I'd like to think that no one in this world is broken.
they are only frayed--
born to live another day.

I'd like to think that children can smile.
even if their parents have
been gone longer than a while.

We take our tragedies and broadcast them, hoping for someone to notice.
hoping for a savior.
hoping to be noticed.

I'd like to think that everyone can be good.
anyone with a smile, and a laugh.

shimmering in winter’s wee hours, the snow steals the scrutiny of the neighborhood.
i am not the only one to be left awestruck--- swarming the newly soiled snow,
are children, finally  free from the grasps of their pens and papers
until the city clears the roads.

the giggles and screams are enough to drive a person either past insanity or bring pure joy.
fingers are used like paint brushes on the windows of houses and cars. every time,
the response is ******; as if they did not know by now that the snow was cold.

i do not add kindlewood to my fire. watching the happiness and liveliness of the street
warms my heart enough. it is a wonder what simple fallen crystals can bring out in a
person, no matter the age. i see now why white is the color of innocence.

& so the lion fell in love with the lamb.
              isn’t this how it goes?

the hero takes a villain, and twists their heart.
molds it to something into something sweet.

you’d think you’d know better by now.
           you don’t.

you’d think that, maybe, this time you can change.
           you can’t.

you can try to be good for them.
          you aren’t.

your smiles are fake. not what he wants.
your face is fake, caked with make up. not what he deserves.

after shave and his cologne overwhelm you. you can smell it when he hugs you.
       ( only so you’ll stop crying at night. )

you think, every time he smiles, that you can believe in God again.
that you can walk inside a church and not burn.
       you never try.  
you can lie all you want and say you are just fine.
you can lie all you want and still smile.
you can pretend he doesn’t hear your sobs.
you can pretend you  hear his in return.

if he'd just kiss you, finally, it’d be so pure
he’s so pure.
( isn't he? )

you’re not pure enough for him.
you never will be.
you’re not the hero in this story.

you push him away and pretend not to be ready.
   ( your heart has never beat so fast.
     it’s trying to beat into his chest. into home. )

he tells you it’s okay, and then makes dinner.
alone.
alone-- like how you will die one of these days.
alone.

Without motivations nagging push,
I fear I am nothing but an ant;
doomed to be weak and easily looked over.
Without fear and doubt, each standing
on opposing shoulders, I am
alone.
Some days, these are the only
beings who will talk to me.
What choices do I have, other than to listen?
However, at the sight of another's smile, my personal
tormentors are caught powerless.
The constant, biting, unwanted input will
subside. And the world will keep
spinning on its axis as it has before
my time, and my mother's, and her mother's.
I
am not scared, because I don't want to be. I am the
controller of my emotions. The controller of other's emotions.
I
am the one to make people smile.
I
have this power, and my demons do not. I will abuse my
power, and shoo the bad tidings away from others, while hoping
they do the same for me.

how could a bird, caged and trapped, still sing a tune so sweetly?
how could a man, fresh from war and bleeding out trauma, still smile just because of the sun?
a child, being told they’re never going to live to see puberty
a dog, left on the countryside while he watches; helplessly as his owners drive off and leave him.
         ( he’ll still wag his tail the next day )
a girl, seeing her boy with someone else
               ( oh, the heartbreak. it’ll fade in a few weeks
                 when Johnny tells her he likes her smile )
how could a bird, caged and trapped, still sing a tune so sweetly?
how does it’s music fill the air and meet my ears?
I want to be the bird.
I want to sing--- despite my woes.
I want to have wings to preen and to fly with.
                            ( a caged bird cannot fly.
                              why does it sing if it’s useless? )