I’ve been living in my mind,
Flowing dresses and pretty eyes,
Ripped jeans and crooked smiles,
Our laughter and three hundred miles.

I’ve been living in my mind,
Echoes and shadows grow inside,
A single raindrop from a fearful sky
Turns into a raging ocean that turns you blind.

i'm just a little much for everyone i love,
amongst a bouquet of silver flowers,
i'm a lavender foxglove,
growing sideways and upwards.

{
i tried to grow tall enough to be another star in your sky,
but the azure ripples of your universe became a whirlpool,
pulling me under, under the piercing night,
yet, somehow, my roots held strong to the earth around me.

i tried to grow my roots deeper into the rusty ground below,
but my leaves grew weak and my stem became invisible,
and your sky released a tornado of snow,
and yet, somehow, my flower petals pushed forward.
}

i love myself, i love the people in my life, i love love,
in a field of waving white wheat, i am a violet foxglove,
against the soft blue sky,
you can see me reside
in my own space,
by my own grace.

we came so close
to being close

but you disclosed your true self
so i closed the book and put you back on the shelf

silver puddles form like mercury drops in your shaking hands.
silver droplets drip over your collar bones like fine jewelry.
silver pools reflect in your eyes with mesmerizing stillness and movement.
silver drapes over your whole, your whole, your whole, you're whole.

expansive, fragile, shapeshifting,
my ribs crack open
so you can see the golden flecks inside me
and cry glass tears on my collarbone
the sharp edges of your faux diamonds scar me
but they are kinder than the rings that circle my heart

i just put on lipstick,
the scent of it reminded me of crayons,
the nostalgia instantly clicked:
a stack of books wrapped in plastic and nylon
awaited me as i floated towards that which held me,
my spindly fingers reached out and turned open pages
that whispered reminders of the birthmarks on my feet,
of the early morning tea traditions my parents continued to this very age,
of the unbelievable love that wove a basket that carried us,
through the times when the trees did not grow green paper
when i questioned whether i was superfluous,
and when we couldn't see through misery's vapor.

my past reminds me of home.
i am not home right now (i am home right now).
i am learning it is okay.

i am okay.

i am home
but i am not

i am standing instead,
in the middle of a highway,
car headlights wink, gold and red,
as they fly by through the grey haze.

i am a celestial moon instead,
orbiting unsteadily at an odd angle,
tiptoeing around these flower beds,
daisies, dandelions and dahlia tangles.

i am not home
and i am.

and it is okay.
it will be.