Fame for you wasn't what mattered,
It left you lonely, sad and shattered,
You couldn't distinguish day from night,
As you were cast into the limelight.

You tried to play the perfect role,
But the fame game swallowed you whole,
And at the height of the band's success,
You began to love life less and less.

You persevered, you saw it through,
Realising singing was what you were born to do,
Your children helped you find the ways,
To help you through your darkest days.

Your songs helped me through times of sadness and elation,
I turned to you as my inspiration,
The innocence of youth in "Just my Imagination",
Contrasted with the pain of addiction in "Salvation,"

Thought there were many times you did dismay,
Your legacy saw you conquer Europe, Asia and the USA,
A gifted artist one of the very best,
May God grant you eternal rest.

The hunger for meaning gnaws my soul,
And the strings of emptiness pull down my spirit,
To a darkness even fear cannot fathom.
My heart cries out in grief, as my body becomes a husk,
My soul in fritters, shredded by blades of a pain,
It can no longer contain.

For some reason, my waning light,
Continued to best the winds of agony.
Even the when desolation drowned my beaten spirit,
My soul held on to the branches of hope.
Until you came, and in your arms my heart found a home.

It all makes sense now, seeing how far I’ve come.
The admiration for resilience is purely misplaced.
For every mile I walked, your tender heart carried me for more.
Where my spirit was broken, you mended with love.
My heart thanks you for solace in great storms,
I savored your worth, and you tasted like my future.
And now my soul beams with smiles of a child well fed.

People have aesthetic childhoods.
With parents that understand and cuddle them when lightning strikes.
I remember the teddy bears in my bed,
and how they smelt of mum and dad,
how I would hold Odettes ear with my finger and thumb,
my head ducked under cover in fear of an alien tickling my toes.
But now the teddies are placed high up on a shelf
away from me, out of reach.

When I realise the ear isn't in my hands,
I look around and see the dust at my feet,l like I'm down at the bottom,
I look up,
my family are at the top
and the red cord of family love bounding us together is thin, and I fear we are soon to have a disconnect again,
When I make it to the third or fourth level
I see their faces grinning with pride
at their daughter succeeding and waking up before noon,
and I say something funny to lighten the mood,
but I tumble lower by one or two
depending on how fake the laugh I hear was.

I sit in the gravel and wonder.
I don't understand why I can't touch them anymore because I'm like my mum,
we're both alike,
and I'm like my dad,
we're also alike,
but I feel lost on a planet when I meet their eyes,
like I'm somewhere I shouldn't be,
I wallow in the dust for days, until I feel
them prodding me with a stick from the top shelf,
asking me when I'll finally reach the top.
Telling me that I'm seventeen now and that I used to be on the sixth shelf when I was sixteen.
How I used to do so well with my homework,
and I would get great grades,
but now I get dark stains around my eyes,
and a tearstained face,
but from their great  height, they can't see my shoulders shaking,
they just see me carrying my baggage,
too heavy for my small frame to handle.

I force my way up the mountain,
until I see their faces,
they smile and I tumble right back down.
I feel like screaming;
LOOK AT ME!
I AM HERE!
I EXIST!
I AM ON MY PLANE,
AND YOU ARE ON YOURS!
but however hard I do scream,
the wind picks it up and carries it away,
and all they hear is;
'Look at me, I'm on your plane!"

They smile.
I tumble three.

Let me be the sunshine that pours rays to heal your broken soul,
Let me be the light that radiates over your dark thoughts,
Let me be the hand that help you when you falls down,
Let me be the book that makes you amuse,
Let me be those flickering stars which makes you dream,
Let me be the reason of the perpetual smile that lives in your soft lips,
Let me be your shadow, so when you feel isolated
i can hug you from behind and make you feel crowded,
Let me be the map that shows you the routes to the destination you seek.

Will you ?
Will you allow me to be everything that makes you happy ?
Will you allow me to be that color which you use to paint your skies ?
Will you ?

In apple growing-warmth,
I found oceans between eyelashes and Pacific air.

Ligamented with smoke, skeleton hands crafted cigarettes of honey and curling floral sweetness.

For soft-haired royalty, I bowed my heart and washed my skin in space and rainy wishes.

I drowned myself in polish remover, to show the stripped beauty of love and life
to a sun who lives off alcohol and notions of wouldn't it be nice?

But I, the noiseless patient spider,
who has flung gossamer after thread,
am reaching for nothing but an earth flower,
One who I thought loved me,
or at least that’s what she said.
((one who sees through rose-pink eyeglasses,
and speaks in feathered song.))

Still, I sleep well under starless skies,
where urban northern lights burn the dark,
charred there by city windows and boundless passing cars.

Here, I wrap myself in a cloth galaxy,
and I paint the sun with blackberry juice,
trading gold and diamonds for the simple hope
that someone might live up to you.

I’m sorry.
It is me.
But it’s not.
It’s paranoia.
It’s fear.
But it’s mine.

I’m scared I’m doing too much.
Too little.
Trying too hard.
Not enough.
Not giving you space.
Giving too much.

So I’ll stop.
I’ll let you decide.
Maybe I won’t be paranoid.
I probably will.
But if you don’t want me around
I can disappear.