It was said that this year, our new year would be delayed by one second.  
And it wasn't until that one second when I paid mind to my breathing and my beating. They didn't match up.  
My head and my heart, they didn't match up.  My heart was bursting at the seams, but my head, well it was my head.  
It's 2017 and I can't help but feel as if I was just born, lost, yet full of wonder.
I can't help but just feel.

Yes, it is the new year.  But that one second felt so familiar.

Tonight I cannot sleep
Tonight my brain refuses to listen when I tell her hush hush
Tonight my thoughts stay vivid in a battle of what I shall fear tomorrow and what I cannot wait for my future to bring
Tonight my mind has decided to cut out the use of punctuation and large words
Instead it has made the decision to stay up and closely study your breathing
Tonight my brain has decided to memorize each sleepy sound your body evokes in hopes that one night, some night soon, I will be able to recognize the patterns your heart decides to beat in
I will stay up tonight only to focus on the song your soul softly sings to me when you are fast asleep
I will stay up tonight only to memorize your song
Tonight I cannot sleep
Tonight my brain refuses to listen when I tell her hush hush
Tonight my ears stay ringing with the song that seeps through your exhausted lips
Tonight my mind has decided to put on a screenplay beginning with the first moment you entered my life and ending with

S. Mia
June 17, 2016

It attacked like wind on a motionless night,
holding parts of me hostage.  In the process of trying to discover if there was such thing as a human cocoon in which I could cultivate my full potential without the judging eyes of everyone else; I held myself hostage.  A gun with no bullets, just a mind filled with wavering neurons and a man full of help, hidden behind the four doors of a two thousand and five red Xterra, license plate; “h0me”
     A single year, made up of three hundred sixty five days, twelve months, five hundred twenty five thousand, nine hundred twenty six seconds and four seasons.  A single week made up of five business days, seven all together.  Four week nights, six all together, yet, each night, I slept in a bed made from everything fractured, even the truth.  And when I awoke each morning, I had the audacity to ask why my bones ached.  I guess I just figured they ached due to everything that happens under the hours of the sun.  The five hour shifts, the constant nagging, no no no, it must be because I’m sixteen and my body is young and able to endure this and that but I am only sixteen and my body shouldn’t have to.  Could it be because I am a walking contradiction, with a wavelength acting as a slinky, constantly switching direction, changing nature, re-defying the future again and again.  
     The sun  taught me that finding ourselves is so easy that we often over think it and cause our own minds to mistake its thinking’s for someone else’s.  But the moon taught me that there is an intimacy that occurs only when one is forced to examine their own body, an intimidating confidence one experiences when taking the most basic form of art and building upon it.  The capacity of time and effects of trauma taught me that even though we are alive and breathing, we do not always have the ability to cry for help, to breath.  There was a point in time when I was completely sure that in order to become more involved in your life, I’d have to end my own and believe me, I was willing.  I was blind to looking forward, I was blinded by beauty but even then, I had the ability to blink.  Blind, deaf and dumb;  We have the ability to blink.  One small motion, binding us all together, eyelash by eyelash.  When we are born, they all gather around us, watching for that blink to show them we are alive.  When we die, they all gather around waiting for the occurring of blinking to stop before pulling a white sheet over our faces and printing our names in the local paper but, under my name I want printed the thought of how deeply I will always feel for you.  I will always want you from now until the end.  But, I can’t have you, actually, nobody can.  You cannot be bought nor sold but you can be loved and my god, I have so much love to give, so much that sometimes I fall short of knowing how to show you.  I don’t always know how to get my hands to remove the only ***** inside of me that keeps my body functioning and give it to you.  Finding only that I cannot physically give you my heart because without it, my hands wouldn’t be able to function, they wouldn’t be able to pick up, hold or give and I know you wouldn’t take it yourself.  
     Finding only that I cannot give you my heart because when I finally built up enough courage to cut it out of my own chest, I found that I hadn’t had a heart.  I found that you had taken it from me a long time ago but, never once did you break it or let it get dusty.  Instead, you held it inside of your chest, real close to your own heart.  
     At last, I understood “why”
I understood that even when the whole world told you what you couldn’t be or when your own body rejected you, when your eyes refused to see you in any other light but the darkest, you still stood tall.  I finally understood why your love is like no other, it is because you have two hearts.  You have two hearts, one stolen and one bound, two hearts that have no choice but to feel the hurt and sorrow of this cold world, two hearts which give you the strength to let yourself be torn in two because you’ve not yet grown into your own skin but our hearts have grown together.  You have enough wonder to let yourself be whole by starting over, by letting go of whatever it is you are holding onto and letting your hands hang empty at your sides until you one day find something worth squeezing the life out of and when you think you’ve found that something, place it right in front of yourself and no matter if your mind is telling you to procrastinate or how much your heart is bursting at the seems with mixed emotion, let your hands go and pull me closer, letting the welcoming embrace of comfort cure the fear of being lost.  
     You have two hearts;  One to love and one to heal.  You have two hands and just like that, you rested one hand upon the back of my neck, I nuzzled my lips into your chin and that night we slept in a bed made from clean linen and newly reborn hearts.  We slept in a bed made of water, you acted as the sand acts towards the ocean, you are a life jacket to the innocent child, you are an  inspiration to the weakest of all beings;  You are Love.  
     I covered up that night with the idea of “being” and woke up “yours”
-S. Mia
July 9, 2014

For if we were to build a relationship on quicksand, we would still question why it was so quick to slip away.
      Pacing through a field of daisies, running over a trail of glass, taking a leap off the high dive, landing just short of cracking your head open on the cement, laying down in a twin size bed; alone.  
     Pacing leads to heavy, uneven breathing due to all the bee stings you've acquired , the trail of glass turns into shards of broken material impaling the limbs that were made to carry you.  That leap escalates to you finally hitting the water, face first, sinking slowly to the bottom of a 12 foot pool. Yet, when the clock strikes 10 pm, you're not laying down in bed alone, you're laying down with 17 million other people that decided to end their day at the same time.    
     For when the clock strikes midnight and darkness floods in through your bedroom windows, eliminating every sign of tomorrow, silencing the sounds of the world, leaving you to battle the thoughts that won't start until half past three.  That is when alone begins.  
     All things bad are the exact motions that follow with intentions of teaching a lesson we are bound to learn but you were supposed to be a father and father, you didn't follow.  In fact, you never even tried to lead; You fled.  You ran away to the military, the coward you were, the coward you always will be, you thought that you could save millions. You were wrong, you murdered, stole, buried so many innocent lives and right before you left, you tried to part of me along.  
     It was for nine years my mother had be convinced my dad was Prince.  It was nine years before death invited itself to your dining room table.  It took you nine years to impregnate, run, marry, birth, raise, sign up, destroy.  It's been 17 years and a father is what you haven't been.  
     Ignorant sons of ******* like you are what have left 15 million of us children alone, hollow and unloved. You all open your doors wide enough for us to get a glimpse if the lives you chose to carry on, then slam the doors, leaving us to continue searching for that guiding light.  You leave us in a situation where we can't truly be mad a you for leaving because you were never there to begin with.  You left me searching for that light so I said, "to hell with you" and became it.  
     It's been 17 years and I still sit and wonder what it would have been like if I could have gotten you to stay.  17 years and a part of me still remains cold and vacant. You make me feel as if I've conformed to a life or mourning and pity as I still try to figure out if you ever had a brain or if you lost it like I've lost myself many times trying to let I'm men that would have treated me like one of their own but I couldn't because when you fled, so did my image of being held by the hands of a man that would one day walk me down the isle at my wedding. You took my image and replaced it with the un comforting thought of never being able to rest in peace because if ever, I allowed myself to get close enough, I'd slam my forehead against yours and look you dead in the eyes just long enough for you to silently absorb everything you've missed, just long enough for you to understand that you have not and never will be missed.
     Instead, the part of me that went missing in 1997 will be missed and I hope whoever finds it, takes care of it and grows to know it because I never will. And instead of walking away from you, I'll walk past you because I am a creature of transformation, I am becoming what I'm meant to be. I'll walk past you because in my past is where you deserve to be.
     I will no longer hold the grudge of wonder and jealousy against you, I will no longer try to hurt you back because hatred is just another form of caring and I fell short of caring when I was born; The daughter with a father, a father who couldn't care at all.  
                          - S. Mia
                         July 21, 2014

Inhaling;  We can't help but wonder when we ache from the hurt, roll over in bed, feel the knot in your chest, in your head, from the hurt.  When you get dizzy in the shower and shed tears all over your collar, from the hurt.  Falling into the arms, resting your chin upon the shoulder belonging to the one who's supposed to separate the black from the white and love you amongst the grey.  But what happens when they become the ones that were wrong because they turned their backs to what they once knew to be right.  What happens when they become the main source.  
     They find ways to compare us to every other heart beating but something about your heart beating, the way your lungs continue breathing.  The way I was bound to forgive because for once, I felt the weight, the same weight that was put upon her.  A weight that collapsed my knees, cut off all air supply;  A weight that shattered all clocks.  We were frozen in time, time where infinite didn't exist, infinite didn't mean a ******* thing.
     And it's just that, the knowing we don't last forever that makes you take a step back, a step out of your own body.  Let your silhouette be placed on the outside, let it look inside and let it absorb the world your own doings have created.  Notice that the being standing to the left of you with his hands in a fist as if they were latched onto something as valuable as a trophy, opening them only to find that inside is your heart.  The only ***** that keeps you alive, gives you the ability to live, allowing you to feel and understand that, in those hands, that heart of yours is going to be safe and sound.  Viewing the eyes of the being to the left of you, looking into you, up at you, seeing you as if you were golden; Looking at you the way some die looking for a set of eyes to see them in such a way.
     Climbing into the skin that you founded at birth, gently letting go of the anger, jealousy, realizing the hurt that came upon you was never inflicted by anybody but yourself.  
     Posted at the edge of the pier, with the one by your side, making a fist and reaching out over the water, vowing to protect the heart you're holding onto for dear life, until kingdom come.  Pulling in the body to your left, mouths open wide.  On this cold fall day, I will exhale the love I have for you so you can see it in my breath, just what I'd be losing, what I do lose every time you take my breath away.  
     Eyes peering out at the earth surrounding us;  Palm to palm, they put their hearts together, forming one.  And into the sea, they were engulfed.  Allowing themselves to sink to a depth, unexplored because maybe there, maybe that's where their full captivity lies.  
     You are a model of my love.  And my love, you have the most beautiful eyes.
                     - S. Mia
                August 24, 2014

Today someone asked me if I'd ever been in love. When I replied "yes", they asked "with who?" And I told them not who but what. I'd been in love with the idea of being very far away from here.
     I stayed and trouble found me. I stayed knowing I could leave but I was physically bound to something. I left because people around here are chained to the past but I, I am bound to meet tomorrow.
     I'm so mentally exhausted by the way life is living that I can't help but stay up and wonder what's next to fall and after the fall, will there be a broom I can use to sweep up the rubble or will it taunt me forever?
     I am not sorry for the pain that I caused you to fight when you crawl into your bed and curl up for the night.
     Oxygen never tasted so good, stepping back from the ledge never felt so easy, the tips of my toes never felt so relaxed and un-walked on. And the worry in my throat, hell; There wasn't one.
                     -S. Mia
                August 13, 2014

I have this ongoing fear of time and space. Time being the way it's not that important, being as we can change our clocks depending on what part of the year it is but, it must be so very important because we base our every day lives on a round face.  Tick tick, timing our every decision, ticking time bombs we all are.  Ticking and pushing and pulling us all into the same space.  A space where emptiness and longing for anything but, is prominent.  Time is here; time is us.  Time and space, both made without hands.  Both holding more above our heads than what we hold inside of them.  Inside of our hearts, swimming through our veins.  Time and space, both without welcome, come every hour, leaving the next, filling our bodies with concern, anxiety and relief.  Space, allowing us the ability to rest, weep and strive.  
Alone, time creating the extra essence, giving us the opportunity to dissolve while waiting to decide who is worth all the time you have in this world because,
     shouldn't I live before I set off on the journey of death?
                        - S. Mia

"Just kiss her" he said.  
     "You two look lovely tonight" he said.  
     Thinking to myself; My god how drunk does he have to be to not see the sadness my eyes were holding back.  How drunk was he to say again "just kiss her."  Too drunk to notice that love didn't live here anymore.  Drunk enough to think that a kiss was all that I wanted yet, sober enough to notice how lovely you looked tonight.
                      - S. Mia
                  June 29, 2015

Death; the action or fact of dying or being murdered. 56 million deaths per year, 153,000 per day, 106 per minuet, 1.78 per second. We were alive, the moment was living within us, to my left, to your right.
All day it rained on and off. The sky poured down upon us, eyes open wide, we could see the ground below our feet, we could feel the puddles underneath the car tires, aware that we were going to endure a splash, unaware that as soon as the earth rotated from dawn to dusk, darkness would engage every source of knowledge we were built to hold, erasing street lights, taking away the ability to see what was ahead of us before it was places behind us.
Switching from daylight to midnight nation. Bound by nothing but latitude and longitude, existing side by side but falling short of knowing each other.
There is an ongoing myth that beeping the horn of your car while driving through a tunnel is supposed to bring you good luck. There is an ongoing thought of witnessing every relationship that makes up your social life, ending at the exact same time. Everyone says that when they are faced with what seems to be the end, the only thing they can think of is "what's the last thing I said to mom and dad?"
But my mind told me to look over at the man sitting to my left. My mind told me to put my hands on his thigh and watch in amazement as his hands held onto not me but, the wheel that would eventually steer us into a cement wall or wrap us around a light post. And when our eyes met, my mind reminded me of the first time I looked into those beautiful sockets of wonder and how I knew from that second on, you would always be on my left because the world didn't think we were right but you never left and I always stayed right, for you.
As the puddle overtook us as the deadliest tsunami in history overtook japan in 2004, I wasn't scared. I looked to you and I didn't shake with fear because I knew my mother wouldn't be upset that how much I'd miss her when I'm gone, wasn't the last thing to cross my mind because at heart, she'd know that when I left, I left in love, I left sitting right next to my conscious, my hope, desire, my object of affection. I left being adorn by the eyes of the only person she knew could ever love me more than herself. She would give a sigh of relief at the sight of the crash, looking up, knowing that I left her world and became completely indulged in yours, knowing that if I ever lost myself, I could lose you too.
And you are like lab coat; to the outside world, so mysterious but to me, I know every part of you, I can stick my hand in every pocket and each button tells a different story. You keep me warm and cool me down. You protect me when I drape you over my body and I protect you when I take you off inside of my house; you are home.
In those thirteen seconds, we were welcomed with the opportunity to witness the destruction, the permanent end of something. We were greeted by death, the end of life, the beginning of living.
                       -S. Mia
                   July 16, 2014

Here I sit, eyes planted on a lady bug trapped on my side of the fence, trapped inside instead of outside.  She, on four legs, myself, on two, she climbs and climbs to the same spot on the window over and over again.  Just under the blinds yet, if she were to be crawling outside, she would have landed atop the bedded stem of plants.  Up and up, again, stopping just shy of the blinds as if the color blue is threatening, terrifying her eyes, absorbing into her heart, her heart that beats blue but when she is beat; Bleeds red.  Flying back down to stage one, ground zero, alone where she is both safe and a danger all at once.  A ground where feet trampled carelessly. A ground she eventually got tired of trying to higher herself from because now she sits, turned around, facing me.  Watching me on my hands and knees, stretching, pulling, screaming; Reaching for something to believe in.  She watches me walk up the street, to the end of the driveway, turn around and fall back down again.  Wondering if I fell hoping to land softly in one mans arms, wondering why it is that I would want to be anywhere but home.  "But, little miss ladybug, you are filled with luck, you can find the strength to get past the blue, you are the color orange because tree is a fire that burns inside of you."  Igniting the glass to melt and warp into some sort of portal; A passage in time in which she made it to the other side of the window, in which I made it to the top of the driveway, through the front door only to realize that all I entered was a house.  Locking me inside, degrading locks causing me to be kept apart from my heart.  "Come on little miss lady, let's show them that we've got nothing left to lose but these mazes in our heads."  Stepping away from the starting line, pulling back on the knot in my stomach, swinging full speed, shattering the glass, decapitating the locks.  Locking us away from "us" Panting, sweating, standing up on two feet, watching in relief as little miss lady flew through the smashes glass to a place where she could just be.  Standing up on two feet, dropping the knot, taking one glance in your direction, whispering under my breath.. "I leave my house to see you but it feels like I'm heading home."
                          - S. Mia
                   October 28 2014

Almost seventy million people are enabled in some way to speak in sign.  Nearly half of the entire human race, while speaking, uses hand motions to fulfill the full meaning of the point they are trying to get across.  My whole life, I have never known where to put my hands.  My whole life, I've been told I need to open my mouth and speak but it was always after the fight when my pen hit the paper that I could find the words to say.  It's always taken me until it was too late to come up with a solution to mend what's been broken.  
    We hadn't spoken in nearly three weeks but, when she called to tell me about the run in she had with you, I knew you shed tears and it made me cry too.  We hadn't spoken in nearly three weeks but, I hear the shakiness in your voice.  How?  Because I hear it I'm my own.  I answered the phone a day ago and over my breath, you spoke and over your voice, I listened.  It wasn't until after you'd hung up that I told you if ever we should say goodbye, it will only be with words because words are something you can say and I can write but, together, there is an "us" in everything we see.  Making it clear to each other that this is goodbye would mean nothing when the whole world is one to the other.  
    It'll be years before we realize that we are all universes within ourselves.  And that the sky above us, the ground below us, those are the walls that imprison us, only allowing our embers to shine for a matter of hours.  But it's kind of beautiful, isn't it?  The way that our stars seem to be the brightest objects in the world when all the rest of the earth goes black, when the sun is shut out for the night.  We are all walking solar panels.  Years before I realize that you are a universe and I should have appreciated how lucky I was to have landed you.
    It'll be years and we will still have hands, whether they are chained behind your back, it'll be years and we will still have thoughts and some will still go unsaid.  It's beautiful and it's blue, the way we all carry this soul clenching hope that things will eventually get better in order to be so scared of missing them so much.
    For years, I had been meaning to ask if you'd look back on me fondly even though my lines were never straight, even though my image was never a reflection and my complexion is plain.  Would you still look up to me even though  I am a mess?  A mess made from a head of hair that ends up in handfuls in the bathroom garbage because age, that's what it does to you.  A mess made from love because loving yourself a little less because you're loving someone else a lot more, does a wonder.  A mess made from the **** your mother never told you or something your father said right before he left but, the truth is, each heart is just a trash can and our hands pull everything we love, hate, yearn for or cry over, in for a kiss.  A kiss that eventually opens up, swallowing down spoonfuls of feelings that were wonderful when felt, not choked on.  
    It's simple you see, we are all something simple.  We are all made from a mess, a mess that only one other can clean, a mess that one just as lost, just as found, just as ***** as you; A mess that only "The" one, can add to.
    It had been years now, from the day I dove off the edge of the earth with nothing but the end to catch me.  And for years to come, I will be in love with the idea that I will be falling for a lifetime.
                           -S. Mia
                     August 18,2014

With you, I feel.
Without you, my pen would not move.
                          - S. Mia
                        June 30, 2015

I always talked about writing a book and getting out there but now I'm really beginning to use my brain and I think that writing A single book would be the stupidest thing I could ever do.  It's because stories and poetry and language, ****, life itself doesn't end after a certain number or pages.  You don't ever stop failing or creating, you're constantly revolving and revolving, we're constantly gaining a want for more, giving us this thirst for a sequel.  And to write two or three books would be just as dumb because some things just don't make sense when they're split up.  Take us humans for example;  We are born into this life with the mission to find the arms belonging to another that we will call home to at the end of each day.  We set out and we fail a million times over again but then we succeed.  We search and search until we are found by finding.  We have two hands, two eyes, two legs and we double that each time we reach out or hands to hold or to be held, each time we look into the eyes of another only to see a reflection of ourselves that's not yet been warped, each time we put one foot in front of the other in complete darkness to show that we'd fall to our death if it meant them making it out into the light.  Our head, heart and hopes long to be on the same wavelength as another.  Which is why books cannot be written with the intent of having an ending or a sequel.  We are matches to those who carry candles and while we burn out, we are lit again, we constantly begin again and again;  We do not just end, we are dropped, we drop and we pick up, we get picked back up again.

S. Mia Febuary 15 2015

How can it be that when I feel my throat swelling up and closing in; there are seven digits that will save me.

How can it be that when I cannot keep the life I was given, contained inside of me; there are seven digits that will take care of me.

How is it that when the entire world around me grows cold; There are seven digits that burn warmer than any fire.

It is true that when I can barely speak; There is a voice at the other end, belonging to those seven digits, rescuing me from this decades curse of technology.

Seven digits given to you only to be programmed in the palm of a hand.
Seven digits vibrating in my pocket, freeing me from the silence.
Seven digits acting as a second home, growing so important that without them, we are homeless.

We are paired up with seven digits, born with an entire world running through our fingertips yet, all it takes is the misplacement of one digit.  One wrong sequence, one missed call and we have lost ourselves completely.
                             S. Mia
                    October 14, 2015

Baby I need you, all alone in this big, empty room.  "I know, I'm just busy but, I promise you I'll be there soon."
     Baby come hold me, I'm getting cold and these windows don't lock like they used to.  "How about you come home to me, my clothes are torn and I am worn but, you know how much you mean to me."
     Baby I want you, closer than we've ever been before.  "I know I don't show you but, I've been around and I know I want you more."
     Baby I smell you, in your teeshirt I've wrapped myself up in.  "I sprayed it three times and laid it down upon your skin."  
     Baby I feel you, you're not here but, I remember just where you were.  "I wish I could pull you in closer, I rolled over and fell asleep to the thought of you breathing."
     Baby I taste you, on my tongue, I lick my lips, I miss the way you used to pout.  "I remember the first time I kissed you on your ear and the top of your skelp."
     Baby I see you, in the mirror, next to me, I close my eyes and you're there.  "I opened my eyes to you.  Last night I dreamt of keeping you safe, holding you tight, feeling you close, listening to you speak, watching your eyes close."
     Baby where are you?  "I'm here alone in this big, empty room. I see you in the corner with your hair ******* in a knot, you're hinting at me, "come lay down with me."
     As we lay down, your head on my chest for the night, I heard you mumble a question, asking me "baby, are we alright?"
     Yes baby, we're alright.  Now close your eyes and please, please, sleep tight.
                        -S. Mia
                  June 28th 2015

The day the bridge between us and the "us" made up of her and yourself, collapsed, she made her way to me.  Displaying for me late into the night, the life you had planned together.  Screaming to me how I had ruined it all, going on and on about how I was just a void, making it clear that you would go crawling back to her.  She wasn't wrong but, that was before she knew you had room to grow.  
     I just want to know if you were aware of this plan.  Did you know of the marriage and children you had been signed up for?  Did you know that I was not included? I was not part of this plan.  I was a voyage you had set out for unprepared, yet, so ready to escape the war back home.
     There are nights when you've fallen fast asleep before me, nights when I close my eyes to the wonder of if your eyes and picture yourself in her arms.  There are mornings when you kiss me hard before your eyes have opened and I can't help but question if that's you kissing her goodbye.
     Do you ever miss her fist pinned against your skull.  Do you ever miss her independence and drive to beat on her own. Do you ever miss the ease that came along with not having to set your hopes sky high because she wasn't deserving.  
     She kept the best from you.  She wasn't ready to meet the man you were destined to become.  She was wrong about you.  She was wrong when she told me you'd never change because you change every other week.  She would feel so weak when she realized that she hadn't stunted your growth with the all the unwanted blows she placed upon your delicate body.  Her knees will become weak when she sees how we grew closer, became one and headed into this life; together.  
     Together now only because we had all met in pieces.  Together, we went through fire, sank to the bottom of the deepest sea and my god, I know we all thought we would have been better off if we just let ourselves drown.  But we did not.  We all kicked for the surface, stretching our last breath far beyond its existence.  We all made it and on the way up, we all found something new to fill our chests.
     We were never voids, just dismembered silhouettes searching for a heart to **** the love out of.  We live this life day by day, I live it with you and she lives it with him.  But as once lived it together.
     There are moments when past events hit us all at the same time and once again we are together, bound by thought, wondering where we would be if we would have followed the original plan; the plan that didn't consist of you and me.
                                   S. Mia
                          February 10 2015

A town full of everything wrapped in sheets, covered in white.
     Shy to the lake, holding more beauty than what's thought to be true.  
     Holding a little bit of me, holding a little bit of you.  
     These things, these ghosts, held inside or, besides glass walls. Containing us from this wonder we all carry.  
     How could a human, just like me, have the guts to cut four slits in their sheet?  Allowing them the availability to create something far beyond our beauty.  
     These objects, they walk besides us, in front of or behind us, each beating moment of our lives.
     They are the art that has grown so common, the art that  has grown so unnoticed.  Covered by a sheet, written upon it; "Only human"
     Well, nothing to see there, so we think.
     But, we don't know and we never will know that we live amongst eight million unopened museums, waiting.
     Just waiting for the ribbon to be cut.
     Just waiting for that white sheet to be
                           dropped.
                            - S. Mia

And there are days when I miss him so much, I don't know what to do with my hands because when he's not besides me, I can't slip my fingers into his palm or my palm, under his lap.  Because when he's not behind me, I haven't any reason to turn around and wait but, I do, I stand and listen for you to return "polo" to my cries of "Marco". Because when he isn't in front of me, I haven't any reason to move forward but I move forward and a little to the left and reach until he is in my reach. And there will be days like this, when I'll fall asleep on the couch waiting for his call, waking up in his arms, being carried to the top of the staircase, listening to him lay me down, listening to his "I love you and all."
                      - S. Mia
              November 1 2014

I hadn't a chance to know you while you existed, in fact, I hadn't known you existed until you drifted away, far away from this earth.  So delicate, so ever longing to be at one with yourself, this world run on electronic gossip and urban dictionaries; You left a wolf to this world of sheep.  To hold your head in my palm would have resulted in the forever shutting of your eyes; The forever shutting out the standards set by those whom have yet to figure out that their mouths don't really have legs, that they can't run forever on a tongue that can be cut out and fed to a group of lost bears or boys.  To hold your head in my palm would have resulted in the reassurance that the birth of you was the birth of a universe because what's this world to you.  The insight that we are born with all of our origins intact and as we grow, we lose sight of where or heart lies.  In the process of trying to find it's home, we end up failing other parts of ourselves.  The cycle of recycle and rebirth.  And if ever your mouth would have opened up to my ears, I would have listened to a story spoken by the wise.  There once was a wolf who strayed from his pack to go live with man because to him, staying alive was all he gave a **** about.  He ran and scurried far enough to allow himself to be caught and after so many years of being caught, he'd forgotten he ever once lived as a wolf.  One day when the wolf was out hunting with his owner, he went to retrieve his prey, come to find, his prey was the leader of his pack.  While the now called "dog" whimpered and said his "I'm sorry's" the leader spoke "your hunger and will to stay alive will come and go but my dignity is here to stay, I am a woman of many, of free will and this life has yet to take that from me."  The knowing of your every day, waking up as if when you were asleep, somebody disembodied you, being quick to clean up their mess when your breathing fastened, leaving pieces out and bolts unscrewed in the rush.  A story told by all the flys that take off backwards, a fact that people cannot live unconformed due to the simple sense of stumbling while not walking forward.  I beg you to create a fire in ones bones being hugged by bed sheets tonight.  I beg you to crawl in through my sternum, rest your head on my heart, drape yourself across my ribcage; Let yourself be felt as you wait out this storm.  And maybe someday you'll come back to us, missing the city you grew up in or maybe someday you'll send us a postcard letting us in on your journey, letting us know that you made it home safely.  Stating, to this earth, you are never returning because again, a world to a universe is nothing more than a pen to paper and my darling, you left, a wolf in this world of sheep.
                        
                         -S. Mia
                 December 31 2014

Something is hurting me lately.  Something inside me is hurting me, I'm not sure what it may be but maybe it's this heart that's beating for two, or these lungs, I have two but, they have to breath, think, balance and composure.  Some things hurt even when it's late and the moon is hidden behind a cloud.  Some things still hurt when the sun is up.  Put the self pity down;  The ones you love, thank them for loving you.  Nothing's hurting me but the fact that if something was, I wouldn't know what to do
                     I'd leave it all for you
                      
                             - S. Mia
                       October 22 2014