I want you.
I want to snuggle between your arms and your chest, wrap my legs up with yours and feel you breathe.
I want to nuzzle into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and feel your warmth against my skin.
I want you to kiss me and rub my hair softly like you do sometimes.
I want to mumble sleepily into you and somehow you understand.
I want to laugh and goof off together and curl up under blankets and feel safe and warm in your arms.
I want to lie a little bit away and watch your expressions and play with your hair.
I want to stroke the soft skin on your cheek and neck and kiss you.
I want to say I love you a thousand times and once more for luck.
I want to slip my hands under your shirt and press them against your back to pull myself towards you and nuzzle into you and breathe you in.
I want to press close and confuse your heart beat and the motion of your lungs.
Mostly as long as I'm close to you, I feel safe.

I got my hair cut
Again
Yesterday
In a small salon the filthy streets of Philadelphia's Chinatown;
The golden eagle
Appropriately named as I always feel wings lift me when I leave
Though the streets are grey and black with dirt and grime,
The salon is clean, chic, and welcoming
First one young lady with limited English swept me up to be dropped into the care of a second who washed my hair and luxuriously massaged my scalp with exquisitely long nails
Then I was led over to a swivel chair to ponder my reflection and bat my legs as a little child, waiting on Kelly for my grown up haircut
At last Kelly was free, and she too whisked me over to her mirror
In her most exceptional care she cut and thinned and cut and razored and thinned and cut some more
Her fingers flew, running through my hair and seeming to drop pieces of hair by magic
At last she styled and stepped back nervously asking if I liked it
Quickly scrutinising it, running my fingertips over the much-shortened hair, I looked up
And grinned
I love it
The bangs barely long enough to brush my eyebrows
The back as short as a boys, bristling when I rub it the wrong way
The front long and soft enough for tousling but short enough to stay out of my way
If I envelope my head in my hands I can easily trace the contours of my scalp
As though a couple silk scarves were draped over a barren skull
I was told I look like Emma Watson or Audrey Hepburn or a boy
But I love this
They're both stunning women
And I don't mind shocking a few old ladies with the surprise that this "strong young man" is I'm fact a girl

I made a 12 egg omelet for dinner
Not just for me, mind you,
But stuffed with milk, garlic, onion and two cheeses
Half as big as our whale sized pan and oh solo cheesy
It was such a delightfully delicious omelet
But of course, I couldn't make a beautiful thing without a dash of pain
Once, twice, thrice, four times I gripped that accursed handle
I burnt my fingers so the places where I grip my own are now slightly leathered
Sighing with exasperation, I lean across for the spatula and
ZING what do you know?
One more stripe of seared flesh on the forearm
Of course it hurt (when does fire not burn?)
But now I can't help but laugh, as the undersides of my fingers feel like a wallet
And my forearm a new splash of paint

Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me,
But bear this in mind, it is meant to be
Since you've dreamed a vision of us together
And I'll love us, you and I, always and forever.
Cause when I'm with you, my world is so different from any hell I'm living
And when you're around me, your eyes light up like the stars have been spilled out along with all the suns of heaven into your eyes
You're the one who seems to love this wildflower so she feels as lovely as the sweetest camelias, and strong enough to push the planets out of orbit
As for you, I only know what you've said to me;
     That my kisses are oxygen when you can't breath, and that
     You feel such an intense desire to protect me from any potential harm
     That you plan to marry and live with me for years to come.
But I know with less certainty than you that we'll be together forever to come
All I know is you love me and you make me feel so loved
More loved than the moon is loved by the sun, chased endlessly and almost futilely for a mere glimpse of her silver face
And I know this is a scientifically proven-to-be-incorrect metaphor, but I still love you
And will love you, until the sun falls into the sea of milk, the knees of those arthritic elephants shake and kneel with feebleness, and the great sea turtle turns belly-up, drowning the world in the Milky Way
And even past then
Past the time where men and spirits fade into ghostly memories, forgotten because there's no one to remember them
Past the time that the sun is finally swallowed and held in the sea, past King Arthur's return, and when the giant serpent finally kills Ra
Past the time when the gods grow tired of their human games, and fall asleep at their chessboards, one hand dipped in the Adriatic and a finger spinning the galaxies ever slower as dust and cobwebs of invisible spiders come to blanket the universe
And even past then, past all these mythological improbabilities, past Death's abandonment of his duties and his scythe while sand no longer runs in glasses and he reaps himself
Past then will I love you and think of the spilled out flaming stars in your eyes and the velvety sparks in your fingertips and lips.

Machmal denke ich günstig für nicht sein,
Denn ich kann nicht zu viel sehr gut machen.
Ich bin zu klein, zu kurz, and nicht klug
Nicht friedlich genug, oder zu verrückt und komisch.
Meine Geschwister meinten das ich bin sehr ägerlich.
Aber meine Freunde hat etwas anderes sagen.
Sie denken ich bin nett and freundlich,
Lustig and vielleicht schon,
Und ein absolut Schlauberger.
Ich glaube sie fast nie,
Aber ich beginne zu sie glauben.

Sometimes I think I'm good for nothing
Because I cannot do too much well.
I am too small, too short, and not smart
Not peaceful enough or too crazy and weird.
My siblings think that I'm very annoying
But my friends have said something else.
They think I'm nice and friendly
Funny and maybe pretty
And an absolute smarty pants
I almost never believe them
But I am beginning to believe them.

I used to pull sharp metal across my legs
Rarely, only on occasion
Whenever I was so desperate to feel something and I couldn't feel happiness so I chose pain
I've not chosen this particular brand of pain in a while
But I have other alternatives
I've never brought an open flame to curl against my skin like the folds of a blanket
Nor have I beaten myself with my own fists or struck out against some hard surface to bloom purple and green flowers on my skin
No, I have other alternatives.
I take showers so hot my skin reddens like a boiled lobster
I dig my nails into my palms and arms and legs to leave armies of pale crescent impressions
I bite my lip, the inside so that no one can see the sore and near-torn flesh
I scrape my nails against my back, arms, legs, chest, stomach, leaving red lines like from the claws of a tiger
I sing sad songs, difficult songs, loud songs, songs to make my throat hurt from exertion and holding back tears
And that may seem to be the least harmful or all these but its not
It can't be when it reopens my old battle wounds and makes my throat so raw that the tears burn even more
And all of these alternatives don't mar my skin permanently
But I can't help but wonder if they're really all that much better
Because I still want to feel

You are the music while the music lasts,
If it can flow through your body
If you let it surge out of your mouth and fingertips
Then allow it to explode from your soul
Or coax it to whisper from your lips
The music will dance for you like a charmed snake
Caress the ears and minds of your audience
And open the eyes of their hearts.
For music is emotion put into sound,
Inducing tears and laughter, smiles and sympathy
And you know, no matter how you sing,
Even if you hit a few sour notes,
It only matters that you feel the music.
So long a as you feel it, enjoy it, let it overcome you
The music will make itself great.
And after you fall from the trance, back into the real world,
After the last notes and chords leave your instrument,
If your audience silently pauses before suddenly exploding in applause and cheers,
You know you have done well.
Just let it fill your bones.