Forlornly I will rest
in this melancholy nest,
that hums for me the tune
of my beloved doom;
and as the clock’s chime
bears heavy on my mind,
I will swim to you
in a sea of new
one last time.

All I know of you
is the love I had for you
when I fell into this dream.
You were beautiful,
the way the sky turns orange and pink
at the end of an exhausting day -
slowly revealing a sky of starlight
that has taken years on end to reach my sight.
There was a sudden pull -
whether I toward you or you toward me
I'm still not sure -
but I know it was there.

You were swaddled so tight
in a blanket that bowed to your beauty.
Warm, needy eyes peeked
from behind peachy little eyelids,
laying full trust in my hands.
Before I knew it,
you were gone.

They took my baby.
Her name
is a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
Their words are
branded on my face -
"Ma'am, please sit down.
You're not being rational."

"There is no baby."
There is no baby,
but I feel her.
I feel her like a twister
pulling me in,
but I've been put in restraints.  
Regardless of the ache in my bones
begging to be with her,
they've locked me up.

I am detached from reality.  
Everything is wrong.
No one can tell me where she is.
They act as if
my eyes are turning to goo
and sliding out of their sockets -
avoiding eye contact
in fear of sympathy rising in their souls.  
They stay on my trail,
dabbing away anxiety
as it seeps from my pores -
hoping I won't see or feel it.
I smell their fear
as I pace back and forth,
brainstorming my escape.

My dear Astrid,
where could she be?
I feel her tugging at my heart,
begging for a heroine.
Adrenaline is burning through me -
screaming at my body,
demanding I run for my baby
find my baby.

And my dream ended.
I've spent every day since then
looking for my baby.
I feel her in my heart.
Maybe she's real
and maybe I'm crazy -
either way,
I will never forget
my beautiful, stolen, and forgotten
daydream baby.

I know you don't know this
but that's why I'm writing it.
When you called me baby girl last night,
everything inside me that's felt dead
came back to life.
It was like you breathed life into me,
like god did to Adam.
Even if you didn't mean to
you just created a whole new world.

The closest I can
get to you is
  the farthest I can
get from here -

the farthest I can get from
  these dreadful Columbus clouds
that protect me from
the unknown,
  the lonely cornfields that grow
and grow, but
only grow lonelier.

But I like the clouds that
blanket me at night, keeping me
  warmer than you ever could.
And I love the way the sun
rains orange and pink on the lonely
cornfield, and the way the cornfield
soaks it up and saves it
for another day.

I could love you if
  you could love Ohio's cornfields
and cloudy days.

You invade my space,
Making my eyes tear up
And my lungs burn.
You even make my mind dry.
Taking you in becomes so easy,
It becomes effortless
Like one swift drag,
You become as simple
As one swift drag.
And then
Everything you are
Spills out of my body
And clouds all around me.
I lose you.
I lose me.
I look at the world and see
Peace.
I see so much love
Flying everywhere.
I can feel it.
I am lost in it.
I am lost in you.

I can feel the trees breathing.
I can see them
inhale our blemished truths,
pulling them deeper and deeper
until their souls are filled with fantasies.
I can see them
exhale all their dry, dark worries,
trying to force them out,
but the power embeds
in their lungs,
deeper than the fantasies can reach.
When I watch them
I can feel them breathing their worries
right down my spine
just as I've breathed my blemished truths
into their souls.

Your words hum in my bones.
Not the honey sweet hum of jazz
as you watch rain smooth over golden leaves,
not the haunting hum of strangers
grinding their opinions with coffee beans
and serving it with high hopes of persuasion,
but the guilty hum of a little girl who is shutting herself
in a room with a thin plastic lock,
a room with garbage waist high
that let's off thick, charcoal black pollution
that poisons her pink lungs,
as the external hum of her favorite song
slips into the hearts of her loved ones
and seals like a jar filled with warm strawberry jam,
until it's all yanked away...
The hum of a miscarriage in the hearts of her loved ones
as she bursts.
Your words hum in my bones.

I am from garbage trucks invading the streets,
bringing young ones to the window.
I am from the hum of the washer
bleeding into layered daydreams.
I am from charcoal painted on eyelids.
I am from opinions stronger than the smell of coffee.
I am from bones deep in closets,
buried by golden memories.
I am from the honey sweet songs
mama whispers.
I am from the deadly faces of strangers
and the suffocation of opinions
spewed as facts.
I am from the smoothest jazz
to the heaviest rock.
I am from
books with plastic casings
stacked high in the grass
on a sunny day.
I am from
every word or statement I have ever heard
to ever word or statement I will ever say.
I am from
late night fires
with sweet tea, the song of the night, and the light of the stars.
I am from
the soft smell
of a baby's head
to the feeling of thick smoke
filling tired lungs.
I am from the denial of death
to the hesitation of life.
I am from
smooth rocks under bare feet
to cold, harsh rain stinging sun-dried skin.
I am from strength
and weakness.
I am from me to you.
That
is where I am from.

Our flower has bloomed
and started to wilt
and I wonder if you've noticed
that today
is the day I need you most,
our roots are so dry
begging for water,
but you haven't noticed
because if you had
you would have watered them.
Well
I hope you would have.

Fire in my lungs,
I exhale you.
I can feel you
burning my throat,
coating my tongue,
slipping between my lips.
The second you escape my grasp
you burn everything around us.
I watch the once bright, cheery room
pause.
Ashes float in midair.
Blackened walls plead their innocence.
I stare in awe
at the lifeless room.
You flicker
in the corner,
hiding from the destruction.
I run to you.
I let you wrap around me,
engulfing me in your warmth.
I open my pores,
allowing my body to absorb you.
I can feel you
swirling inside me,
burning my organs.
If I hold you close,
if I let you burn me,
everyone is safe...
I cringe
as my core disintegrates.
My organs turn to ash.
My skin
is no longer my skin.
For a brief moment
you are the only thing
infusing my soul,
the only thing
filling this hard shell.
And then...
****
Dark ashes dust the floor
of this dead, cold room.
It was once filled with people and laughter,
now not a single flicker endures..

The clouds send warriors
to bring shame on our land.
The warriors plummet
into our oceans,
our soil,
our souls.
The warriors
slip
down our bodies,
drenching us in hate.
Telling us that everything we are,
everything we have been,
and everything we ever will be
relies solely on them.
They wait in the background
on cold, lonely nights.
Stop!
Shhh..
Listen.
Do you hear them?
Do you hear them whispering?
They're here.
So do you stop and listen?
Or do you scream back?
DO YOU STOP AND LISTEN?
OR DO YOU SCREAM BACK?
They coat our earth.
They slowly blanket our minds.
So what will you do
as they drop
and drop
and drop..?
What will you do
when the clouds send warriors?

Slip into me.
Slip under my skin.
Make this world disappear.
Push me into dreams.
Never let me escape.
Please.

Spinning in circles.
Around.
Around.
Around.

I watch myself
  s  
   l  
    i  
     p  
into nothing.

I stand
as still as possible.
Trying to make it go away.
Trying to find myself.

She isn't there.

Do you remember
the way we fought everyday
the way we yelled
the way we screamed
the way we looked at each other
the way we made up?
Do you remember
the way we loved?
Do you remember?

You lay right against my chest
To catch all the unwanted tears.
Every time that look walks in the room
You whisper to me
“Come lay down.
Tell me what’s wrong.”
Problems slip
Right through your tattered holes
Until they hit
And soak my pillow underneath.

The loose dirt sinks
under bare feet
as a new Seedball flower
is picked.
The warm wind carries
a whispered wish
while she watches the seeds
slowly drift.
The lonely girl wanders
and waits
as the seeds
softly settle.
The pale hand grabs
each seed
while it wishes it had never
let go.

As the wind caresses her aching soul,
Can you hear the redwood’s moan?
Can you taste her fear rise and fall
As she dances all alone?
As her spirit floats about you
Can you feel it take control?
Can you sing with Mother Nature
To save a redwood's soul?

The wind
Cold and sweet
Rushes at me
Stinging my face
With its sly attitude.
My mind is overflowing
With its iterative whispers,
Asking me to fall asleep.
It fills my lungs
And they tingle
From excitement.
It swirls
Through my hair
Until it tangles.
It grabs my heart
And gives me chills.
You are my wind.

Love lingers in the dark corners of my mind
slowly violating the opinions and feelings
that I once called my own.
I watch as my memories 
slowly
fade
to a dark, unrecognizable place
that has been created by something so mellifluous
yet so deadly. 
It gently manipulates the core of my mind,
grasping
the one thing preserving
my most valuable dreams and memories,
the thick, bronze lock
attached to the dark wood chest
bearing everyone and everything I ever have been
and ever will be
and morphing itself to fit the only key hole that can release them.

The gate swings back and forth
In the crisp autumn breeze
As a bright, shining star
Dances before me,
I whisper “my love”
And sing with the rhythm
Of the ruffling leaves

A blanket of snow
Is covering the ground
Allowing the moons light to glisten,
Though the trees are coated
And the leaves are gone,
My love
Is waiting to listen

Bright, yellow daisies rise from the earth
As does well rested dust
I wait for you
As the wind carries away
The dreadful presence
Of lust

Through the pouring rain
I scream for you
Through the humidity,
Through the silence,
I crack,
I scream for you
Again and again
Just waiting for you to come back

In the still of the night
I wake once more
To the beautiful rhythm
Of the leaves,
I sing along in hopes
To see you dance before me

She gracefully rose from the forest of despair.
With a **** pouring blood from her bare feet,
she fearfully stepped onto the blank canvas
tainting its ****** skin
with a stain made by the thick, crimson blood
that drained her delicate body of life.

A blank canvas
waiting to be painted,
waiting to turn into
the ocean
with gentle waves
slicing deeply
into the slowly falling sunbeams.

It waits
to become
the jagged edge
of the highest mountain imagined by its evil creator.
Vicious trees budding
giving birth to more complex ideas,
that will soon be on their own.

It waits
to evolve
into a mama holding her baby in her arms
in the rocking chair
in the front room
with a look
as if she'll always remember,
always remember that tone
in her baby's bright blue eyes
that's whispering "comfort"

It waits
to morph
into something it wants to accept,
something it wants to be,
something it wants to love.
It waits
for its future.