a few untrue facts about myself:

i stand up straight, with pride
in my sturdy spine and my upright gaze

i speak loud, strong and faithful
in the value of what i say

i sit here with the knowledge
that these words might make a difference

i know the value of silence
lies in the promise of truth after the silent storm
and i never break my promises

the game is done
the t's have been crossed
and i am on my way home, shivering
at the lack of letters in the sky

but no complaints, because today
i plucked them all, one by one
down from their playground
and stamped them into the paper
of my spinning mind, and then i spat
the sentences out, sour on my tongue
bitter in the air
damp and disappointed on the ground

as the rain tells me that yet again
i have wasted my chances
thrown another good day's worth of truth
away

but no complaints, because by now
i should be used to this failure
i should be well on my way
to looking upwards
with the strength to let some of those letters
slip by me, and the knowledge
that the silence might do me good
within and without, i have no doubt
that i am wrong in my actions
but right in my disbelief

i have wasted my chances
thrown another good day's worth of truth
beneath my feet
but one day, i know
i will wake up
and get it right

when i was young, i knew
(with more belief than i had in my own name)
that i would dance ballet
and i danced ballet, attempting
each spin, each hopeful leap
gaining slivers in my knees each time i fell
and keeping them there, proof
that i had flown

but i fell more often than i flew
and one day, i just knew
(with no tears, only a firm nod of the head)
that someone out there would always fly higher
than i ever could
so i just turned the music up
and let my fingers tap out the rhythm
and to this day i close my eyes
and let the neurons dance inside me
electric current, steady pulse of a bassline
mirroring my heartbeat
inside my head, my feet are light
even to metal, or to some quiet, hollow guitar
i don't touch the ground

and now, still young
i know
(with more belief than i have in any concrete thing)
that in this silly metaphor
we can dance to choreography
or just make it up as we go
and me?
i let the music show me
where to step

it's just a word or two
a few syllables dropped from my mind
turned to slivers on the floor
and i step purposefully, heavily
upon them
so that the shards of myself can be painfully absorbed
back into my bloodstream

in other words, i'll do whatever it takes
to hide those shards from the open air
eyes and ears and even hearts
would never understand my language
so why try?

and now my blood is contaminated
with my own wayward thoughts
haunting my veins, trying so hard
to drift back up into my soul
and are they poison?
are they foe or friend?
am i my enemy or can these thoughts defend
my own fine line
between insanity and just another roving mind
the tightrope quivering in the cold air
i am always one step away
from an accidental leap into ice crystals
and sharp snowflakes
and another reason for all these stares
strange looks, imagined or real
pierce me like no arctic wind
could ever do

am i my crutch or my own splintered bone?
sunglasses or the blinding light?
the question or the answer?
truth or lie?
lie or truth
or both
or none
or just confused
or crystal clear
or muddy water, near the bottom
sinking down into thin air
and cloudless skies
and sentences that make no sense
and metaphors defying science

do i defy science or reality?
or am i just a monster of the two
born to question without end
born to close my eyes again and again
and write words into my spine
to keep me upright
in my dreams

eyes and ears and even hearts
would never understand my dreams
so how could i?

someone take me for a ride
run down the side of some old tumbling hill
i'm tired of slowing down
steady snapping of fingers
in my pocket, deep within
i have this rhythm fighting to get out
and it's echoed in the beating of my heart
an uneven, fluttering drum
trying to interpret this morse code
relay the message

but what is the message?
all i know is
my limbs are heavy and my fingers are weak
my mind is strong but somehow
my heart and soul just won't play along
today is a lead-filled day
all sullen footsteps and empty thoughts
and lines scratched into the sand
wiped away by the slow shuffle
up and down stairs
as my feet try and find the right place to be
at the right time
and the clock screams out its lines, telling me
i'll always be too late
i'll always be one step ahead
i'll always be right in the middle
i'll always be like this, nowhere and everywhere
important and invisible

what is the message?
my eyes are dim and my ears are dull
and my senses are sleeping
while i, trapped inside
am trying to escape a cage
whose bars are made of nothing
bent by nothing, shaped by nothing
i am held in by nothing
am i nothing?

i've always had these moments
hours on end, recharge
reflect and deflect the wind
music just loud enough, alone
and staying sane
but lately it isn't the same

there's just something else
a lift in my step, or what?
an extra heartbeat here or there?
i don't know, maybe the air
is getting cleaner

grey days are constantly being replaced
warm wind and soft rain
even the cold is comforting, in a way
weather like this
makes me want to take a picture
and show you, saying
"see? winter can be beautiful too"

feeling like this, alone and in tune
all i can think of is
"i wish i could show you this song"

spent years wandering halls
cutting the "i" from my sentences
forming words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

guess that describes me pretty well
all consonants, harsh "t" and definite "d"
and the ever-slippery "y", like me
never making up its mind

felt like a half-learned language
still do, really
like someone forgot to learn the proper nouns
forgot to turn the sentence around
grab the sound and speak it

there's an accent colouring my life
awkward and stuttering, unsure
and never fluent enough
to step in time with the music
for long enough to make it matter

words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure