My fingers,
Recognizing the
Softness.
Of your touch.

Roses in full bloom
As shining as solid gold.
My arms outstretch to reach for you...

I open my eyes and your not there.
The magic disappears and I am alone.

the plastic girls are
Always having friends
Never needing rules

Elegant fingers.
Picking apart.
Light beams
Shining above.
Apple trees.
Listening to.
Buzzing bees.
Diaries.
Life stories
Poetry

Light colors pink and purple
Leaving streams of black and blue
Red is fading in the corner
Clear tears and green blood
Trace the fingers of Orange
Hands.
Painting is a right
Painting poetry
As the sun shines through the window
onto your face.
A purple blue sky
A red and green bind
Painting is a right

Three months of me,
Stealing your razor blades,
From your pencil case,
Because blood,
Doesn't stain sheets,

Not on my watch.

The snap of twigs under my feet,
Makes me remember to crackle of lighting,
That one night.
The wind is harsh,
Fall colored leaves,
Fall to the ground,
Slowly they whip back and forth,
Slowly I block up my past,
Slowly I attempt to become unchained,
Slowly.....
I pretend I am just tired from lack of sleep,
Not from lack of love,
Of comfort,
I pretend I am just sad,
Not chronic depression
That keeps coming back...
It's getting dark out now,
I'm walking down the trail on the property
We can barely afford.
I climb trees and stay at the top,
Attempting to see,
Me
Beyond my depression,
Beyond my obsession,
Of being ok..
I have to go back,
I say.
I have to climb down,
Out,
From the pit I have dug for myself,
I have lists of people who gladly handed me the shovel,
But it's my choice to climb out,
I breath in and slowly ascend out of my
Pain,
Down from my tree,
Head back to the house...

I'm ok.