I used to be terrified of flying
Until I saw the sunrise on a 7AM
Chicago skyline
Rumors of clouds, whispering across
A grey cityscape and trickling into sidewalk cracks

And I saw through the window crack
The very crack of dawn on a newer day than the last
Call it pristine gray
My fears are now framed pristine gray
In blankets of doubt and navy blues
Like her pristine navy blue hair as it uttered secrets in the streets.
A small girl with a horizon smile, opening up as a jetstream
With streamlined pristine bright eyes
Poking holes in hurricanes
With her hands made of golden snakes, shining like a Chicago sunrise
Wrapped in my clutch
And if you say she doesn't shine
Then spit the pyrite from your teeth
And tell me what it's like to
Bend the truth.

Now, those snakes have long since shed their skin.
And her pristine color schemes have long faded into rippling cascades of green grass and smile-light vibrance.
Oh, I will wash my hands endlessly in my lifetime, but those colors will never run.
And to learn from a color is to love another, and to love another is to see the color of her eyes in the sunrise that takes away your worst fears.

I lost my worries in a pristine scheme,
Beautiful eyes, her hair, and a smile.
I am on the runway, waiting for my flight to depart.
These colors will not run,
And neither will I.

There are
lines along the shadows that
trace every wall in my room,
cast from the sunny days we
spent together.

The gleam
lifting off of the paint
hazed our home with
peace, and uncertainty
in that order.

Our hands
grew laced in messy knots
as twisted sunflower stalks.
We basked in the neverending sun
and photo synthesized
love, the
love we shared
and the
love we swallowed.

We devoured rays of light
like emperors of the most
beautiful gardens, until the
masses had no more to give.
And I was made to suffer in
your eternal scorn for not
giving you more,

for

you believed you were the
very hand that fed us. You
told me you
rose in the east,
and set in the west
so we could be amassed in our riches.

I had nothing left to give you because I gave you everything I had and it was not enough.

I just want to be enough to share my days with someone I can feel at home with.

Now, I've found that same
silver-shine light in the eyes of
another who graces the presence
of my hands and fills my heart
with monarchs of old, with tiny
wings fluttering in the gentle
air. And I hope to be enough for
her.

I resent you for the way you used to
shut all of the lights off and leave me
in the empty rooms of your house
while your self centered devotion
ran circles around the driveway
and pushed me further into the street.

I have found someone that I would like to spend my time with. And while I no longer feel anything for you, the damage you have done to me will not fade.

I can apply new coats to make the walls shine less, but just knowing of the old paint is enough to make me sick. I can pull up all of the weeds you left among my flowers, but just knowing of the roots is enough to make it feel meaningless. Even if it's not.

But this home inside of me is still beautiful, and I will do what I can to restore it.

I attend classes in a black hole that was specified for some strange form of learning that promotes negativity and speaks of no past and no future but simply present yet devoid of meaning and spun together by the hour and minute hands of space that will tick and spin and tick and spin and tick and spin in limbo until the end of time and until the end of limbo so everything will cease to exist except the black nothingness and lack of a limbo to tick in thereof which actually isn’t black nothingness at all because if the nothingness exists then it by definition is not nothingness due to the fact that nothing is nothing but nothing is also something at the same time which is quite puzzling but when the outer shell of the idea is stripped away and the core meaning and thought process are taken into consideration then you’ll realize that the human race and all of it’s stupid little emotions run a fairly linear path in comparison to a situation such as this because we and all of our stupid little emotions are literally meaningless to the universe and we are nothing to it and yet we exist for unexplained reasons so we are what we truly fear the most and we are what eats the beauty of our galaxy and we are what drinks the blood of the angels and demons that tap dance in the back of the human mind and at the ends of every ***** finger that strokes church pews and the faces of other gods and dear gods and other gods we are your legacy that has burned itself to the illegitimate ground and like cuts upon your holy wrists and books we as your sons and daughters challenge you to climb down from the clouds and see what has been done to your lovely earth that has now been bathed in corruption and turned into chaos by the very idea of that which we find salvation in because honestly i bet it would feel a lot like looking in a mirror made of every prayer and every lie that you’ve ever ignored and yet these liars and these people still search their souls for meaning and devote their lives to your name bound in black ink and blood when deep down past every single ******* confession and every single plea for purity speaking to you is like speaking to a wall harboring pictures of your kingdom and paintings of your minions carrying out every last command from their textbooks and their fictions to bring forth a new day of peace and love while your sinners run the world and tear their houses away from yours so they can do what must be done with speeches and not your ever controlling will because you move your pawns as if they’re all presidents of something when they can’t even move two steps forward unless you cheat and you of all beings should at least try to start realizing that there’s no exceptions when you’re staring into a black hole filled with beautiful and stupid faces waiting for your next move to push us further into the singularity.

"I was not strong."

And with that, you
sold yourself
short of that
which you've
Shown me so much of.
That very
Same
grace

There was so much wind
On the glass in our room
At the end of the hallway
The windows were battered
Inside and out by
Immense and handmoving
Waves and
words of
grace

And when we walked
I held your hand
And I swore you
Could have
Stood on your own
With your
Beauty and
your
grace

And now, when we sit
With our legs crossed
On your second bed
I can stare into your
Eyes and feel at home,
I can look at you
And fill my gaze with
All of your different
Little beauties
And all
of your
breathtaking
grace.

I have always felt a
certain Finite weight in
my core.
As a heavy handed spiritual
divider, breeding distance between
myself and those I encounter.
I am made to feel
like an aftershock of
the light, I am a
product of a human
eclipse. Life passes through
me, and lives pass
through me and past
lives leave nothing but
faint, waning embers of
purpose. This existence of
mine echoes in reminiscence
of carrying out a death
sentence in a mobile
prison cell, atop a
castle of nerves and
awkward movements.
Towards others,
and away from others,
and other
actions to create
something worth noticing.

But like me, these marks of anticipation are whisked away as desert love-notes, lost in storms of sand and ignorance alike.

Yet, there is solace
to be found in the
notion that no man
nor mind can carve
futures in concrete and
brimstone. And I know
this to be true,
because

oh my god, I am trying my hardest to change.

Oh, I feel the shift of elements in my bloodstream.

Oh, I feel the shift of the gravity laced through the tides.

I sense the shift in control over my caster,
my sun,
my source of existence,
my darkness,
my solace.

Eternal imbalance, keep my days golden. But let the nights stay silver, so I may sleep.