All the kids
I teach tennis to
at work
have bright eyes.

Sparkling blues,
dazzling greens,
even brown eyes shine bright
on the kids at tennis camp.

There's their bright, wide eyes
soaking up the world around them--
and then there's
my dull green ones;

light ****** out
years back,
by the same world
these kids are trying to absorb.

They are so
pure
innocent
whole--

why am I
the teacher
in this situation?
I am nothing but

tarnished
corrupted
broke
and broken.

The sad part is
these kids can't even
teach me how to be
whole again because

you didn't know
you were whole
until the world finally
breaks you.

You see so much more
when you
look
at the clouds
instead of
watching them.

Like the girl
shapeshifting an
infinite amount of times
for everyone
looking up to her.

First she's seen
tending to her sister,
a role model,
the sun offering
a warm glow
around her figure.

Now she's
laughing and playing,
her cloud quickly
expanding and gaining volume--
about to burst with
excitement.

And then she's
something all her own;
something indescribably amazing--
like you've seen it before,
but can never put
a word to what
exactly she's
showing you.  

They say you see
what you want
when looking at clouds,
but I think
it's more of
what you need.

We never wanted
to let you go,
but we knew it was
inevitable.

We tightened our grip
around your smooth, white ribbon;
a futile attempt to
keep you with us
just a few moments longer,
even though you
silently begged us
to let you go.

You were there
to brighten up all our milestones--
every birthday,
every graduation,
every wedding.

These thoughts
consumed our minds
as we slowly relented;
painfully and agonizingly
loosened our grip on
your long ribbon.

You left us
so gracefully, so gently--
our eyes never left you
as you defied gravity
while we remained
tethered to the ground.

The sun reflected
off your shiny blue roundness,
creating a small, quick
flash of light--
a wink or a smile,
your final goodbye,
a promise of reunion.

We'll think of you,
a lot at first,
and then from time to time;
wondering where you ended up
or if you found company
in the sky,
above the clouds.

But we'll know that
letting you go was
the right thing to do--
you're now liberated,
completely and utterly
free.

Long, winding road;
a busy street,
cars of every color
drive close together
like a school of fish
navigating through the ocean.

Dotted white lines
quickly become solid,
preventing the cars from
switching lanes...

we were supposed to be
over one to the right.

Cursing, then flooring,
and finally U-turning,
you maneuver your car
back around to
get to our destination.

Talking, singing, laughing--
the frustration of
missing our turn
dissipates quickly with
each other's company.

It's always a pleasure
getting lost with you--

every missed turn
is a new adventure,
and every wrong turn
reminds me how right
it feels being next to you.

The music queues up on a
never-ending loop--
out of sight,
the robins begin
chirping out a song
nearly as beautiful
as their light orange bellies.

The trees begin to dance,
swept up by a
crisp spring breeze;
thin branches swaying
in time to the
robins' sweet harmony.

More birds join in
on the song,
layering this melody
in a way that
no music studio ever could;

all the while
vibrant green leaves
flutter, and allow themselves
to be led by the enticing wind
in yet another dance.

You're the ink I bleed--
pencil hitting paper,
the catharsis that I need;
you're in my erasings, all my cross-outs
constantly showing me
new perspectives and alternate routes;
you're the break

between each stanza;
every symbol I decide to make;
you're the rare poems I write in rhyme
(partly because of how
musical you are from time to time);
you're the answer to my writer's block,
making up for all those minutes
spent staring at the clock.

Most obviously, you're the reason I write today--
you're every word I've ever written
and every word I'm about to say.

The dinner tray
that you spray painted gold,
behind the sink, where you set it to lay,
represents nothing more than friendship gone cold.

Once an ugly brown,
now pretty on the outside--
but we chipped it away, wore it all down;
found the ugly you tried desperately to hide.

Messy, lying, manipulative
your grand façade faded quick,
it was rather short-lived:
your combative nature did just the trick.

Friendship's about giving and taking.
We too late heard the tray's silent warning
about the one who spawned its making.
It dawned on us suddenly, like sun in the morning:

trays are meant to maximize gain
you took too much, gave too little;
over and over, a song's sad refrain.

You've now lost your chance to meet us in the middle.