when I was a young girl and could hold all my years in one fist
my mother would walk up to me and tell me to stop trying to make sense of it
because at the rate of change, by the time I figured it out it would be gone to another wonder of the world
and that made me wonder about how everything could be wonderful
and blissful and a tall tale of princes and princesses and magicians and witches
when I was a young girl i made a promise to my mother
that I would always be a young girl
that even though an old soul reading edgar allen poe and sneaking coffee with a ratio of sugar of cream that made my energy scream
I was still a child at heart and if I knew
if I knew that the greatest romance would be the careful dance
a delegate tango mix matched with a brisk swing prance
of an old soul talking to a child's heart
then the passion to save the world would never escape me
that even when lessons and trials crash on the endless moments of my life like an ocean of tidal waves washing over a million pebbles on a beach
I can still smile and walk along the beautiful masterpiece of complete serenity and chaos painting their novel and washing it away
because even though it all disappears, the life you create
is no more of a mistake than the ones that history books wrote to be great
it makes me frown when people say they've failed
against some scale thats left them chasing their tail into a rut so narrow you can't rest because its a maze sketched in an infinity sign
so I always try to remind them to look up
to stretch their gums up to greet the sun and create a draw bridge of happiness
to pull them out of it
because the key to life is positivity...ok fine its fourty two
four teas at two or for teams of two
or for the sake of finding a key, you should probably remind yourself that there is an infinite key ring that has a key to every door you want to open and test
it was always said when one door closes another one opens
but If you open them all, your experiences only grow more vast
and I made a promise when I was a young girl
that i'd stay in the world with my eyes wide open, leaping and jumping, into every door just to try it

Photography is natural
shutters laced in mascara
I capture things more quickly when things start to get to me
Teardrops on my lenses always did make things hazy
But most of the time I look for things in their simplicity
Like capturing your step
Just to learn the cadence
My memory is but a stop motion
Of everything set to earth’s rotation
and It always did seem creepy
That id remember things exactly
So I started pretending
That I forget almost everything
But when the theater lights go out
I replay all my favorite movies
Of exactly what life truly meant to me
Because with a photographic memory
Nothing is left coyly
Which comes to remind me
Of why I have to break things to see them differently
Because if you stare at a photo long enough
A thousand words come to mind
Which is why I was never a good photographer
And instead a bit of a geographer
Painting the world as I saw it
In the words that were left unspoken
Because they tend to make my life feel a little more vibrant
Like the saturation got turned up a bit
And it changed the way I remembered all of it

im done learning a language rooted in vanity
like I need to take a selfie for my latest avi to go along with that tweet
and we're up in arms fighting, but its on the hush hush in our subtweets
thinking these anons that ask questions to boost my self security
telling friends, give me just an instant to update my insta
yeah, we're full of wit
spitting captions to gain cheap chuckles
lacing 140 characters together to make a point
less, we're spending time thinking of a cheap rhyme
while in the meantime our headlines are suffering from the lack of attention
because if one more ******* person tells me they're gaining fame
online
with meaningless angles, and pop culture retweeted
im going to lose my ******* mind
this **** is such a waste of time
this shrine made up of the kind of things you call mine
and we're washing out the brilliant minds
that are taking the time
to tell you something worthwhile
we're using a shovel as a ***
and plowing this tool into the ground
when artists all around are trying to dig through the *******
just to show you
that somethings are actually worth noticing

I thought I knew anatomy until I took to mesmerizing
the movements of your finger tips and the curl of your lips
it was a surprise to me that everything I was sure of its meaning
measured up to nothing in my journey of analyzing
because bones are filled with marrow
but talent must support your limbs because theres no other way to explain it
and your finger prints must be hieroglyphs of the most beautiful piece of art thats taken to be written
I exhale carbon dioxide but your cadence is different
alongside common elements, intelligence is escaping from inside
I've sat to questioning the pictures my textbooks taught me
and the only sensical explanation is you're too beautiful to be contained by science alone
because you can't place an equation on a work of art
perspectives wont always let x = x
and maybe that's just it
the awareness of being aware pressed your eyes
so I studied them a bit longer, like a test I didn't want to fail
you have features that ask to be traced so they can be born to more than one place to grace the blank expressions of the earth's faces
an infinite impression of peacefulness
these aren't lines telling of hopeless love and romantic woes
Im looking to tell of one of the most interesting people I ever met
that didn't cause me to be swept from where I commonly stepped
but reminded me to be grateful for being grounded
butterflies never filled my insides
but a craving to learn everything that coincides with your latest stride

if victims were the cause we'd rearrange the letters to say *******
because its like taking a gun and aiming it at your morality, involuntarily
do you know how that feels? while you're sitting behind 5-star meals talking about how you arranged your latest will
but nobody was listening when I read the will for my morality
that died not a natural death, but a heart wrenching punch to the chest
that took all the air from the rest of my body and left me lifeless
do you know how that feels?
because being a victim is not victorious its vicious
when my wishes change from wishing to have the life back
to have the knife withdrawn from my back
of everyone who couldn't find positive words to respond
but they had to say something
so they found shallow
chastising
silence
because somehow I caused myself to be broken
but this story has a bright end
because none of that happened
because it took me 18 years to mention it to anyone
while I was still figuring out the definition of victim
and its just one

its the feeling of goosebumps rattling your skin
pressing to be seen, it's chilling
camouflage to try and grip the cold dancing between your strands of hair
in an instant
they back off
but i remember when I tried to shy them because I didn't want you to see that my skin was expressing that the cold was ******* my senses
stay cool, I reminded me, giggling at the irony that hung in the air, but now that reminds me why where we are now is so surprising
because in that night there was no lightening or frightening arrays of the future fighting because in that night our smiling was blinding
I remember the way my heart rattled my ribcage forcing to be heard
forcing to say what I couldn't put into words as I sat there staring at the individuals strands of hair that you kept pushing behind your ear
and the way your shoulders softly pushed the air up to notice that the focus of the night was the world above us
reminding you to look up at the violent battle of elements yet discovered, but uncovered and smothered by the atmosphere to be the picture that hovers above our cloud cover



I wan't to bottle that night up, a snow globe with stars instead of snow
but no the edges of the world pulled up and so, the show finally came to a close when the ocean and earth came crashing over the curtains
and im running caught in a cycle of the cyclical monotony of suffocating monogamy, im not ready so im making this rut to house a violent flow of all this **** you don't know.

the days of the week lost their meaning when all my thoughts fell out of my mouth in a run on sentence
runnin' past punctuation, gunnin' it for confusion
the fusion of what im sayin' is leading to fussing
over why nothing i've said is rooted in facts
never ending like a train on the tracks
racing car by car to the back of your memory
drowning out the world in the clickity clack
of typed words racing through my mind
it's all a blur, I never know the answer
i've never been less sure of the cure for the pain my mind is trying to endure but it's
magnificent, its magic that a mechanical miracle could ebb and flow with ease
this train of thoughts and words keeps growing like endless leaves on a tree
the willow branches that reach to the ground, sending a sense of peace all around as its growing in complexity
but now its on to the next thing, racing down the hillside
banging around, its the most brilliant tease
because even with all this racket and screeching
I'm still finding hope in hiding behind my thoughts
like we fade out our photos
blurring our noses and imperfections to make those click that heart
light it up in red, **** our senses are talking to the dead
im trying to remember, how to slow the world
that speeds by my windows
im seeing the world, forget it, its nonsense
my days move slow but my thoughts are racing
fighting for the gold medal, its pure insanity
running isn't an option when reality is chasing you, on your heels
if it catches me this might all go to hell
because if you could see, if you could see the insecurity,
if you could see the immorality
if you could see the pain and strife and the wanting for life
if you could find everything that would bleed out with a knife
that I hold inside
i'd find my hands tied at the small of my back
and I'd giggle in a half mad insanity, half ticklish agony
forcing my head forward
id be seen walking at a slow pace of defeat
because if reality catches me, im waging a war with skills of persuasion
that im not insane, but a deep thinker or something
but I never believed in fighting violence with violence
because I don't fight for things that have a lack of meaning
so I fight for space on a page to display what I have to say
im waiting to publish insanity for the readily accepted public
because if my work dates dollar signs then I wont be racking up fines
for stepping out of the common lines drawn between
between
between being successful and being the next successor of that kingdom
like everything the light touches belongs to you
but in a room of clouds, nothing lives in the now
you're faced to paint your past like a masterpiece of aging
paintings look real in natural light and in my room
the light is artificial like my reign over my mind
because my thoughts rule me, they're riding my actions like a slave master
hollering and shouting bouts of anxiety with every step
misstep
I digress, follow the light, green glow for go
the exit sign from this useless masterpiece of a rhyme
compressing the door to greet the increasing degrees
of positivity and flirting
with every step, in every fit
i think today, I'm going to finally get it