I like you.
Or at least I like who I am when I'm with you.
When I look into your eyes,
I'm on a different planet.
I've always liked you...
Even before everyone else did.
I still do...
And I don't know if its worse if you know,
Or worse if you don't.

Supersonic Skydive
Tell me, what's your helmet like?
Can you hear the roar of breaking
barriers of sound?
Or is it silent in your dome
Have they built you like a home
A cradle for the jumping few
Who chose to do as daring do?
Supersonic Skydive,
Tell me, what's the view there like?
Can you see the rounding planet
Arching back in every stretch?
And do the stars look different here
Beyond the blinking atmosphere,
And when you rushing, sink away,
When do you find the blue of day?
Supersonic Skydive
So lucky to be so alive
And as you plummet to the ground,
Tell me, do you look up, or down?

I am loud,
Demanding attention.
I know when I am being charming
Because I try.
I put on my impressing face
And do my impressing hair
And speak my impressing words.
I tell you my embarrassing drinking stories
And everything else about me
That you probably shouldn’t know.

I am not good at being quiet
Because that’s not who I am.
I am not the sweet girl
Who will leave you with a smile
And a touch
And a glance
Or a single word.
There is nothing of this fashion of romance
About me.

I am the girl who will point out your flaws,
And take you outside to see the stars,
And remind you how human you are,
And what a wonderful thing that is.

I am the girl who will talk about science,
And music and theology and history,
And point out constellations, laughing,
When you don’t know the big dipper’s name.

I am the girl who will make witty references,
To classic literature and science fiction,
And will tell you stories of how I once,
Made a gingerbread replica of a lighthouse.

I am the girl who will stand on a table,
And sing at the top of my lungs on the highway,
And act like a chicken or quail or velociraptor,
Or nuzzle your face like a lion to make a point.

I am the girl who takes too many shots
And then coaxes you to bed on a Russian liver,
And knows all the right places to bite, and tease,
And follows with exceptionally coherent pillow-talk.

I am not a thin silk scarf on the wind.
I am not a thing hard to capture.
You would not spend a perilous journey
Through a wild, perfumed jungle,
Searching for my slender garments
Hung beside a pool
As I wail to the breeze.

Rather, I am the bird who flies overhead
Making too much noise
Distracting from the trail ahead.
A bird whose plumage proves
What an interesting life it must be…
What a colorful life for me…
Perpetually strange
The lone comic relief.

I am many things.
But I am not quiet.
Of this I am sure.

Sometimes I forget to breathe
I forget that I am real
And not just living in make-believe
I’m here and on this earth
Stagnant, lying
In the up and in-between
Away from where you are
I can stay hidden, unseen

Sometimes I forget to open my eyes
I forget that I’m only dreaming
I wish that this life were only lies
And not the constant haunting I’ve been fearing
If I fall I won’t feel it
If I die I’ll be alright
Because I was never really living

I wish that my fantasy lasted forever
Went on and into infinity
But that’s a silly thing to want
For without pain we never feel
And with out boredom we never feel excitement
I grow impatient with wondering
If I’m really here at all
If I speak will any one even hear?

Sometimes I forget to breathe
If I do please shake me
I’d hate to die in your arms
Such a predictable way to go
Sometimes I forget to scream
When the pressure builds
When I feel sick and frightened
No, I’ll never forget what he did
But I’ll always forget to speak.