the air today was inviting
cold, it's true, but still
there was something about the way
the sunlight shone unfiltered
and fell upon the ice
that held stubbornly to the cracks in the sidewalk
something that made me think:

good things will happen today

and perhaps they did, but i am still unsure
as to whether this chill
and the fact that it no longer pervades my veins
signifies a step upwards
or a steady slide down
and as winter rolls in
on splintery, frozen wheels
i feel a crushing sense of foreboding
and i look up into the sky
so i can ignore the ground
that i might fall into, making me think:

what if nothing is what i think it is?

what if i am somewhere else?
not on this beautifully ambiguous cloud
not stepping through an open door
but out a window?
what if the things said today were heavier
more weighted
than i hoped they would be?
these words poke me, **** me
almost into submission, and you don't know it
but i am simultaneously
opening my eyes and arms to you
and crouching, shivering, shuddering
in a corner, afraid of what you think
when you look at me, and i want to know:

what do you see?

are you looking at me
through rose-coloured glasses
through a lens of colourful fall leaves
through the sun shining upon my face
in all these beautiful places
what do you see?
and i want to know:

what do you feel?

when you place your hand neatly
among the folds of my clothing
and somehow find my waist
when you duck your head down
and breathe
comfortably into the nape of my neck
when my head rests in the crook of your elbow
and i play hide-and-seek with your eyes
ashamed, but you take it as shy
i want to know:

what is this?

in the space of a year
i have found a lifetime, pocketed
the words of wisdom, every single one
from the sidewalk, *****
but still, i've found some use
for these single lines of poetry
did you know that
footsteps in snow will melt away
come springtime?
the cold blue sky whispered to me
letting me know that
the frozen feeling would not last forever
footsteps on my heart will eventually fade
did you know that
sunsets are not forever?
there is no permanent marker
colouring the sky in with black
the dark fades away like blue dye
in the wash, and by the morning
those old jeans will fit again
and the sun will rise
familiar and bright
and maybe this time you'll be able to raise your head
from the clouds gathered round your mind
and get out of bed
did you know that
there will always be somebody else?
i learned that arms are open
somewhere, someone is standing there
hands stretched out
just waiting for that puzzle piece to come along
in the space of a year
i have grown taller
in confidence
i have grown smaller
from the tears i have shed, every memory
i've had to leave behind
has lightened my step
in the space of a year i have changed
learned to make poetry
out of anything

and one day i thought
i’d like to see the world through my father’s eyes
all roots and vines
and the simple need to create
and the feeling of dirt between your fingers
what does it feel like
to understand how the world works?
not its people, no, more important than that
how the seeds and the buds
and the soil interact
how to make something from nothing
from a small speck enveloped by your hand
i don’t understand
but you do
and we are the same height, but when i look at you
i am looking up
i am looking forward into the horizon
trying to see the sunset like you do
trying to understand the weary way you sit down
and the tired vigor with which you rise early each morning
to begin the cycle again
and i see you standing there, immobile
leaning for a brief moment on the handle of your *****
and i see the world dancing around you
just waiting for the movement of your hands, waiting
for the next order, the next command
the next request, as you begin again
and i try to understand
today, i thought
i'd like to see the world through my father's eyes

all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
wild sister of the street
wild mother of the hungry sky
something poetic
like wild girl, roaming
more than just a wisp born
of country air
wild wind, ******* forward
through the field
across a country deep and cracked
until i reach the skyline
scrapers extending beyond the reach
of any mountain, and the stars rest
above the smog of the home
where the wild ones rest
where the wild ones lie awake
and i can camouflage myself
in the darks and reds and glittery bedspreads
and be wild
in a different way
paint me wild, paint me
green and blue with envy
paint my cheeks white, paint over the pink
of stale summer air
all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
break away, go some place
where i can tell my story a million different ways
and they might believe me
make me wild in another way
no more ***** shoes or burdock-ridden hair
give me sharp heels, black combat
sleek and shiny, change me
make me wild
and i sink to my knees
sink into the soft, welcoming concrete
and say please, city
change me

here i am, horizontal again
spread out along the furniture
curled up into the corner
tilted, twirling through
a stationary dream
horizontal, parallel with the smooth mountains
and the sun rises and sets
with my breathing
horizontal, like the sand dunes stretching
connect-the-dots with every oasis
dry land, searching for water
here i am, horizontal again
lying down, searching for the words
that will bring my feet back down to earth
and the seeds
that will plant my soles firmly into the carpet
and let me go on with my day

the wind bit me, scratched at my back
as i struggled along the sidewalk
thinking
about nothing, about something
that could have been nothing
if i’d just let it be
here i am again, entangled in the bare branches
of an honest winter, a comforting cold
soft snow upon my shoulders
and i just can’t bring myself to reach up
and brush it off
here i am again, outside
despite the frostbite creeping through the sky
and the threat of colder nights
i feel warm
and i know this is the warning sign
a few days before the loss of limbs
a few weeks after i stepped out
and lost myself in the blinding white
here i am again, pulling on my gloves
laces tied, hands in pockets
prepared this time
and yet i am never ready, never fully closed
and the cold air seeps in through the seams
and into my bones
and i shiver
in a good way
letting winter bring me home

i wonder
if i stripped this black liner
from my eyelids
if I scratched the pink
from my cheeks
if i showed my true colours
(not much different from the mask, but still
it feels like it to me)
i wonder
if i pulled my second skin, peeled
away the layer of doubt
would you still find me
beautiful?