I must be red-green colorblind
To miss the signs I'm driving by
Pressing the gas as the road gets slicker
Rain and pain splattering onto the windshield
I can see the pain coming
If I breathe too deep, I feel the stitch in my side
I'm getting weaker
I'm too drawn in to fight, to pull away
I want to stay,
I want you to stay -

I can see the crash and ambulance lights up ahead
Minutes before they arrive
911 is on speed-dial, the bystanders on standby

Maybe I'll hold my breath
Just to watch the world burn
Moving into the smoke
Breathing deeper for the hell of it

Straining to hear whispers,
A last cry, or a word
Maybe it's a death rattle
Maybe it's a yell for her

Maybe I've tried enough, I know it'll hurt
Maybe my only chance
Is to watch the world burn.

Maybe the only thing keeping me alive
Is to hope that one day,
I'll walk through the flames
I'll be glad I had tried.

I dream of a neighbor waving when I pull in the driveway
We talk **** and sip wine or whiskey late into the evening
We do this every day, and every day we both need it
But their face keeps on changing, in my review
In the morning

I look in my phone for a number that's not there
The one I always call when I'm tearing out my hair
But every time I find the slip of paper, it disappears
The numbers keep deleting from my phone if I don't stare

I can't help but think it's because of the mistakes I made
Maybe that's because it's what they said to my face
Old ones I never knew until they got dragged out of the dark
The dust blown off so you could stack them on the new shelves that you built

I look in the backseat, 600 miles from town
Searching for the faces who at one time I had found
But the seats are empty, only my packed bag
And I still remember when this car was loud
Used to feel like a family even if you weren't around

But as time goes on
I'm told to think of gratitude
For where I'm at now,
For the memories I can diffuse
Maybe make them last, like a hard candy you refuse to chew
Keep the flavors in my mouth
From when I used to know you

And the road looks the same, though the wind screams twice as loud
As before, when I was alone, driving through these empty towns
But I thought when I came back here, I'd bring a village packed in my car
We'd take turns driving, instead I'm sleeping on the shoulder

So when I wake, and when I sleep
I turn the radio up loud
To drown out my silent phone and the unspoken words in my mouth
I wonder at the scenery
The beauty means a lot to me
I know you would've liked to see it too.

Decide who you are, every day
Shaping your life like clay
Moldable, resilient
So even a dip or a crack
Can be smoothed over,
Just with some time.

A vase, a sculpture
Anything your heart desires,
The world is your oyster
To fill with platitudes, or cynicisms
To each their own.

But you should know,
It may bring some comfort
That there is paint in the back closet, and
The tools are cleaned in the cupboard
For when you want to repaint,
Reset, retry, rebuild.

It takes time to build habits
Character,
Heart.
But these towers, once built
Will reach the stars
And never fall.

The beauty of a sunset and sunrise
Is the wash of night that wipes everything clean.
The long hours between:
When you can't see your hand before your eyes
You can't see the mistakes left lying at your feet
And in the golden dawn
Even broken glass and aging decay looks beautiful.

The silhouette of mountain ranges glow softly in the distance
Across the vast expanse...
In the morning, you can start walking in any direction,
Until you decide you've gone far enough.

At your feet the ground is new, untouched
Undisturbed tracks of animals and others unseen
Living around you, before you
So you can try to walk again
To live again
Like them.

Maybe this time
With not so many mistakes left in your tracks.
And if not -
There is always the next morning.

I can taste the salt in my mouth
Sand crunching between grinding teeth
Rocks pressed into my skin, my palms
Grit under my fingernails
Sweat dripping from my brow
Underneath the beating sun

Beating out into the ground
Old past dreams, burying them alive

Waiting to see if they will sprout to life
Or stay under the surface, decomposing
Poisoning with their debris, seeping into my blood
Like a deep infection
Growing roots I must pull out like weeds
Only to bury again

Until it takes
In this infertile soil
Finally growing a scraggly, ugly thing
That will bloom after enduring storms,
Being battered by the waves of violent seas

The wolves will come to dig it up,
Rooting noses in the dust

Keep them at the threshold,
Keep the door shut

Give it time to let it bloom
Trust in the time in takes
To make something truly strong
You must endure.

Hours, waiting
Left at the dock
The water cool as I dip my feet
Pants rolled above my ankles
The sun sets beyond the horizon
As I know he's not coming,
But I try to enjoy the evening anyway.

Each time the note is slipped under my door
The handwriting is different, the phrasing
But the date and place is always the same
So every Friday, this is where I am:
Alone, waiting.

Someone smarter, maybe,
Better in some way
Better for herself, or better for someone else
Might not have found themselves in such a position
For these propositions.
I can't even tell if they're from strangers, or maybe
Just written from myself, and I can't remember

But I hope, anyway,
And I show up
Just in case
There was a reason left
For hoping.

Ease my mind,
Keep me safe
Be the home I can fly from
Knowing I can return
To you.

Screaming
I let the noise take shape
Forming something out of nothing
In a mindless run, a sprint
A stream of consciousness, of thoughts, of dreams, of pain
Endless and rushing
Until I am spent and empty

Like a reservoir when the dam has been opened
I pour everything I've had left
Until I have space to breathe
And silence to think
So I wait as it fills again, slowly
And the dam will open again.

It is still surprising how painful it is
The ripping of roots, nested deep in fertile soil
Leaving great gaps under the surface
Pulling up clumps which refuse to let go

Is there a purpose to repeating this pain?
Why nest so deeply in a place,
Under the faint glow of a time clock
Its ticking pervading every dream
Knowing there will be an end?

Walking through my favorite city
Cobblestones, brick, pastry scents, coffee mugs clinking
I see the end of the street approaching
And I do not slow
I do not know if I can, even if I wanted to.

As I turn the corner
I leave it all behind,
This new street is quiet, and foreign, and dim.
But as I walk, I notice more
And my roots take hold again anyway.

Through every city, down every street
The journey holds its meaning in
What you see, what you hear,
The moments and memories
Are not meant to last,
But to be remembered.

I drive home
Past the same highway markers
I envisioned in my dreams, in the hours driving here
Waiting and waiting for the road north to turn west
Slowly narrowing
Until I'm on my street
In my driveway
I reach the door,

No one's home. The lights are off
I look outside, the tree in the front yard
Lies dead. Not dormant
I know it won't flower in the spring
No one has been caring for it

The dishwasher is full
The clutter on the table
A photo of it all would sound like footsteps coming down stairs
This isn't the way I pictured it.
None of my future is the way I dreamed, as a kid
Life left me on hold
And the music is giving me a headache
I can't wish away the silence.

I can only watch the past form around me
Like concrete burying my feet
Pouring, pouring, up around my knees -
I know it in my bones, I will be buried in this house
Or at least, some important part of me
Will never leave

As my body continues forward, trudging
The parts who were hurt, fatally wounded
Will stay here. I'll be buried in the yard
With no one to mark a grave
Flowers won't be left, and none will grow
I've been left in this wretched place,
I used to call home.

Writing feels like painting with the widest brush
Making out shapes and forms on a vast canvas.
I like to sketch out stories like the scaffolding for a house
The framework for a window
The braces for a great tower
But to leave enough blank space for anyone to color it in.

Creations of their own fitting between the lines
Too specific and the details are overwhelming
But just vague enough to hint at beauty,
Light cresting over hilltops with golden glimmers of wheat
Vast waves forming in the dawn of a rising day
But the town, the colors, the city of people are made
In your image, dear reader,
Dear dreamer
You, writer.

Helping myself
But what is it all for?
I climb slowly out of the hole
I didn't realize I had been digging for myself
Though I know as my vision crosses the rim
There will be nothing but a foggy open field.
Damp in the clouded light,
Unable to tell evening from night
Sunlight or moonlight, it makes no difference
I have no flashlight anyway
And no one is here from whom I could ask for one.

It is good to want for yourself
But what is the good in wanting,
If you are wanting alone?

I guess the hope is in the waiting
For a light across the field
Maybe, there is only the theory
You could only chance finding another
If you have both climbed out to the surface.

Sand is running through my fingertips
Course on my skin, grating
As I watch it pass by, I feel it land heavy on my feet
Already buried under the weight of what I've missed.
And what I'm missing
As I'm trapped to my knees
In all my wishes and old dreams
They seem so naive
But you know what happens to the best-laid plans.

Would you rather forgive
Knowing you had been wronged
Than stand by your righteousness
And remain alone at the top
Separating yourself out of penance for your mistakes
And separating from others out of intolerance for theirs?

Are you really at the top, then?
And is the view really worth it
When it can’t be shared?

Isn’t the point of forgiveness to give grace for mistakes
Those out of ignorance
And those out of negligence?
If it wasn’t truly hurtful
It wouldn’t need help to heal.

The deeper the hurt, the more effort it takes
To preserve
And rebuild
A home you can save.

Don’t mistake our “true colors”
From what truly are simple mistakes.
Don’t assume malice
When ignorance is to blame.
We are all human in our missteps and stumbles.
Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re the only agile hunter
In a world of clumsiness, of scrapes and falls.

A picture is worth a thousand words
But only if you can read between the lines
There is meaning in the shadows, but one you must choose to find
A picture disrespected by descriptors
As if it only holds what you can see
But if you could read between the lines
Maybe you could find me.

The words in my head
Sometimes aren't my own
Angels and devils, I hear them both
Mostly late at night or when I'm all alone
Holding onto something
Waves crashing in an ocean
Trees falling, no one around them
To hear the screams.

Sometimes all you have to live for
Is what you have to hope for.
And what you once held on to
Leaves you stranded in a moment

But you have to trust that life comes in seasons
And the love you once had
Just may, just might, someday
Come find you again.

I wish I could do it over again
But at least let me live vicariously through you
Stopping you from making my mistakes
Celebrating your joys
Being proud of your successes
I can love you from afar
How I wish I was loved
Watch you fly
With my clipped wings.

Maybe I'll join you when I heal
But for now, I can only see the sky
Through your eyes.

I want to be proud of myself and focus on what's next
But I keep coming back around to you,
Like I've stepped over an ice cream cone dropped on the ground
And I can't keep myself from glancing back to watch it melt.

Over time,
I will become more accustomed to my footsteps
Not being echoed by other mirrored sets
And watching my shadow grow long in the evening alone.

And yet I keep turning back
Because there is something fascinating about the slow death
Of what once brought smiles,
Being fed to the ants and the hot sun.

I'm moving on, even if I keep glancing back to you
Because I know I'm not coming back
And with every step I take, it hurts a little less
And I'm comforted in knowing you will soon be out of view.

I am a living ellipsis
In waiting
Mourning
A transient period
Temporary
A traincar station
A layover
So many hours disappearing
Unaccounted for
Unmemorable, yet endured
In their brevity, in their nothingness
Time that doesn’t exist
Yet it can be measured in its passing
Unseen, and
Slipping
Sand between fingers
Waiting for
Something to come from
The waiting, the silent breath
Holding the air still,
Motionless lungs
Before the next rise and fall
Seeming, every pause, there will be no more
Until it comes
Until it stops again
Alive, and yet not, and yet somehow still
Waiting…

Silence is either the most devastating or the most comforting:

When you scream into the void,
Afraid to hear your own echo,
Comfort is found in the grasp of anonymity.

Yet when you listen for a voice,
None will sound familiar,
For who can respond to ghosts but their own kind?

It is exhausting, isn't it?
To keep walking,
To keep trying.

But there is nothing left to do but try, anyway -
Whether you stay or rise,
It won't change
How much time has passed,
How fast time is passing,
So I might as well get up.

Words can always carry a message
To me, from me,
Even once the messenger is gone.
Stories and legends will always persist,
Not to judge but to inspire
Not to compare struggle, but instead to lift higher
Those few and many stuck in despair
On the shoulders of those who came before.

Because if they did it,
I can do it too.
And one day,
I'll be a story
For the next unredeemed who sits in this chair
Discouraged, alone, and tired
And tomorrow, like me,
They'll no longer be sitting there.

Sentimental
A sentinel
Colored pictures would show him
Old, and gray
Weathered by winds and storms he couldn't name
Memories, weather-beaten
They fall the same
On his creased, stone face
Rivulets of rain dug in
Sweat stained
The outcropping set to collapse
A thousand years from now
He remembers when his placard stood
Not so close to the edge
And how many has he seen
Plummet, where the rocks do
He will follow one day
And no one will place his face,
Or remember
The monument to the sentinel
Stood by the river
An oceanside ringer,
Immediately recognizable
Yet once its gone
No one will know his name.

It's all around me, yet I couldn't point it out to you
It's too dark to see it surrounding me
I can see the shapes, but I know to you they're only shadows
Tell me, is it the dark or the light that is the illusion -
Are these merely shadows in the sun
Or moonlight cutting through the dark?
Can you see it?
Nothing here is clear to me.

I trust my past
Knowing it could be worse
And if it couldn't
Knowing it won't last.

I remember, I remind myself
Of the times the sun felt warm
The laughter felt unburdened
The breeze felt unhurried
The company felt wanted

I know it will feel this way again.
In times like this
I appreciate the sunlight on the leaves,
The moments of brightness speckled in the shade
And wait patiently for the clouds to dissipate.

Making from scratch
The next batch
A new breed of life,
Watching it rise, covered
Yet to be unveiled, revealed
The growth a secret, kept to myself

Self-sustaining
Thoughts remaining
Only feeding into the cycle

Letting the good, and the bad
Wash over like rainwater
I like the smell in the morning

Doesn’t it let the grass grow greener?

They say it makes you stronger
Like a callus, like a muscle
Turning the soft into something tougher
Hardening the weak, reinforcing the strong

I think what doesn't **** you,
It simply scars you
It is what you learn from your wounds, if anything at all
Which changes you:
To not touch the hot stove
To not reach for the sharp edge
So you are prepared for what comes next.

Prisms of colored glass
When shone through all together
Make a mingling mural of design
Beautiful, angry, kind, tender
But one look at each piece
Each one is completely different from the next
The side you see written, published, speaking, standing
Are all different views than the rest
How do you know a whole person?
How many views do you need?
How many visions have you shared with friends,
How many are left within yourself to see?

They struggle to contain
The feelings inside bottles
Messages to throw in the ocean, iced over
They skitter with a clatter
Scattered snow-covered glasses
A pirate's best haven
Maybe one of these corks popped
Leads straight to my heart

Through monsters and ruins
Sharp claws and fanged vices
Struggling up to the surface,
Finding purchase in the darkness

Messages in bottles
Voices to be unheard
Some are my own
But the labels are too worn
Best leave them closed, and wait
For the ice to thaw under her.

After so many times
The cold is what feels normal
The open air, uncomfortable
The shock is lulled into a
Coming home,
A settling into normal.

Water overhead,
Pressure in my head
I feel like I'm dead
When I can feel anything

Ice in my veins
It feels the same as
The times when I'm
Breathing.

Cold shock
Isn't so shocking
When after all the
Tries, the lies
It's the baseline
Without it, the heart rate
Skyrockets

A body in space doesn't know
What to do without the pressure
Holding it together

Maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take what you can give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

All the love I give you
Will stab me in the back

But where can I go wrong
If it's all never gone right
I'll keep shooting in the dark
Let it go without a fight

I have nothing left to give, but
Everything I have
Unless I keep it to myself
I'll be alone until the last

So, maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take the pieces you give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

One day, maybe, someday
You'll want to love me back.

Life is made delightful by its paradoxes
And infuriating in its contradictions.

Those who find their identity in sacrifice
Treasure the moments when others offer their own.

Those who take and take
Are forever left searching for something useful to give.

Those who think of themselves as small
Play such a large part in the lives around them.

Those who are so self-important
Often have an audience full of sneaky glances towards the clock.

Those who love company
Crave for their time alone to be respected.

Those who want to be alone
Want genuine human connection.

Those who talk too little
Have so much left to say.

Those who talk too much
Often keep what is most important to themselves.

Those who take pictures
Want to truly be seen.

Those in the spotlight
Desire unbroken privacy.

Those who are trusting
Are too often trapped.

Those who seek tripwires
Spurn the unlocked doors within their grasp.

For those who give love
It is not always returned.

But those who love themselves
Untwist both halves
To find a heart left pure.

They, on her shoulders
The child, and the older
Manipulative and scheming, plotting to point out
Every flaw in the artistry
Every wasted second, every fear

She wishes to give every
Benefit of the doubt, assuage every tear
Every anxiety to be released,
Anger and angst held back

But she protects the child
And sometimes, she's wrong
These overprotective anxieties can cause harm
But every time she's persuaded
It only took time, for the voices on her shoulders
Are the only ones who do not lie.

If you only knew
how the thought of you
makes the blood buzz in my veins
like alcohol, the liquid courage I need
to speak your name
and yet
this empty room only echoes it back to me.

Speaking into silent nights,
I step into someone else's shoes -
Walk the paths, late at night
Through cemeteries and past grand tombs.

They fit well, are deeply worn,
From all the readers who wore them before
And we pace, muttering,
Some fast and some slow
Lurking in the murky spaces the stanzas show.

The view is the same and the sun never rises
The eternal evening is peaceful in its quiet.
Ravens caw overhead, our mind's eye marked in lead
It sketches the pavement under our feet.

The path has been walked a thousand times,
More so, over this past hundred years
With good fortune, it will be walked again
By students of writers, and those readings through tears.
We walk in your shoes,
To see what you see
And together we share small moments to breathe.

As the flowers died
I remembered the joy, shared between us
I was surprised, and it almost shocked you
How happy the small gesture made me.

As the flowers wilted
I wished for new ones to replace them
As if replacing them would instead heal them
And bring the colors back fresh and new.

As the flowers died
I didn't clean them up
I left the petals where they fell,
Lit candles to cover the sickly sweet, rotting smell
Because I was the only one who could smell them anyway.
There really weren't any flowers there.

Change
Jangling in my pocket
Causing such a racket
Coins are such a nuisance.

I pull a few out
With a clang, my soda drops down
I open it
It fizzes
I drink.

It's hot in the sun
But cold in the shade, when the breeze blows
I feel the air sting my lungs
In my memory, it's always fall, here.

The leaves don't crunch on the ground
It rained last night, though I didn't hear it
Not because my head was too loud
But because I turned my comedies up
So I could finish washing the dishes
As I listened.

I'm proud of myself
For seeing the truth.

Like excavating a great ruin
An archeologist of my own pain,
The more I dig up the more it hurts
Yet I know exactly where the answers lie.

Underneath the dirt and grime
The dust that clogs my lungs and throat
Until I can't even tell if I'm crying, because
My face is numb in the cold

My fingertips are cracked and
Bleeding, it's
Shattering
I'm losing rhythm

And yet now,
I'm on a peaceful plane ride home.
The white noise and warmth is soothing
As I relax into the padded seat.

I left a lot of bodies under the rubble.
But I am done grieving
For what I've found died a long time ago.

Life ebbs and flows,
But the tides last longer than an evening
The patterns are more than the months of the moon

Seasons of joy, and light, and warmth
And seasons of darkness, and dreary half-wishes
That maybe it would snow just a little bit more
To swallow up your house with you still inside it

Some seem to be in eternal summer, and only rarely
Or only on television
Experience the cold of a deep snow.

Some live in the deepest forests, at the highest altitudes
Battling the swift winds coming off of great waters
So sharp it seems to cut your face when you face it.

But for most
There are seasons,
Years or months or days
Between changes.

Even in the deepest winter
There is a morning sun;
Even under the most pleasant open sky
Clouds pass through,
At least now and then.

So take the joy when you have it
And bear the cold when it comes

Know the seasons will change with time:
Even the deepest ice can't freeze the sun.

The gravel is quiet under my kicking feet,
Pebbles glance off my toes, just above the ground
I'd imagine it's loud in the silence
But I have headphones in with nothing playing
Listening to the idea of sound:
I like it a little muffled, so only whispers come through.
It's just enough;
Enough of what, I couldn't explain.

The wind nips at my cheeks, reminding me of a puppy
Playful even as it scratches my ears.
I wish I could warm up with
A drink, or a cigarette
But I don't do that anymore,
Even if it's the only thing I know could keep me warm
Sitting on this bench, with no one coming.

I'm warm enough.

I don't need to prove myself to you
To any of you
Because there are still parts of you that disappoint me.

You are not who I want to be.
So why would I ever be
******* in knots
At the thought of disappointing you?

If I want to sleep at night?
I sleep alone.
So really, I only need to be at peace with
Myself.

Not that
That's always easy,
But it's easier than
Finding peace with you.

The aches of grief never fade, do they?
There is so much more to lose than
your eyes, or the wrinkles from your smiles
So many what-ifs, and dreams, and half-thoughts
Plans and routes on maps before we
picked out all the stops
Colors of sunsets unseen
Days yet to be
That are forever changed by the past,
set in stone.
It is cold to the touch.
The face of a tombstone, the whirls of marble-
is it beautiful?

No, the pangs of grief and lost love,
They come like the aches before a rain
From little reminders or long conversations
that dig a little deeper
Unsettling the sediment, flashes of light as
flickers of memories pass in the mind’s eye
of what could’ve been.

But the stone warms under your touch,
heated by the sun
It does not remain mere soulless bone:

Though the past cannot be changed,
the future is free to be shaped
by your hand.

Days and desires are left untouched, but perhaps
just yet to be seen
If you were only to open your eyes
and look past the tears.

Taking pride in

My clean room
My folded laundry
My books, bursting with sticky notes
My calendar, color-coded
(Though I don't update it, it's still nice to look at)
My vase filled with flowers, even if they're plastic
The candles on the shelf, one lit, always burning...

Shiny mirrors and scrapbook photos
Strung up fairy lights and a made up bed
Clean floors with supplies tucked away
Dishes in cabinets, spices filling the rack

A grocery list on the fridge,
A book of recipes I've handwritten
Poems in the living room, a guitar by my bed
Running shoes by the door, for early mornings ahead

All the things that make up me:
My dreams, my goals
The work I do every day

A none of it has anything to do with you.

How much does it take to grow,
and change?
How much does it take to stay open?

Time, effort, pain -
People will only believe you
if you can prove it hurt to get there

But to not become jaded
To avoid the tarnish that comes with
washing, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails
a thousand times over

Remember to polish and shine
preserve the tenderness in your soul
Keep your heart open and kind
even as you gain strength to protect your own.

Fighting the good fight
Is not easy, which seems self-explanatory
But there's a reason it is a "fight":
It takes great effort to spin reality
From the thread of your dreams.

Walking the narrow road
You must have faith in the summit.
The path is strewn with sharp sticks and rocks
You will not reach it unharmed.

Limping, hurting, you may even lose your way
The trees seem to grow taller once the sun has set
But if you are moving uphill,
Against the struggle, and the pain,
You are moving in the right direction.

Just because you are doing good
Doesn't mean it will feel easy.
Even the best works require struggle.

In fact,
It is the worst path that is the most enjoyable
The downhill gives the wide sweeping view,
With easy steps worn by many other passerby
Generations who were tempted to leave the narrow path:

Keep fighting the good fight.
Though you will struggle in the dark
Have faith in the last sunrise
You will watch crest over the summit.

May you blaze and
scorch the earth
of all that you do not need

so what is left
becomes more
that what you had ever dared to dream.

I step on your feet
I'm clumsy on the dance floor
Though I love it, I never had a chance
At least not before

In my dreams I'd sweep you off your feet
Or you'd lift me off mine
But here, it is awkward
For this time, it's just fine

I try to glance to your eyes
Your hands on my waist
I don't notice your gaze
Over my shoulder, looking at her

Is it meant for me
Is this meant to be
Or do you wish
I was someone else?

I lost my dance card
I don't know if I'm just a name on yours, in a list
With her name at the bottom
Instead of mine.

Isn't there tragedy
In sacrificing yourself for other's beauty?
In stepping back from the spotlight
Because another craves it more.
They are also beautiful,
But the eyes of the audience never pass by a second time.
You find solace in capturing moments through the lens
Holding them in your hands
You stay behind the camera
Ever the watching, never the watched
Unseen until it's published
And read to the end.

Is it selfish to want to be less selfless, if only to be seen?

Time lulls,
Slows to a dull throb
From the incessant ticking
That spears behind my eyes
Giving me migraines
Through long days and late nights
In some places, in the right light
It slows until it is barely heard
A calm beat, even on occasion
Complete and simple silence.

Airports, park benches
Country roads where you wonder
If by some accident you drove over the edge of the world
Because there is no sign of life
Only the endless horizon
Frozen at dusk:
The clouds aren’t moving as you speed,
Then slow
To enjoy the view
And you find yourself surprised
Not expecting the next stop sign.

Lulls in time
On walks through your neighborhood
In the odd halfway hours when no one is home
You feel as if the world is open ahead of you
And every claim of prosperity heard in childhood just might be true
You step around the oysters at your feet
Imagining the perfect color which will catch your eye
The moment you’ll select, finally, just the one
Rolling a smooth pearl gently through your fingers
Immune to the passage of time
It is weightless, rolling off your skin like rain
Peaceful
And in this lull, sweet and calm
You are safe and strong and
Everything you had dreamed.

Now, when she smiles,
there’s some sadness in her eyes

I don’t think you ever thought
how much of your thoughtlessness
would find a place
inside her mind

She’s still kind
and yet I wonder why?

How long can she last
behind her smile?

It’s defiant
a glimmer in the dark
It comes with the tide,
her lonely eyes
There’s still something, there inside
It just took a while
to purify the poison from
inside her mind

Now when she cries
her eyes have changed
She looks past the tears, to better days
Some sunshine still remains
The flame that burned under the shame
under the blame
There are mistakes left to be made
Though it will fade, it will return the same

The shifting sands left room
for her to write her name
She sits among the rocks,
within the shade
Patient in the surety of better days.