Feb 2012
“My Hero, Shes The Last Real Dreamer I Know”
She Taught Me How To Live, With Outstretched Palms Reaching Toward The Sky Like Branches On Trees. She Sought Sunlight Like A Love Drug, And Fought Disaster With A Unknown Word In My Vocabulary.
It Was Something Called Hope.
She Smiled, Only When She Meant It, And Told Me That Happiness Is Beautiful. Taught Me That Its Easy To Find, Exchanged On Street Corners And Sold In Candy Stores. She Taught Me To Give It Away Too, To Hand It Out Like Heirlooms To Memory.
She Told Me To Give It To People Who Needed It, Like Cancer Patients And Babies With Broken Families.
Devastation Followed Her Like A Storm, And I Always Stayed Ten Paces Behind. I Could Feel The Rain Before She Ever Could.
But She Told Me To Tape My Eyes Open, And Wait For The Oncoming Storm. It Was Like Lightening Inside The Contours Of My Skull, And My Hand Would Reach For Her's, Beauty Fighting With Perfection.
And Our Hands Would Meet, Fingers Threading Together Like A Zipper Of Prayer.
She Had Wounds. Ones We'd Learn To Heal Together, And The Renaissance Of Reality Was An Eternity Spent Being Left To Our Own Devices, Turned Deity Upon Ourselves.
She Also Taught Me To Not Be Afraid, When She Had Betrayal Written On Her Skin, And Words Like “Back Stabbed” Rung In That Air, She Knew It Had Happened So Many Times, A Transformation Had Begun. No Longer Human, But Something Else Entirely.
Her Children Taking Root In Soil, She Knew The Empty And Aching Wounds Were Like Holes In A Watering Can. She Was Meant To Be Who She Was, From Where She Had Been, And Going Only Where She Chose To Go. She Is Beautiful But Vices Hold Grips On The Insides Of Her Ribs, As If She Is Too Afraid To Inhale.
But She Is Beautiful.
Fear Takes Solstice In The Weak And The Wounded, And She Has No Stock In Fear. Love
Is Like Blossoms On Roses, But Thorns Draw Blood Just As Quick As Needles Do, And We Learned That A Long Time Ago.
She Taught Me That Devastation Is Beautiful, That Hope Can Not Be Fished Out Of Wishing Wells, And That When Hour Glasses Get Glued To Table Tops, Time Is Not Measured By The Breaths We Take, But By The Moments That Take Our Breath Away.
She Tells Me Shes Proud Of Me, But I Want To Her To Know I'm Proud Of Her, And Distance Stretches Between Us, A Distance The Size Of Bravery.
So To The Woman Who Told Me That Dragons Do Not Exist, And Then Led Me To Their Lairs, I Love You.
I Always Have. And Always Will.
She Taught Me How To Live, With Outstretched Palms Reaching Toward The Sky Like Branches On Trees. She Sought Sunlight Like A Love Drug, And Fought Disaster With A Unknown Word In My Vocabulary.
It Was Something Called Hope.
She Smiled, Only When She Meant It, And Told Me That Happiness Is Beautiful. Taught Me That Its Easy To Find, Exchanged On Street Corners And Sold In Candy Stores. She Taught Me To Give It Away Too, To Hand It Out Like Heirlooms To Memory.
She Told Me To Give It To People Who Needed It, Like Cancer Patients And Babies With Broken Families.
Devastation Followed Her Like A Storm, And I Always Stayed Ten Paces Behind. I Could Feel The Rain Before She Ever Could.
But She Told Me To Tape My Eyes Open, And Wait For The Oncoming Storm. It Was Like Lightening Inside The Contours Of My Skull, And My Hand Would Reach For Her's, Beauty Fighting With Perfection.
And Our Hands Would Meet, Fingers Threading Together Like A Zipper Of Prayer.
She Had Wounds. Ones We'd Learn To Heal Together, And The Renaissance Of Reality Was An Eternity Spent Being Left To Our Own Devices, Turned Deity Upon Ourselves.
She Also Taught Me To Not Be Afraid, When She Had Betrayal Written On Her Skin, And Words Like “Back Stabbed” Rung In That Air, She Knew It Had Happened So Many Times, A Transformation Had Begun. No Longer Human, But Something Else Entirely.
Her Children Taking Root In Soil, She Knew The Empty And Aching Wounds Were Like Holes In A Watering Can. She Was Meant To Be Who She Was, From Where She Had Been, And Going Only Where She Chose To Go. She Is Beautiful But Vices Hold Grips On The Insides Of Her Ribs, As If She Is Too Afraid To Inhale.
But She Is Beautiful.
Fear Takes Solstice In The Weak And The Wounded, And She Has No Stock In Fear. Love
Is Like Blossoms On Roses, But Thorns Draw Blood Just As Quick As Needles Do, And We Learned That A Long Time Ago.
She Taught Me That Devastation Is Beautiful, That Hope Can Not Be Fished Out Of Wishing Wells, And That When Hour Glasses Get Glued To Table Tops, Time Is Not Measured By The Breaths We Take, But By The Moments That Take Our Breath Away.
She Tells Me Shes Proud Of Me, But I Want To Her To Know I'm Proud Of Her, And Distance Stretches Between Us, A Distance The Size Of Bravery.
So To The Woman Who Told Me That Dragons Do Not Exist, And Then Led Me To Their Lairs, I Love You.
I Always Have. And Always Will.
