glissade, tours jeté; poised and powerful
pirouette, sous-sus; humbling finesse
agility: deceivingly immortal
classsic elegance to encompass

enveloped audience, alluring physique
grande jeté, fluid grace, moving mystique
clean sauté arabasque; lissome wonder
sharp, precise, polished; she moves without blunder

pink, satin slippers
strong, poised, graceful pirouette
kinesthetic art

Keep things where they settle.
Settled.
It settled there, so keep it there.
Wrapped.
It's wrapped there, in bubble wrap;
Placed in the box, very carefully.
Bubble wrap fits nicely in boxes.
The pretty box is labeled:
“DO NOT DISTURB. DO NOT TOUCH.”
Don't open Pandora's box.
"I won't." Just a little touch...
She slips and it blasts open.  The wind billows
throughout the room, knocking her
off her feet.
Torn pieces of paper dance in the gusts of wind
and settle, placing themselves in a circle
around her.
She's wrapped
up in words unseen, unheard.
Unsettled.
Keep things where they settle.

he's black, white,
and read all over
by acquaintances in his
circumference of people.
but no one asks,
no one takes the time,
to inquire behind
the gray mix of his
black and white appearance.
perhaps he's a light blue,
or a pretty yellow
that mistakenly ran into
some gray along the way,
but no one knows
because they'd rather spend
their sunday morning judging
a black story on a white page
than exploring the vast depth
of an intricate person.

lost
vision
perspective
identity
labeled; boxed in; trapped
Who am I? Who am I?
words offered and rejected
Was I ever really found?
questioning Providence, sov'reign plans
hopeless, worthless, careless, less, less, and less
heartbroken, loving eyes watch me stagger
rudimentary fundamentals
Sunday school rhymes, 'tis precious now
oh, take me back to the start
teach me again my name
Who am I? Who am -
free and redeemed,
forgiven;
now I'm
found

dear friend,
trying to participate
falling and failing epically
perks of being seemingly invisible
to the only one you see

don't want to wake up on your own
so you accept the love you think you deserve
put them first and now you know
this is how a wallflower grows

your friends they see it, live it, breathe it
smokey parties and poorly lit rooms
synthetic happiness, the only way to get by
fragile hopes and dreams

you know everyone and no one
watching their daily lives happen
but nobody stops it takes a second look
at your wilting petals and falling leaves

below average, psychos together
"welcome to the island of misfit toys"
somehow a place of belonging
and now in this moment, you feel infinite

love always,

if you run away
where are you going
and once you get there
how will you get back

are you running to feel free and alive
and will you run back into comforting arms

or are you running from fears, tears, trials or tribulations
and will you have to slowly force yourself to return

to think that running is something good or something bad
something beautiful or something tragic

if you run away
where are you going
and once you get there
how will you get back

tucked in tight, eyes wide and bright
squirrelly in anxious anticipation
counting sheep endlessly
laying still to no avail
tomorrow, filled with presents and cookies and Grandma's cookies
tomorrow, "Oh boy! I've waited all year for this!"

...and the snow drifted peacefully to the ground.

She crawls into bed with her husband's snoring head
the day she tarried away: cooking, cleaning
modern day Martha
doubts arise, has she done enough?
Is the table set just right?
"Oh me, oh my! I must've forgotten something!"

...and the snow drifted peacefully to the ground.

She inches wearily to her lonely bed
she slips into her nightgown, red
lying awake, her chest aching; empty
tomorrow she'll be able to forget
if not for an hour, at least a moment few
she wraps herself in her Savior's embrace and closes her eyes

...and the snow drifted peacefully to the ground.

...as every Christmas wish was being fulfilled.

Why* do they appear so mystified?
As if every little thing must be justified
Moved to fit inside their small box
And look away when their key couldn't unlock
What they aimed to achieve
Does it ever make you giggle
When people call you fickle
But they're the ones whose eyes are fixed
On an object not quite literally applicable,
Something regarded as abstract, typically unseen
You see: I am a metaphor
And people stare at me.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

if tonight's your last
and yesterday's past
intimidates you or
relentlessly accuses you
of the things that
once enchanted you
and you take a slap in the face
you cut to the chase
there's no time to waste
but really you're stuck
you feel out of place
and the rhythm of the sorrow
drags into tomorrow
because you cannot forget
and there is abundant regret
draining from the scars
that you've tried to hide
that you've put aside
and in reality, your soul
IS TIRED
of waiting, of praying
of feeling like it's straying
you breathe, you sleep,
you live as if you
were not dying
you're still trying
TO BE OK
but you are broken and
you cannot cope
and all of your hope
has gone up in smoke
to where has your spirit flown?
LET GO
for the love of God, release
give it to the One you seek
to Him whom your eyes have not seen
in this moment, you are
FREED.

© Melissa Carlson 2015