There will come dry spells
And you shall miss the smell of rain.
While growing still,
You know you will
Sprout branches that leave you in pain.

There will come cold winds
And your leaves will curl and turn blue.
The soil will be sweet,
But you'll never meet
The words from which you grew.

There will come many axes
And you shall inevitably crash to the ground
But you were watered well
And all your fruits fell
So your seeds may someday be found.

This is my home
This is where I sleep
This is where I hope
This is where I dream.

This is where I cry
This is where I scream
This is where I'm home
This is where I'm me.

I live for it,
Breathe it in:
All the faults
In the skyline
But the breathtaking dawn
Is my lifeline.

This is where I raise my voice
This is where I made my choice
This is where I decided what to give
This is where I decided to live.

Of that cold spring day when our hands froze
Clutching cones of your favorite strawberry ice cream

Of the following warm summer day when my favorite
Chocolate ice cream coated our tongues

Of that day we escaped our classes
And found ourselves held captive
By the soft cherry ice
With nuts on top

Of bubblegum sonnets, of almond praline declarations of love
Of fig and honey serenades
With soft coffee angels singing in the back
And cookie cream cherubs whispering in our ears.

Of the best first taste.

Of the worst last lick.

If I am ever lost,
Fear not, for I am either

Lurking in the shadows where the derelict live,
In a suit of fire so the cold and desperate flock toward me.

Or on the twilight streets,
My skirt made of the first twinkling stars swishing about my knees,
Bearing silent witness to the belligerent noise.

I may also be in the meadow outside town
Flaunting the crown of butterflies that the fairies made for me,
As I played with them for as long as the moon hung in the sky.

If I am there and you do not know,
Fear not
For I did not tell you
Because I would like to escape the straightjacket of my home.

I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.

Pick up your Paper Mate and write until the hurt goes away, little fighter. Look at all you've overcome and how much more you have to defeat...
The pain only lasts a little while; and you will be left with only scars as a reminder.
Most will be invisible, but those make you the strongest.

Fill in the blank:  ____ scares me.