My beloved, tonight it is more than perfect, the zephyr winds sing so
sweetly your name and the crystal stars shine like your earrings.
As the White Mountains glint gracefully, and the wind speaks
over our fingers, upon our balcony, let’s dance, my beloved.

Now over the thousand streams and star crystals in the air,
You can see our prayers fill up the milky rivers in the sky.
Below the lights of Christmas, before the blue rivers of stars,
let’s dance like the shadows and the circles of the moonlight.

Now dreams rise over like the wind and shine so easily
But time falls quickly, and worries fall away so slowly.
So let the rage of your fears dance around and under your legs.
For the world is falling asleep, calling for the colors of their dreams.

So let the tresses of your hair fall freely,
And the wind of your perfume
Soak up the flames of your heart.
Spinning like the starlight, tasting every feeling,
Let the steel blue sky and its stars fall all around you.

Dance wildly, my beloved, let's dance like the songbird who sings,
let’s dance forever, until we wash into the skyline of our dreams.

you cracked me open
and let the light in
you made yourself a warm, cozy home in my cold, tired soul
a soul that was ripped to pieces and clouded in darkness
a soul that i lost sight of
a soul i never thought i would get back

there is now a sun in my sky that blazes bright
a sun that is melting the ice and warming the earth
a sun that is telling the flowers to come out from their hiding places
a sun that is letting the leaves turn green
a sun that is telling beauty that it's okay to bloom.

my world is full of color and new life
and life is beautiful

all those happy songs finally fill me with joy
instead of sadness and longing

each day the sun seems brighter
and the air seems fresher,
breathing gets easier with each passing day
colors are vivid
not dull and muted

i feel like i could fly

i feel like i can take on the whole world
and i would be okay with whatever happened
as long as i have you by my side

i've seen flowers my entire life and constantly marveled at their beauty
with child-like eyes full of wonder.
i've had flowers in my home for my entire life.
they brighten up any room regardless of how light it is
and it's always sad when they start to shrivel, but i knew that new ones were never far away.
then i started to read books where flowers were not beautiful,
they were shriveled and dead, representing something that once was.
my child-like eyes full of wonder began to dull with every passing page.
then i started picking apart writings about flowers.
the flowers always represented some sort of tragic beauty that my teacher told me was once romantic.
what is romantic about that?
my eyes were no longer the eyes of a child.
they were the eyes of someone who has seen too much, thought too much, read too much.
dull, empty, and sad.

yet, at the end of the winter, when the green buds begin to free themselves from the dirt,
i turn into that child again -
seeing true beauty in something that is alive, something new, something happy.
the resilience of the delicate flowers intrigues me.
flowers are so fragile they should never survive the harsh, cold winters.
but they do.

i must be like these flowers

I'm standing at the edge, too afraid to move
Looking down into the bottomless pool.
I've fallen in before and didn't drown then
But standing here now it's a question of when.

I liked it before, I enjoyed the cool waters
Splashing over my head, cooling me down.
The sound of laughter and joy filled my ears,
But now I can only watch, too afraid that I might drown.

What if the waters fill my lungs and I can't breathe
Or if I tire too quick and get pulled down by the current
The air might leave my lungs when no one's around
And I might not break the surface, I might drown.

I can't take the leap of faith, I'm paralyzed in fear,
Yet my friends are there laughing as they search blindly for each other.
I take a step back content with being alone;
I'm close enough to feel their joy though I know it's not my own.

When someone like me comes along
Too afraid to take the leap, yet afraid to be alone
I know pushing them in would serve them best
But instead I talk them through it until they can jump in on their own

As they swim there, a smile on their face,
They call to me, asking me to join in their race,
But I'm a hypocrite of my own making.
I talk big and give good advice, but in the end I'm just faking .

And so I sit on the edge of the pool,
with my feet in the water.
Just out of reach of all the fools
Who think my place is in the water.

Though I know I can swim that doesn't stop me.
Though I'm sure I'd enjoy it that doesn't help me.
So here I sit in the same place they've all found me,
Sitting on the edge of life, so afraid of drowning.

2/3/17 1:00 am

2017.

A new year.

A new hope.

A new chance for you

NEW.

Hate. All I see is hate.
Pure, unadulterated hate.
It's everywhere now.
In the ceiling, under the rickety floorboards,
Sleeping through the cracks of a once impenetrable foundation.
There are three sides to every story, but no one wants to see the third side, the truth.  I'm right, no I'm right, well you're a demon. You're not smart enough, not pretty ebough, too pretty, the wrong ethnicity, to give a valid argument. You're not valid. Only I, the holiest of beings, can tell you how to think, what to say, and what to never say. I-
SHUT UP!!!
...
God, silence is golden.

Then there's the rest of us. The children, huddled in a dark corner where their angry parents hurl glass plates and scream. We want everything to be well. Perhaps "well again" isn't the right phrase. Home was never perfect, and it never will be. But if we could be a happy family, even through the dark times, if we could hear what one another is saying, no. If we could LISTEN to what one another is saying, that would be enough.

There are those who are done fighting, the old man in his wicker chair, waiting his whole life to be noticed. When he finally gets his medal, his children throw it into the garbage disposal. What is there left to say when no one will listen?

There are those of us on the front lines, the virtual vigilantes.
So passionate, so intense, so disconnected.

There are the Orwellian sheep. Saying what they've been told by whomever chooses to educate them. Their minds so innocent, angry, closing every day. They see not the masses of wolves spinning lies with the help of their wool.  

The house is crumbling. Those who scream too loud are breaking the glass windows. The soft spoken are struggling to clean the splintery, split floorboards. Of course, they are all too busy to notice the house is leaning far off to one side. It starts to teeter on the side of a cliff. Creak. Creak. Creak.

I wonder if they’ll still chant his name,
When the Native’s blood is spilt again?

I wonder if they’ll still shout and cheer,
As the Anger and Wrath draws further near?

Will they dance and jeer upon their feet,
Over the Scarlet stains covering the street?

Will they remain blind to his defiant knavery,
As their children are marched into his slavery?

But the blind, I suppose, will keep following since,
He’s adorned as a glittering and potent Prince.

Between goals and dreams,
Rests a life that was.
Among the stars and sky,
Rests a life that was.
Underneath the tears and pain,
Rests a life that was.
With hope and fire,
Rests the life that is.