Why does hope
Sometimes feel like barbs in my heart?
Is that the doubt creeping in
Or the poison of my dreams
Slowly, finally
Starting the process of my own death?

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.

Sometimes, in the corner of my eye
There is that glimmer
Threads of the Fate's tapestry
They weave their glistening strands
With gnarled knuckles, worn hands
Between clouds and in the dappling light under leaves.

I see the crimson red of fall
So barely visible, the golden spider's web
Brightening into the stark white of snow
And on and on and on -

Between time,
Between lives,
Isn't there beauty in the mystery of our futures
Known to fate
And only yet to be spun?

When we learned about redshift, years ago
A classroom full of bored teenagers waiting to graduate
I found comfort in the idea that
Nothing mattered
Every decision in my future laid so small in the palms of the universe.

A lifetime seems so bare
Featherweight
Against the stark backdrop of stars constantly shifting
As the world we know expands
Without stopping
Unending
Beyond our perception.

Some thought it morbid. Others, a source of fear -
In an ever-expanding sea, who would notice if they drowned?
In such a vast forest, who would hear the tree fall?

Instead, I thought:
I alone can make the tree grow, and whether it falls or not,
No one and nothing will interfere, no one need remember,
But me.

Relax. The Universe is expanding.

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.

I know in my heart
I have already crossed the Rubicon
And my course is set, with no way to return
The river only flows downhill
And I am on it, for better or for worse
Come hell or high water

Even if it drags me to the depths, smothers me
My body will be taken to the mouth of the river
To the doorstep of the sea

Every morning I am made to sign
To decide again, to recommit
Allowing myself to fall
I see the ports and docks along the shore, but know
My heart is already in the sea
There is no decision
But to follow.

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.

Isn't it beautiful
How the most vivid colors and scenes
Can be created from
Only the black and white on a page?
Movement, harmonies, blends of hues
Described with only memories wished from a writer to you.

Why is it
That I give others the power to hurt me
So quickly
Before I'm sure they won't?

I watch myself do it,
Like when the horror movie turns towards the basement
And as they walk down the stairs
I scream for them to stop,
And yet that is simply the way the story goes.

To avoid it is to stop playing the movie altogether
And while I know what is coming
I know I need to simply let it play
To see the end at all.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I don't understand how it must feel to have never questioned your own existence.

I stand at the sink, hot water scalding my skin as I scrub dried food from plates and forks.

I don't understand how it must feel to have never asked yourself the question, to have weighed the good and the waste in each hand.

The yard outside the window is frozen, painted in white, not a single breeze today. Maybe it'll finally melt the ice on the driveway.

Does everyone have moments of living that don't feel alive?

I dry the dishes.

I've come home / I hate it here
It looks the same / exactly as terrifying
I find it comforting / similar to a straight jacket
The stillness / it's suffocating

Hands reach for hugs / unwanted
Eyes search for meaning / we look away
Colors stream around us / they're dull, shades of gray

Why do I want to run away?

I miss who I used to think I was
When I loved myself
In ignorant bliss
Of my flaws, and the mistakes I had yet to make.

As I've grown older, I've come to know myself better
And I can't say if I've liked the change.
But I'm stuck here with me, for better or for worse
So we will bear the growing pains

From old me, to new me
Pretending to shift while staying the same
Fooling myself with the same name
Unable to decipher these blaming games

Who or what is responsible for how I turned out
I don't know
But I know I'm not who I thought I'd be, at twenty-three
At least I still have hope that time will make up the difference.

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.

I go through life with pebbles in my pockets
Walking alone through the storms with my raincoat on
Sand sinks between my toes on beaches,
A cool breeze flows against my cheek under forest trees
And my jacket hangs down with the weight of rocks
In those big wide pockets at my sides.

I pull them out, hold them in my palm
Pick out a piece of seaglass to admire in the sunlight
Set aside one perfectly smooth;
I'll send it skipping on the next lake I find.

Some are beautiful,
Some come with cold dirt that reminds me exactly where it once laid,
Some are scuffed from days, years, of scrapes and hits
And I no longer remember why I picked them up at all.

But as I walk,
Across regions and eons and ranges
I keep some and toss some
Though I'm always adding more.

The memories come with me,
And day after day,
I do my best
To leave the heaviest stones in the miles behind
I try keep my pockets light.

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.