Some blows dealt deathly, from Life,
Those deep stabs, painful, thanks to Love!,
The cruel hardening strokes, of a stoic Time,
And the cold, corroding airs of a world unkind,
Thus is a molten lava flowing, of my Humanity,
To a rock hardest turned, in a death solid!
Yet is there something, fluttering at the Core,
An embryo pulsating, fissuring out totally blind,
Of a sadness moist, joys unshed, cracking the Shell,
Hellbent so on living, Giving, against odds all driven!
Now I Am a wonder rock,growing a pink flower pretty!

Darkness, my sweet abyss
Darkness, my sweet abyss
Surrounded by doubt, filled with fear
Surrounded by doubt, filled with fear
Sweet darkness, surrounded by fear
Abyss, filled with my doubt

Light, so bright, engulf my soul
Light, so bright, engulf my soul
Destroy the demons in me
Destroy the demons in me
Demons destroy my bright soul
So engulf the light in me

Battle the void, emptiness be gone
Battle the void, emptiness be gone
Your love is a necessity
Your love is a necessity
Emptiness is gone, the void a necessity
Be your love battle

Your soul, my sweet love, is filled
By fear, doubt, a darkness, surrounded with
Demons! Be gone!
Battle the necessity, the void
Light, destroy emptiness
So bright, engulf my abyss

I don't know why I thought I mattered
I don't know why I thought you cared
Excuse me

I heard a cry in the night,
A thousand miles it came,
Sharp as a flash of light,
My name, my name!

It was your voice I heard,
You waked and loved me so—
I send you back this word,
I know, I know!

You're wearing too many rings,
just like me.
You're wearing glasses,
just like me. (except mine don't fix my eyes because my eyes are fixed fine)
You're calling me a Little Monster
and I'm laughing, giggling, because monsters don't exist
(except in the closet and in the basement and inside the vacuum)
and you're smiling at me and everything's gold from the fire.
You are wearing an office-shirt, with a collar and a pocket and buttons
tucked into your brown pants
almost like it's seven thirty in the morning, every morning
except it's not. It's Christmas Eve Eve, and I know that because Mama told me
because that's why Grammy and Grampy and Aunts and Uncles and Cousins are being loud in the Living Room
(which is weird because why isn't the kitchen called the Eating Room or our bedrooms called the Sleeping Rooms)
and I know that you're wearing serious-clothes because that's What Grammy Wants to See
and I've been waiting for this day for a whole year. Which is like forever.

I ask for a story and your face wrinkles a little because
I ask for them all the time, I collect them like old people collect money and bank letters and shoes
and you're getting tired of telling them, probably,
but I want the air to shimmer behind your voice
and I want to be the only one that hears it
so I beg.

And you tell me about a magic carpet you had when you were a boy
about fruit--like bananas and apples and kumquats--coming to life
about the time Santa slept late
about when dragons used to be pets and how we used to fly them like cars

and the air is still shimmering but
I'm getting sad
sad,
which I never do when you tell stories
because I'm realizing that all your stories have already happened.
They're ghosts, gone by, never coming back,
beautiful things lost, disappeared.
And you never tell me about the future
because you don't know it any better than I do
and the world seems kind of scary,
too big for me,
ready to **** me in like the vacuum.

You stop your voice, you peek at me
and see my eyes
and then you hug me
all warm because we're by the fire
and the room is silent except for the crackles and snaps
and voices coming from downstairs.

And your shirt is soft and I'm crying
hot water leaks from my eyes, falling down beside my nose
because no one knows the future and it's all too perfect right now.
And you let me go and you kiss my forehead and
say "is it all better now?"
and I nod because I love you
not that I know what love is, but it feels that way
and I'm safe.