the other day,
as the moon had risen
I sat at the dinner table.
the morning was sure hell
as you grunt and whine and yell
over something so stupid
as the hair resting upon her shoulders.

her gentle hair on her head
messy and fresh out of bed
needed a sprucing before school
my mother said.
in an attempt
to be of assistance
I brushed away the resistance
of little wisps shying away
from her braids.

a crucial mistake
for my mother could not fake
the misplaced rage
as it reddened her face.
deep into my neck
did my nails dig in
a simple error in
judgment
became a sin.

here I am,
same dinner table as before
to hear her scream indirectly
once more.
in the midst of the bullets
she threw into my ears
there was a painting
nailed on the wall
in the corner of it all
that she should hear.

today, I choose joy,
the words painting in black
the background painted
in colors of warm
made me think back,
she's the one who purchased that.

you choose joy today,
yet anger tomorrow
chose petty next week
and so I chose sorrow.
how could one hang the portrait
of today,
and still,
feel validation
in the words you say?
honestly, it makes me sick
you
two-faced
disgraced
the nerve to make me feel
out
of
place
hypocrite.

as winter approaches,
in the chill of November's beginning,
she finds herself unable to remember
when her withered petals started spinning
off its stems.

her mind, an enigma
her heart in constant anguish
as the darkness inside begins to consume
her
banish her from light
and mock her pride.

her heart and soul
for a smile so pure,
one not fabricated out of guilt
of making impressions
or of shame,
one not to hide the lashes
of words she received
in a fit of misplaced rage.

she remembers her petals
so velvet red,
like silk as music fluttered
so happily in her head,
where it was okay to be okay
where she could escape
beneath her blankets,
in a good book
at the end of the day.

where had it gone?
why would it not stay?
had she done something wrong,
to shatter her pathway?
could she not just go back
before the mental attack
and keep things out of disarray?

instead she sits curled,
on the edge of her bed
the petals once rosy
now withered like the dead
crying the tears long overdue
thinking to myself,
"that girl is me"
and I hate that it's true.

as a growing woman I wonder,
why do I feel the validation of those
closest means something?
Why is it that on that chilling Monday afternoon,
Where the presence of autumn
creeps ever so subtly,
I feel like I am in the rings
of Dante’s inferno?
Something so simple,
The screams of the monsters
in this house
Give me such anger
Such violence
A heart pulsating
Through my little black
blouse.
From the blossom of something
So sweet
So delicious
The perfect treat
There’s a rotten core
growing every time
You yelled
You swore.
It’s the kind of feeling
That freezes your blood
Stiffens your spine
I can hardly stand
Being here longer than
Welcomed.
I’m shaking
Not from the cold
But you yet again breaking
My faith in you.
You are not my hero
Nor my savior
God as my witness
I’m through with your
behavior.
So beyond the boundary
I can hardly speak
For the words I’ll say
Will really give you a reason
To look that way.
Cast me out
Like a fishing line
Gasping for breath
I bet it’d be easier for you
Than to waste your precious time
Yelling at the imperfect shrew
That you think I am.
I’ll just never be there for ya
And you’ll have your perfect little picture
Through the out-of-focus
Hardly noticed
camera.

Being with you feels like
A bitter wind blowing in both
directions.
It whips at you like a tortured soul
It’s screams pierce your ears
Your nose turns a different complexion
One that is like blood in your skin.
The harsh winds continue as you walk through life
And you can’t quite escape them.
Looking back, you realize your mistake
Wishing you could have turned that other corner to avoid it but you can’t
Almost as if...
the wind was your family,
Your close friend.
You could try and look forward
Towards the possibility of better days
But that is where the strength
Reaches its pique.

Being with you,
In a house with contradiction
In a room with backwards principles
Shall I apply it to this child
And **** the other?
Yes,
In your presence I feel enveloped
In a toxic wind of lies and unreachable
expectations.
I didn’t ask to be your test subject
For perfection.
Perhaps you can accept
That no matter how kept
I keep my persona
I
will never
be who you want.

Being with you makes me realize
Who my friends are,
Who my love is destined to be,
How desperate I am
To leave you.
It’s hilarious
As I laugh in the sea of madness
Over the stupidity you let slip
Past those “holier-than-thou” lips.

Being with you confirms my suspicion,
That as the young strawberries
growing into fruition,
You pick the one most fresh
Cut them at the root
Of which they could become the perfect fruit
And you refuse to let them live.
Meanwhile, the other precious berry
Not even going to make it to July
You let that one go, as I watch its life go by
I shed no tears
Show no pain
No resistance nor existence
Of mental strain
since that’s demonic in your eyes.

When I am with you,
Do you even recognize my pain?
Or is the thought of me
Helping you create the fantasy
That we’re as happy can be,
one and the same?
Do my conservative clothes
And positive repose please you?
Does my silence and posture
“Better seen and not heard,” make you happy?
You’ve got more laughs than the joker
More lies than in a game of poker
If you think I’d stay here happily
Ever after.

Your nightmarish charade
Of the perfect family by day
Is impressive I must say,
I’m surprised no one notices,
At least the ones that don’t stay.

the warmth of my face
glows brighter than the sun
where a woman so young,
finds herself in love
maybe not with the prince, the pauper, or king
but by the very joy her new discoveries bring.

I could dance around,
my plain white dress
with lace and velvet hair
in the fields of tulips
that once blossom there.
as the sun's glow dances on my skin
a chocolatey smile on my face and heart within.

like the tulips in spring
I blossom and grow,
from a young quiet girl,
to an introverted acceptance.
discovering me,
in its full form
the awkward, amazing wonderful girl
with a love for 80's music
that everyone should know.
when a tulip grows from its bud
in early springtime,
I feel a connection,
a spark of familiarity.

My happiness,
my identity
resembles within that tulip
as it grows into something more,
shuffled in the grass
watching the clouds disappear.
as I lie next to you.
your hair puffy as the clouds that pass,
your skin as fair as the sunset,
your eyes as deep as the dirt beneath us
and your hands as chilly as mine.

I couldn't be happier,
to be in your fields,
where we can frolic
and feel as free as we feel,
like birds in formation
a clock's hour and minute hand in rotation
you move,
I move
without hesitation.
I love you, fellow traveler,
the way I walk and you stare
the way I miss you when you aren't
there.
the way you wrap me in your arms,
never to let go
never to move on
looking towards what's right
and damning what's wrong
simple,
lovely
wonderful you,
like I am your personal teddy bear.

you ever look out into the darkest of nights,
your hair tousled in the damp grass,
the sounds of crickets tuning their wings
the very evening breeze the clouds bring
and just wonder what life is all about?

does it ever dawn upon you,
when the sun rises in the east,
the warmth it showers
as you're tossing and turning in bed,
fighting off the nightmares, the
sheer reality that things will never get better?

maybe it just happens to me,
alone in a padded wall of god awful
yellow wallpaper
my velvet hair spread across the pillow
with teddy bears of symbolic names,
I wonder if it is even worth opening my mouth
because I begin to find it as much as a waste of time
as the people that "listen."
I try not to,
as I take a sip of the lukewarm tea
with a quirky saying about nerds
and think to myself,
"Perhaps my purpose is of the quiet nerd."
seen but not heard,
powerful when spoken,
yet whispers the quiet words
that are never meant to be more
than a mumble.

it's pretty sad,
binge-watching an old sitcom
for the tenth time
feeling more connected with digitized
"old souls"
more than my own kin,
my own friends
my own love.
curled up in a bed too small
a blanket too cold
and socks too tight
feeling like a misfit among the misfits.

as I play my music,
both cynical and seductive
contemplating my place in the universe
instead of being educationally productive.
my eyes hardly ever close
until the break of dawn
where the sun rises yet again
and the night is gone
only to repeat the cycle
like the little infant I once was
peddling fast on her green tricycle.

perhaps I shouldn't feel this way,
when the sun falls into the horizon
and the day is dark,
the clock shifts into another day
feeling so close together,
yet far apart.

maybe when the gentle creatures
rest their paws in the earth,
it should be as simple
as a simple farewell
where we kiss goodbye,
waving our hands.

is it wrong,
to feel so empty,
to be crystallized
in the chilled air, I feel
when we have to say goodbye?
it is only for a moment,
a simple few hours in the day.
I'd even rest my head
the little moon child in bed
and yet I cannot bring myself
to feel content
that the moments,
laughter,
the exchange of sweet words
spent
accounted for
and blown away.

our moments are that of the dandelion,
so pure
so fascinating
as I caress the wisps of your hair
in the fields once more,
only to have you stolen away
by the single brush of wind
that nature brings.

my love feels like a mirror,
glossy and pristine,
a pure reflection,
extension of myself
until I no longer see me.

I don't understand,
why it is breaking me
to see a little farewell,
a goodnight's kiss
be a funeral of the day.  
my hands shaking,
my heart sinks
to an ether
between love and hate
where parting ways
even for a night,
feels like a grave mistake.