the roots I dug before
I adore you the way the lady bug adores it's wings when they lift her up
I want to lift you out of storm serge.
So the waves of insecurity won't bang against your head
Those levees you built to keep the water out of your heart were only meant to say it for me.
It's ok to tear down those walls
I'll be there to help you pull them down.
And when you start to plant your first tree
I'll dig the hole and nurse it
Into something more than you ever expected.

Every time the butterflies come,
they crawl up my throat and start to choke me
but it's a good kind of choking,
like scratching an inch even though it makes the rash burn
or liking the pain of dotted blood lines on my skin
after a long day of holding in monsoons and earthquakes
beneath calm serenity.

Or like telling myself I can never get better
even if a part of me knows, knows I can.
It’s like deciding never to speak again,
or stop eating just because you can.

And why is it that pain tastes so much like love
when I willingly dress myself in it,
yet someone lays a finger on me
and I feel the same way
when my friends are mistreated
and animals are abused,
I feel a surge of fierce hatred
throughout my whole body
and don’t you ******* touch me
ever again.

I believe the world can be better than this.
And what does that say about me?
Does it make me a hypocrite in a sort of vague way?
Because I keep wondering
if I do things without thinking
that another me would hate me for.