I'm just another one of your
Misfits. I am
UNpopular. I am
UNcool. I am
UNconventional and that
Makes me scary.
Can't handle my
Opinions. Can't
Accept that I am
Content with myself
Just as I am. Can't
Understand why I
Don't worry about
Tomorrow. Can't
Explain why, even though
I am dragged down,
I keep getting up to try again. Can't
Let me get too close
Because I must have some disease. Can't
Shove me into
Your perfect boxes because I
Can't
Be
Contained. Because He is
UNrivaled. He is
UNsurpassed. He is
UNdefeated. And I am
UNalone.
Let's get
**UN'd.

In a minute!
I promise
In a minute I'll
Log off
Shut down
I really will...
In a minute
I'll stand up
I'll stop thinking about you
I'll stop feeling sorry for myself
I'll return from the Land of What Might Have Been
(Because it's not softening the pain I feel
When Reality sets back in)
I'll forget nothing happened
I'll pretend I'm over it
I'll stop caring
I'll stop wanting
I'll quit being a wet blanket
I'll steal my heart back from you
In a minute?
I'll still be alone.
Another minute
Going. . .
Going. . .
Gone.

If these are
The last words
Then let them be said.
One smile is worth
One thousand tears
And
Two ears are worth
Two thousand words
And
One heart
Plus
One heart
Is
Worth two souls' tears,
Two souls' words, and
(Most of all) two souls' breath
For two hearts beating.
And
My heart beats
To care
For your heart
As two souls whisper,
"Con carino. . . we live
A l'amour. . . we breathe
With love. . . we sing."

The painted bird
All brilliant golds
And shimmering red, green, blue
Lived inside a gilded cage
Drinking up any glimpse
Of sunshine
Of blue sky
Of outside.
Pining
Wishing
Longing
To fly amongst
The pillow soft clouds
To feel the breeze
Whisper over wings
That had never
Beat freely since Time began.
The painted bird
Despaired
Abandoned Hope
And resigned itself to death
Without ever really
Knowing life.
Now, the painted bird
Sings
One last
Song
And with it's dying breath
The painted bird
Flies
Into the blue sky
It always longed for

Tonight I sing a
Discordant harmony
To my soul's melody
Nothing sits nicely
No word seems
Just. Right.
Can I hold out my hand
And find another reaching?
Could I hear a different
Melody than my own
If I really
Try?

I feel
As if
My lungs are filling
With heavier air
Than before.
I feel
As if
My heart beats
Slower
s  l  o  w  e  r
Every moment
I think about
This past
This . . . time
That is behind me
But still surrounding my soul.
Not bad
But not good.
I want. . .
I need. . .
I do want to say
Something.
Anything.
But the words
Are halting and stumbling
So
As always
I'll say
Nothing
Whatsoever.