A mourning woman made a wish one night, then sent it to the sky.
What she wished for was a reason, she was desperate to know why.

Why he had to go away, the reason seemed unclear.
Why was he taken away from her, when she still needed him here.

The man she knew to be so strong, she thought could never parish.
Now in his place, nothing left behind except his memory to cherish.

"How could God have done this to us?", she screamed with all her might.
"Why didn't you take the both of us when you came for him that night"?

The very next day while driving to town, everything became perfectly clear,
she wrapped her car around a tree while swerving to miss a deer.

And as she lay there in the snow, her body broke, and freezin
A smile appeared upon her face, because she finally knew the reason.

Why is it when you enter a room, I'm not the first you see?
You scan the room and always last your eyes will fall on me.

You make me feel invisible, as if I'm not really there.
Would you notice if I left? Or would you even care?

Why is it when you look at me there's nothing in your eyes?
But when another comes around your attention seems to rise.

For just one day I'd like to feel like your eyes were only on me,
And that even in a crowded room I'm the only one you see.

Why is it you seem so interested when others are around?
But when It's me who seeks your attention it never can be found.

I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take this pain.
All of these feelings and insecurities are driving me insane.

So why is it you don't notice that I'm sad and miserable?
Probably because every time you look at me I'm still invisible.

i dont want to have to remember
the love i could sometimes only see in your eyes
i don't want to have to remember
your soft sweet hands,
the shape of your fingers,
the lines in your palms,
your finger prints
i dont want to have to remember
how your fingertips felt on my lips,
how fast your heart beats after we grasp eachother
like we may have to remember eachother one day,
squeezing eachothers body's,
lips pressed together so hard our teeth scrape.
i don't want to have to remember
pure skin on skin
that ****** moment
my puzzle piece
how we fit perfectly
without a care in the world
i don't want to have to remember
my name flowing out of your mouth
a sweet song of your love to me
one single word long
i don't want to have to remember
sweet "i love you's" and "you'll never lose me's"
searching your eyes for any feelings
in your once black, dieing, soul
don't make me remember
who we are.

As I lay on my back, I think of myself as dirt—
Not in a bad way, but like how some soil is soft, like cake.
I am soft and loose. My bones are gone; I am only flesh,
My skeleton stops protecting my heart and mind.
All this anxiety, all this stress, leaves my head
And my heart is just buried loosely under my chest.

If I don’t have any bones for a ribcage, do I have a chest?
I only know that I have my heart and mind buried in myself, my dirt.
“Do geese see God?” not a scenario, but a palindrome, a light thought, in my head.
Scenarios are the foundation of my agitation. Who cares, I guess? Let me eat cake.
(I make due with my mental health, in my mind.)
Anyways, I’m going to continue being with myself, my thoughts, my flesh.

I’m okay that my bones have disintegrated into my flesh.
I’m okay that my ribs no longer enclose my heart in my chest.
Later I will be aware that this is a meditation; it’s all in my mind
But right now, my reality is that I am dirt.
I am a soft, crumbly cake.
And this is all at once going through my head.

Another element arouses in my head:
Nails poke through the ceiling, aiming towards my flesh—
Or sharp prongs fixed on this beautiful mess of crumbly cake.
I am still, motionless, an open target, my broad chest.
I have no problem with this, because right now I am dirt.
(Death never crossed my mind.)

The sharp nails in the ceiling are now loosening, in my mind.
Now the nails fall, and drop into my chest and head
They pin me down to the ground, to the earth, to the dirt
With ease through the soft, rich, flesh
Of mine. It softly punctures my chest
I am being devoured, my body of cake.

Since my skeleton is gone, and my body is soft as cake,
I embrace the nails—a therapeutic acupuncture, I think in my mind.
My heart is heavy but happy in my chest.
And these nails keep sinking deeper in my head.
I am content being alone, by myself, a pile of flesh
I am one with the earth, with the dirt.

Nails in my chest, or prongs in the cake
I am dirt, I like to think in my mind
I am my heart, my head, my flesh.

I want to sit
  in the autumn-orange
    of an old apple tree
Climb into the
  golden heart
     of winter coming
Watch yesterday's leaves
  edy in the wind,
    then swirl to shape
Crisp yellow carpets
   too soon to lie
     beneath the snow...