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And the secret things she whispered to me.
Beneath the limbs of the baobab tree.
I held to my lips like molasses and wine
And dreamed of her kiss with the promise of mine.
I can bottle up some sunshine
to better light your purgatory.  
I can write a happy ending
if you need one for your story.
I can offer a tender moment
and a chest to rest your head.
Or a gentle reassurance
that someone hears what you have said.
I could do more...
If you'd ask.
I wrote the song when I had no voice.
Made the decision when I had no choice.
Played the music when I had no hands.
Danced along when I could not stand.
Wrote the words when I was confused.
And wasn't looking when I heard my muse.

The lyrics now are the final thing.
So we will wait to hear Marsha sing.
I understand now.
A midst my glory, I had
Forgotten my cause.
It seems
that the moon is
blushing.

Mars must have
whispered something
sweet.
Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.

I'll take them.

All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.


Give them to me.
I will take them.

Give them to me.


They are wanted here.


All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.

Give them to me.

And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.

Let me have them.

And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.

I will take them.

And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.

Let me have them.

And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.

Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.

Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:

“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”

“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”

“You were all my brightest colors.”

“I wish I were more like you.”

“I wish I were less like me.”

“I am sped.”


And we will read them at dawn like litany.

Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.

That we may take them.

And make a blanket.

A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.

I will take them.

All the parts you no longer want.

Give them to me.

Because they are what make us beautiful.

Give them to me.

That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.

That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.

Give them to me.
I will take them.

Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.
This was a birthday gift to myself. I am giving it to you.
Listen, I understand that being happy isn't all that artistic.
That loneliness, anger and self hatred are trendier
than being content.
Unrequited love, jealousy and deep-seeded unquenched desire
mathematically recorded in clever metaphor and
unexpected similes simply sell better than stanzas
sifting and shifting to shape a smile.
But writing is a form of expression, I can only mirror myself.
If only I could express to you fully how amazing it feels
to finally look into that mirror to see me completely
with every flaw, every blemish,
every pimple, every crazy strand of curly frizzy hair,
every tan line, every inch of stretch-marked blotchy skin,
every pet peeve, every tear, every inch of stubbornness,
every reckless thought, every word I've desperately written,
every choice I ever made and truly love every bit of it.
I imagine it feels like moving the ocean; I'm a shining beautiful moon.
between sunset and dawn
at the edge of time
near the fountain, in a crystal garden
that's where you will find me

we will dance in the moonlight
to the sound of frozen stars
and if our souls will happen to meet
I will lift my veil

when you awake I'll be gone
you won't find me twice
but memories of pearls and shells
engraved in your heart


( © Heike Borgard 1987)
I had some happier days in life
When he was my husband and I was his wife
When he used to believe in us
When he used to think that we were soul mates,
though that thought did fade
When other than each-other nothing else mattered
But now he doesn't believe that anymore,
and all those dreams are shattered
and all I am left is with a sea and a shore
where despite of many people
things seem quiet and dark
I sit alone looking at the tree of apple
and hearing dogs bark
I know you won't come back ever
because you are happy where you are
And I won't always remain a broken-hearted girl
As someday I'll also find happiness when u'll be far
But if ever (fingers crossed) you come back to me
I will want to flee
and I'll come back to you
so that I get again happier days a few.
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