collecting bits of memories
left hanging in a row
gathering the sunlight
as they're swinging to and fro
and counting on an abacus
the time we've left to spare
for making more of memories
to hang up in the air

close your mouth, and don't put up a fight
do not speak if only just to spite
the humble mind's the one that gets you far
so there'll be no moving, talking as you are
don't yell out to draw attention to yourself
true talent will not need you to tell
be patient, friend, success is waited out
with all your antics, we watch through furrowed brows

crates of dreams and apple seeds
were shipped right to my mind
I planted them, and they grew tall
and through them, hope did shine
they took me to a higher place
from there my life unfurled
with them I climbed so high I flew
and I could hold the world

I prance about my bedroom floor
I wish I could go back for more
for another moment I’ll adore
and see what future lies in store
there is no way I can be bent
there is no reason to lament
for all the time that I have spent
has lead me to be quite content

hold my hand, and we'll make the leap together
arms out wide, and we'll sail through stormy weather
minds are open, and we'll leave our blue world spinning
hearts are open, and the sky's just the beginning

over thinking leads to sinking
just relaxing floats your boat
there’s no success brewed from great stress
clear your mind to stay afloat.

a happy little bumblebee, flew smiling to and fro
the gardener who never quit, he made the flowers grow
his work impressed his happiness, the harder that he tried
he was the best until one day, he stung a squirrel and died

the indent grows bigger
my bones start to creak
I’ll take a break for all of this to mend
ideas keep on flowing
it’s an effort for me
to close the book and just put down the pen

I know you’ll hold her hand
whenever she is sad
and kiss her cheeks to dry away the tears
and I know you’ll take her tight
and tell her everything is grand
and wait with her until her head is clear

the blade of grass was folded into bits, and on it fits
all the days of life it’s ever had, bright or sad
all the moments that had ever been, ever green
all the lightness it had once been shown, had ever known
its simple life’s too much to understand - it’s too grand
as we wallow in our cosmic dreary minds.
all the time.

dear you now,
he writes her a letter
he knows he'll never send it
but it makes everything better
dear you now,
she sits down and writes
she'll not know he did the same thing,
that great minds think alike

there was nothing left there but meaningless letters
crawling all over the page
she played back the moment, the door slamming closed
trembling with all of her rage
she wracked her memory to find the words
that once she has heard someone say
'don't decide your forever based on feelings felt now'
and that was her very mistake

eyes they water, stomach flips
thoughts are hazy, spirit trips
I grind my teeth, I clench my fists
forget to smile, forget my wish

the wind sat still,
like a guitar
unplayed.
while the trees
sighed in the warmth
of the day.
the hazy ground
glowed bronze
with the heat.
and the children all
sank quiet in
defeat.
nothing was friendly
about that
midsummer’s day.
no one wanted more
than for the sky
to turn grey.
but the sun just
pounded on the
drum of the earth.
and the children cried
for winter, and the cold
that they deserved.

There is a time
and place
for everything.

You may not
feel like
the top of
a mountain now,
but that is
alright.
You can feel
   like the dried line
   on the inside
   of your coffee cup.
You can feel
   like the leftover
   crumbs
   on the floor.
You can even feel
   like the rain must feel
   on a day
   the world wants sun,
but do not reduce yourself
   to the cobwebs
   in the corners
because you feel so.

For even if you don’t feel like
   the first ray
   of sunshine
   in the morning,
or feel like
   the comfiest cushion
   on your mum’s
   couch,
or even feel like
   your favourite character
   from your
   favourite book,
remember that
you would not know
   happiness
if you did not know
   sadness.

There is a time
and place
for everything.
Do not worry if your’s
is not now.

They say it’s beautiful
   this sadness that she keeps
but she thinks about it,
   and that can’t be true.
They want to paint her.
   They want to write wordy poems
about her canvas coloured
   a thousand shades of blue.
They call her the sea.
   They call her a storm.
They try to wrap her up
   in neat metaphors.
And they feel so sorry for her,
   yet they spend long nights
wishing it was them
   who everyone adored.
She spends the time counting
   minutes left in the hour.
They spend the time counting
   the rungs of the scarlet ladders on her wrists.
They write stories about
   the golden boys who come and save her
The boys she wished
   she never kissed.
And they applaud
   the times she really laughs.
And she hates the way
   that tastes -
like a spoiled, sour reminder
   in the back of her throat
telling the world she
   was sick in the first place.
And they say it’s beautiful
   the sadness she’s drowning in
and they’d rather write stories about it
   than throw her a rope.
And all she can think about
   is how ugly it all is
as she fights to keep from sinking
   and tries not to choke.

I have a question.
When you see your reflection
in my eyes,
do you see yourself
as you see yourself?
Or do you see yourself
as I see you?
Either way,
please stay so that I can
figure out my answer
to the same question.

my heart is something I can’t hold onto
it flies away with the breeze
and if I reach out my hand to catch it
it just sits quiet on my sleeve
and it has a bad habit of breaking
though I put it together with glue
that heart doesn’t like what my head says
which leaves me just tired and confused

I want to be the quiet girl
   who every boy falls in love with.
I want my sideways smile
   to steal the hearts
   of anyone who steals a glance
   at it from the side.
I want to be fragile,
   so that people want to
   take care of me
   as soon as they see me
   with my knees curled up
   on a chair that is too big.
I want to be the stuff of novels,
   and of films,
   and of love songs
   whose melodies are
   picked out on a guitar.
I want the idea of me
   to be so delicate
   and so alluring
   that I’ll never have to worry
   about being hurt.
I want to be a beautiful
   heart breaker -
   the one that they tell their
   brothers, mothers, and sons about.
I want to be
   what they describe as
   the best thing that ever happened
   to them.
I want to be
I want to be
I want to be all the things I’m not.

Stretched out
   in your Sunday morning way
with your mouth
slightly open
and your hands, together,
curled up by your jaw,
you look like
   the best thing
   that has happened to me.

golden note, golden note
be in my tune
take me through the galaxies
fly me to the moon
golden note, golden note
be in my song
forever keep me company
and play the whole night long

cast away the sorrow,
she did
stopped regretting the tomorrows.
her worries in a jar
the lid
locked tight with gold keys borrowed.

the words and cluttered memories
swirled about her head
laughing as she tried to stack them up
the thoughts jumped out of boxes
the pictures off of shelves
leaving her stuck, stuck, stuck

the colours of the city hummed red and blue and green
the sounds glowed bright and dark, and all things in between
the sights smelled warm and wonderful
the smells both old and new
I sat perched like a hummingbird
taking in the view.

something from the outside
never looked so real
as something from the
inside ever will
yet this thing on the inside
was more than what it seemed
and that, I think
is even better still

he said, well things are shaping up
and she said, they're fine
he said, we've had very good luck
and she said, yes, just divine
he said, it's good that we're not stuck
and she said, shhh.
                      don't worry.
                      the sun's out.
                      let's go outside.

windy whirrs, flying birds
darkened lights, clouded nights
whiter snow, seeds that grow
growing sound, world spins round

I turned back the clock to
trick myself into thinking I
had stopped time
but the clock wound on and
time crawled regardless of
this heart of mine

I can see it in my mind:
your crooked, sideways grin
it diffuses on to my face, and I smile.
I can hear it in my head:
your laugh jumps high and spins
I’ll sit down and loop it for a while.
and when I am unhappy
I’ll pretend to hear your voice
and then I’ll know that everything is fine.
for, when I get lonely
I’ll know you had a choice
you made the choice to choose to be mine.

left or right?
up or down?
front or back?
smile or frown?
tell me what to do - please, I implore you
flip up the coin - let Lincoln choose it for you
start to end?
end to start?
listen to my head?
or listen to my heart?

regret drew a paper thin line
which he couldn’t help but cross.
though, he took plenty of time
so original intentions were lost.
his words were short and stammered
he couldn’t help them if he tried
and his swollen heart quickly hammered
until his tears ran dry

all these things leave me sure
that I’m nostalgic for the future
for all the places I’ve never been
and all the things yet to be seen
but all these thoughts are so unfair
because I just don’t know how to get there…

we let our voices grow
and the sound swells around us
through the music we know
that the magic has found us.

thinking thinking
never got better
thinking thinking
could have been worse
thinking thinking
a blue woolen sweater
thinking thinking
a matching red purse

if I’m gone before the spring storm falls
don’t let me let your life be stalled
don’t stay alone or cry to much
or ever feel like giving up
just plant for me a pure white flower
and watch it grow each passing hour
and when the flower starts to bloom
paint it for me Maya blue
and if the world is standing still
I’ll be sitting on your window sill
and for I know you always cared,
for you, I will always be there.

she sponged up all of the new things
with the knowledge she had, she grew wings
she flew through the sky
left her old world behind
let the sound of her future ring

heavy eyelids and fading lights
lead the path into the night
limbs are curling and head lies down
now you’re dreaming, can’t turn round
but morning comes - sun shines though cracks
eyes have opened, can’t go back
you hate to leave the land you yearn
now awake, wait to return

Count the times
that you feel fine,
and hang them on
a long wire line,
and hang that wire
above your bed
right above
your resting head,
and watch those
memories you keep
help you calm
yourself to sleep,
and remind you
when your day’s not bright
that your world is filled
with small bright lights.

to grasp on to the intangible truth
was beyond me
for that, I chose to remain aloof
to be lonely
but, see, wishes aren’t just for shooting stars
that, I now know
the only way to move from where you are
is simply: to go

a mile a minute
a smile begins it
and before I know it,
I’m off of my feet
then when I am dependent
your smile will end it
and before I know it,
I’m admitting defeat

tambourines and yellow pages
that’s all that I want to be
old six strings and lit up stages
are all that I want to see
a pencil and a photograph
with them, I will be free
to take a brush and paint the path
towards the life I wish to lead

How many people know you?
Know how many times you roll up
   the cuffs of your sleeves when it’s warm?
Or know how many sugars
   you take in your tea?
Or how you handle yellow bees?  
How many people know what
   you tell yourself before you go to sleep?
Do you count sheep?
Or the stars on your ceiling?  
Or your scars that are healing?
Do people know you have those?
Nobody knows.

How many people know you?
Know how much you resent the gap
   between your teeth?
Or what number you group things in
   when you’re counting?
Or what the smile on each side
   of your face means?
Or where to find the seams
Where you’ve been torn open
   just a bit.
Where those little slits
   under your raised eyebrow are.
Do people look hard?

How many people know you?  
Know about how much having dirt under
   your fingernails drives you mad?
Or how you don’t like to
   drive in the rain?
And how you add brown sugar
   to everything?
And how you wish you had wings
To fly away over all these people
   who think they know you
When they don’t.
They don’t know the first thing.
But they never will.
You won’t let them in.

How many people know you?
Sometimes,

I
certainly
don’t.

When I wake up in the morning
When I open my eyes
   for the first time in the day,
I am orange.
Like the moments between blinks
   and the glow on the horizon
   and my unkept hair
sitting whispy on my head.
As I get out of bed,
I am orange.

When I am walking down the road
As I’m passing people I don’t know
   and who don’t know me,
I am purple.
Like the bright darkness of possibility
   that we all can’t see yet
   and the faded fabric of mens’ jackets
which I’ll never wear.
When I’m walking there,
I am purple.

When I’m sitting beside him
With our knees touching
   under the table,
I am red.
Like the table cloth I picked out special
   and the apples on the counter
   and the blood that’s rushing
too fast between my ears.
When I’m sitting here,
I am red.

But when I’m sitting by myself,
Alone in my room
   calm and quiet,
I am blue.
Like the song that is playing
   and the rain keeping time
   and the glow from the computer screen
where I try not to live my life
but to which I’m prone.
When I’m alone,
I am blue.

It’s a real shame
that blue is my
favourite
colour

a dimpled smile,
a sideways grin
we sit a while,
all folded in
to paper cranes
that fly quickly
I’ll fly away
and you’ll fly with me

plot the points you’ll use to find
the place you want to be
draw the map and draw the line
from point A to point B
you’re an architect, your buildings scrape
the skyline of your dreams
looking down from far away
proves them lower than they seem
but pack your bag of memories
and old things you once loved
and hold them tight so they’ll survive
the journey to above
you are a kite, just moving where
the light breeze takes you to
never stronger than you never were
as paper dreams guide you through

I'll paste into the future plan
places I must go
sights I'll see, things to be heard
knowledge I must know
then I"ll frame up my collage
and hang it on my wall
I'll then look at it every day
and pretend I've done it all

there's a dimly lit room and hushed speaking
floorboards creaking
vapid stares of dreamers who are dreaming
ideas seeming
to be painted on to canvases unending
future pending
while my dreams only fit inside my pocket
and I lock it.

today I drew a girl
with long brown curly hair
but I had to etch her out
for I was tired of her stare
the girl lived in a perfect world
she had a perfect life
there was no pain or anger
or bitterness or strife
and since she saw my secrets
she I couldn’t trust
she wrinkled up her perfect nose
and looked back with disgust
she looked right through my grand facade
pulled back the heavy curtain
she riddled out my clockwork
and knew I wasn’t certain
she saw my mind was clouded
from all in this rainy world
all the thirst and hunger
the girl quickly unfurled
she saw the fear and hatred
the terror and the scare
all of varying grandeur
plaguing everywhere
and she saw right through my crooked smile
all though my cup was filled
it still was full of emptiness
and that disgusted her
she wondered why I worried
as she looked right through my eyes
at my mediocre problems
in my easy sailing life
and she knew that I was selfish
as all people seemed to be
and laughed at all my problems
so small, yet huge to me
but what she didn’t understand
is that sometimes we get stuck
for sometimes, in all out lives
people run out of luck
so no matter how tiny
so small our troubles seem
you can’t treat them proportionally
for all problems are real
today I drew a girl
with long brown curly hair
I could feel her look right at me
with her penetrating stare
and in her world, she was perfect
but that could never be
she was drowned in her own prejudice
so much, she couldn’t see
so tired of the perfect girl
who pretended not to care
I etched out her judgement
and her agonizing stare

to what degree is wrong
if it’s right in another’s eyes?
how selfish must you be before
it doesn’t take you by surprise?
and should you still pursue the wind
if you know you should not follow?
or leave someone in helplessness
if you will not care tomorrow?

a quarter cup of friendship
yields half a cup of smiles
a bakers’ dozen leaves you set for life
just a dash of experience
mixed with your own style
leaves this recipe with no wrong, and no right