We live in a society full of insecurity
Red lips
Dark eyes
Fake tan.
Forced smiles
Closed eyes
Clenched fists,
Show no weakness
Show no mercy
Small hands on pale stomachs
Eyes constantly searching for ways to rid that extra pound
That extra curve
**** in
Deep breath
Back straight
Every calorie counts.
Is this really the world that we live in?
Is this the life that we wish to lead?
Our lives are no longer determined by the way that we think
They are not dedicated to achieving our dreams
To pursuing our goals
No
The way that we live is based upon the way that we look
And thus, the way that we are treated
We are always going to compare ourselves to another
That is a given
If we don't look good then we aren't happy
Right?
But for others to determine the fates of ourselves depending strictly upon a template of "perfection"?
Perfection is a disease
The very aspect of it plagues your mind
Inhabits your soul
And brings upon an individual an idea of something to achieve
That is nearly impossible to achieve
It is a roller coaster that only goes down
A concoction that only leads to inevitable heartache and pain
A poison that has no known cure
And it hurts
Perfection hurts.

Missing you
comes in waves.
I feel mellow,
I feel a rush; hitting me like a tsunami.
Nothing is ever consistent with you;
and won't be it seems
(just like the sea.)

There is no clean slate

You cannot restart the game

Only continue.

in my child's eye...
it is possible,
for a frog, to choose to fly.
a dog to dance and
cats to swim.

it is possible,
to build a castle,
up into the sky.
to converse with stars.
for elephants to drive,
tiny cars.

it is possible,
that the world,
is without sin
and washed clean,
each morning,
which is to be met
with an insouciant grin.

it is possible,
to befriend the child
you just met....
no matter what creed
or colour.

it is possible,
to forgive
and live,
without regret
and to sleep
at night
without any stress.

it is possible,
at that age,
to know ....
a dollar found upon
the sidewalk,
is a treasure
of great proportions,
if made into,
lollies and shared,
with friends.

it is possible...
that fish can write stories
and possums delight

it is possible to count
a monkey as a friend.

it is possible to ride
kangaroos and
adventure to Timbuctoo

it is possible,
to love spaggetti
as much as your mother.
to make the new kitten,
your brother.

it is possible,
to love your dad
even when he is silly
or mad...


all this is possible...
                   ....and much more
when you are just,
one year, past four...
                      ...and you have a
sunny, lovable disposition
and the world has yet to
find the time, to revise
the freedoms of your amazingly beautiful mind...

            it is possible....
        and in many ways
          so very probable...

Broken hearts gave us the best poets in the world.