My sister once told me
There was an immortal jellyfish
Turritopsis dohrnii,
Its Latin name if I recall it correctly.
They revert back to their polyp stage.
Their lives beginning all over
I often think to myself
Wouldn’t that be nice
To have the power of the jellyfish

A new life from beginning to end

To have learned from my past
To make it all last
To start anew
To let go grudges, and try something new
To jump off a plane
To go to the show
To date a boy, I barely know
To a spontaneous trip to the coast
To  say goodbye to who I loved most
To make mistakes I never did
Knowing that I could start again.

The trees are a kaleidoscope of the green  
rivets of sunshine peak through the canopy of leaves
as the light flows to the forest floor.
Vines wrap their arms around the trunks of the trees
climbing to reach the sun
Each desperately fighting for the just a piece of the warm glow
Robins, swallows, and Cardinals all sing their songs
as they glide from branch to branch
filling the woods with their symphonies.
A fox dashes across a steady stream
leaping over rocks and fallen logs
making his way home again.

For what is life

But a series of convoluted steps each interconnected with the finest intricacy of a spider's web.

What does one do if they step off these paths
or find their strings crossed?

What do they think when they look to their left
just to see another web perfectly whole?

Delicate

Symmetrical

Beautiful

Then they look to their own and can't help but see the left side is skewed.

A line, fatter than it should be.

They look at that other web.

And so they stop.

What are they to do but sit and think?

Why can't I do that?

What point did I go wrong?

Suspended in the air with no way down because it is too late to turn back.  

And they give up.

A summer breeze
billowing through the sails
of a lone boat floating on the water.

Ripples delicately dancing from the bow,
disappearing as they roll away
into the vastness of the bay.

The sky is a kaleidoscope of colors
Red, blue, purple, and even yellow
Dancing to the west

Birds soar overhead
their cries a perfect symphony
guiding one another to shore.

I take a deep breath
the salty air filling my lungs
with an almost euphoric effect.

I watch as those bright reds
bleed to blues
and the blues darken to black.

It's time to turn back to shore
The day is done
I'm not sure if I am ready yet

One is often tempted
To say night is a frightening place
but I take comfort in the eerie inky space
Like a woolen blanket, the twilight  soothes me
It is always more than it appears to be
It doesn't mask innocence nor pain
It doesn't hold you to its expectations
It's simple
It's true
The night doesn't lie like the day seems to do.

Grit your teeth and silence your words
A lady must be delicate, like the songbirds.
Stand up straight, your chin held high
Presentation is how you will get by.
Unruly hair in a bun, heels two inches tall
Perfection is a must as if you are a doll.
Go to college, get good grades
Being a writer won't pay anyways.
Be independent, but not too wild
We raised you to be a conservative child.
Look to your sister she does it right
She has a job, a boy, and soon a dress of white

But I'm not her, I try to say
It's frustrating to be compared this way.
I prefer the company of fictional characters
Then to be defined by the parameters
Of a life that you have created for me and not by me
Where I am scrutinized if I stumble
Or take a tumble.
When I look up, you tell me to gaze back down
Smile my dear, no one wants to see you frown

We want what’s best for you
Don’t you want it too?
A house, a husband, maybe a child or two.

But I still desperately hope they will see
What’s best for my life, for my future possibilities
Is for me to be me.

It's sad really.
To see the endless adventures go to waste.
To witness them lie  there never to be uncovered.
To never see the dragon vanquished or the lovers finally meet.
To forever lock the words of countless poets and philosophers.
No one will ever gain the knowledge of the written pages.
No more shall people dive into the worlds of fantasy, and escape from their own.
The shelves remain full, the stories gathering dust and mold.
Not a single person cares about the abandoned library on Chestnut Street.

Hollow
like a dying tree
alone in the forest where its brethren stand tall and strong
the sun peeking through their canopies of green
casting their shadows onto its blistering bark
cold, dark, rotten
past its prime and waiting for the end

but nestled in that tree is a nest
and inside that nest three bright blue eggs rest
patiently waiting to hatch

Tear me Apart
Put me together
Give me your heart
Take it away

I need to start
To search for better
Before I fade away

Give me space
Let me Be
I just need room
To Breath

It feels like
I’m in the clouds
Just to realize
I’m upside down

His words are kerosene
But his touch is my personal nicotine
One moment it seems like a dream
In the next, I am struggling to breathe

I know I'm decaying inside
But wouldn't it be better to die in the light
Better than my gaze resting on the empty spot in my bed
Broken promises swirling in my head

The illusion of everlasting love
The chaotic pendulum
Is something to behold.
But would it really be better if I was alone?

I can see the light of Dawn

The everlasting darkness fading

Cold leaving my bones

And the warmth of hope filling them again

Though the stars have lit our way

As we walked down this path

Nothing is greater than seeing the Sun

That blinking line mocks me
I can not move forward
nor can I reverse back
I am cemented in this moment of ambiguity

That blinking line mocks me
I have an idea of a destination
but with no path to follow
So I stay at the beginning tormented by the possibilities


But that blinking lines mocks me
My mind is a chaotic storm of ifs wheres and whats
But I have a story that must be told
It has a start and I'm revving to go

The gentle breeze of the light melody

Frolicking in my ears

Dancing and laughing as it sways its path into my subconscious

Whole notes stretch out and lay their long bodies

Beside me on the fields

As sticottos run and play in the tall grass.

Half notes brush by

Moving the vibrant flowers into their own beat.

The sharps laugh

as they swing the quarter notes high into the vast sky

Flats let out a chuckle as they push the melody

down the gleaming silver slide.

Music entrances me in their fantasy

Weaving their dreams

Into the very life around them.

I sit at the edge of the dock, swinging my feet on the water's surface.
Tiny circuits bleed out under my toes and escape across the vast lake.
I glance up at the stars, questioning the eternity of space.
Why doesn't everything last that long?
A comet runs across the glittering quilt of black.
Do the heavens exist?
I wonder as my hand traces circles in the molding wood. The dock creaks as my legs sway back and forth.
The crickets and frogs sing me their symphony, plaguing my thoughts with memories of her smile and her loving caresses.
I miss her hugs, her comforting words when I cried into her stomach as a young child.
She used to hum the most beautiful melodies as she rocked me to sleep.
And sit with me, right here in this spot, and teach me the ways of the water and the stars.

I have often felt my words
         Suppressed by the silence.
Of a thousand voices in a room
         None of which are mine.

They say it isn’t healthy
        To keep it all inside.
But what would they say
          If I really spoke my mind?

They aren’t all kind
         Nor are they always smart
But the thoughts are my own
        I can’t help that part.

Would my friends frown
        Or look at me with disdain?
If I told them I wasn’t always happy
        Like my face always says.

But what other choice do I have
           They want this charade.
Of laughter, of a carefree life
             Even when it's a fraud.

I can feel the encompassing force
           Pressing into my mind
Like the inevitable end of day


      And dawning of the night.

Only death was left.
Death of creatures.
Death of bushes and flowers and trees.

Death coated the landscape like a blizzard.
Layer upon layer it continued to pile high.
They all tried to dig themselves out.
But soon it became so overwhelming  
that the very people who were digging,
were enveloped in its icy grip.

But even as death squeezes the land dry
there will come a day
when even death must die.