she stands calmly in the shadows,
while the mirror, her vile enemy, scoffs
from the crowd of beautiful people.
they laugh and sing and dance together,
swaying carelessly with the summer breeze.
their sweet smiles bubble within her and
their softly whispered songs are
the aching longings of her soul.
the vivacity of their happiness only
magnifies the melancholy within her.
even those who call her friend seem
to shine more brightly than she ever will,
and the temporary relief their presence
yields only feeds the venomous snake
once their ways have parted.
her wholehearted efforts only seem to amplify
the effervescence with which they shine.
and when finally approached, her confidence
wavers and shrinks like a new cotton shirt,
and once again, she falls into the shadows.
cast no blame, for self-doubt is the
only train of thought she's ever known--
a vicious cycle that repeats and repeats,
chipping away at what little glow is left
within her.

i sit in my room, staring at the wall.
photographs of all shapes and sizes
and colors form an intricate and
irresistable road map for my eyes.
they scan and scrutinize the wall;
each picture draws a colorful and
fragmented memory--
the top of the ferris wheel at six
flags with the ernie to my bert,
sticky and hot, but so happy;
driving through the neighborhoods
while bass-pounding mirror-wriggling
music assaulted our ears and the hot
summer wind whistled through us;
that aching, all-consuming grin i
just could not erase after misha let
me sing a verse with him;
over a decade of confusion and
consternation about a god who
always seemed to be too busy to
answer the sincerest prayers of
a naive and innocent child;
the heart-startling jolt of
awakening to screams and cries
for countless miserable mornings;
the bitter tears spilled so often at the
realization that assuming the best
of others often leads to nasty scars.

the pictures are tacked to the wall,
an exotic map of my adolescence.
the items overlap and intertwine,
they are all connected and dependent.

he dances circles around you.
her body sways with the music
that always plays inside her head,
and she sees only her universe.
her actions are thoughtless, cruel,
and poignantly painful.

the words push their way out of
my mouth clumsily, not uncommon,
and i hope dearly that you cannot
see that they are merely a shell,
completely empty inside; they
offer momentary solace, the
knowledge that you are not the
first, and nor will you ever be the last,
person to feel like this way,
but they could never begin to slow
the hurricane of emotion raging
deep inside of your sad soul.

i feel your ache resonate within me
and i offer a friendly hug.
i cannot fix your pain.
i can only be the ears you need to
talk to, and the shoulder you need
to cry on, and the friend to help
you move on with your life.

the cliff seems higher than infinity,
and i stand on the edge, trembling.
my toes are supported by gravity
alone, and my face is raw with
the whipping of the ice-cold wind.
i cannot see the end of the drop
below me, which sparks my
terror and brings to it a
wild and vicious life.

the uncertainty is suffocating,
i can feel it burn my lungs.
call it foolishness, call it faith.

i step over the edge,
and plunge downward.

the worldwide battle,
drowned in the blood of
all races and stained with
the spittle of darkness,
had reached its last breath;
as the two unlikeliest of
heroes climbed into the liquid
fire, the bravest of them all
stood against the horde of
the last evil one.
after centuries, the king was
crowned, and the people
were freed, at last, from the
fear of the black land.
some of our heroes adventured
on to their green holes and
blooming forests and sparkling
caves, whole but seeing
the world anew.
but the rest were left
transformed, present in body
and flesh but wandering of mind.
those few gathered at the harbor
and left their tale at the docks,
marking the beginning of a new
age for their loyal companions,
another extraordinary story
never to be told.

in those concluding moments,
the last words printed so delicately,
i felt a part of my soul leave
from the harbor also.
the cessation of a story is sometimes
a wonderful and beautiful passage,
but my eyes wept the tears of
a bittersweet end to the first epic
that moved my heart to swelling delight.
as the perfectly sculpted vessel sailed
with poise into the golden sunset,
i felt another sunset within myself,
not gold but blue and purple.
it was the culmination of a fantastic
journey, and dusk fell upon me.

A lifetime has passed
since then.

I sat for hours on
that fetid bus,
excitement knotted in
my belly like a nest
of twisting snakes,
until we arrived and
nestled in the mountains,
South and West.

Our cabin was on the fringe,
just as I was, back then.
I spread my bed and
settled down,
made myself a temporary
home.

Days passed with but
little consequence--
rock walls
and
human foosball
and
oversized
jawbreakers
and
a giant swing;
corn dogs in the
sand of the
volleyball courts
and ice cream on
the balcony
at the overlook.

We hiked uphill
to find a waterfall
as utopian as
my foolish faith,
and there we
basked under the
Carolina sun

I climbed
and slipped
until I found a
perch behind
the roar.
I can still feel the
goosebumps
upon my pale
adolescent skin.

When I grew bored,
I scaled to
the top and
jumped
feet first.

they were a gift,
unwanted, the first
of their kind,
a lonely reminder.
they needed life,
water and a vase,
maybe a jug or jar.

so they sat there,
on the dresser,
wrapped in plastic,
bound in ugly rubber--
condemned, like me.
they did not rot,
not as i had hoped.
instead, the petals
browned under the
artificial light,
wrinkled and shriveled.

i let them fester the
way my heart does,
but, as if in spite,
they did not dry up.
they stole moisture--
though i cannot
imagine how--
and from their death
emerged life.
life in the form of
a fuzzy white fungus.