-
This is the only poem I am allowed to write about you.

I went to a strange store today. Immediately, it smelled like my childhood. It smelled like the stores my mother went to downtown. The snacks in transparent little bags, the keychains, the painkillers, the unmarked items. But this place was different in that it was so big. In the toy section, amongst the many visibly cheaper toys, they had a handful of toys from big brands, just sitting there collecting dust. I found a certain big brand stuffed lion and thought, "This is unreasonably priced but I can't walk out of here without him." So I got that for myself. I'm excited for when he's washed so I can hold him all day, he's very soft.

There was a small hair section. Hair ties, hair brushes, hair things; hair clips. One of them caught my eye. In a white, slightly bent square piece of cardboard- mostly unmarked save for a tiny, tiny logo that said "Melody"- was a hair clip in the shape of a flower. I thought it was so pretty. I instantly thought of you, I'm not sure why. It was beige, and soft to the touch. I noticed there were other colors. I picked up a red one and looked at the beige one. Obviously the red one, right? And with a little bit of hesitation I put back the beige flower, the first one I'd seen. I always do that. I feel so sad picking a different one, slowly setting down the first one I'd picked up and held in my hand. It feels like abandoning someone you love.

For when I see her, I thought. For if I ever see her.
-

The meadows of his visage,
soil cracking with age,
all it takes is her thought
and the meadows
cease to rot.

Each one in his dream's domicile,
tears racing down their eyes,
for the day may not be far
down the aisle,
when the prolonging dreams
and the reality blend,
and so do they, in the end.

It isn't a certainty,
but a man can hope can't he?
hope made it viable,
he made past the ordeal,
now it comes to a close,
it is but human to think
a reunion is undeniable.

in every broken dream, there is an abundance of possibilities waiting to be explored.
in every grave misstep, there is a new chance to stand up and try again.
in every lost soul, there is a compass waiting to lead the way.
in every tiring day, there is solace and comfort at night to lean on.
in every doubtful thought, there is proof of certainty waiting to be seen.
in every guilty conscience, there is someone listening, someone who is ready to accept any change of heart.

Smiles
hidden behind miles of printed cloth
weddings and the Christmas we called off
people we loved and held dear
everlasting warnings have led to national mourning  
for things that have gone and cannot be replaced
and we have chased the rainbows that appeared
on every window, every door
what was that for
to make us feel one for all, all for one
until we could look up and find the sun
in its proper place
once again
and dodge the pain of the mental rain
which has been falling
washing out dreams
and churning them to soggy dust
most of all we have lost our trust
that sense that everything will all be ok
has upped and melted away
chopped down, chipped up
like the limbs of a tree
and with it our sense of certainty
the shock is profound
because we have found that we stand on much shakier ground
than anyone thought it could possibly be

I am sure of you because I’ve never needed perfect moments with you.
I don’t need to stand underneath a mistletoe or fireworks to kiss you.  
I don’t need a romantic evening to want you.
I don’t need a weekend of activities to enjoy   you.
I don’t need a good joke to laugh at you.
I am sure of you because of the way I feel grocery shopping with you.
I am sure of you because of the way I feel cleaning the house with you.
I am sure of you because of the way I feel disagreeing with you.
I am sure of you because of how much I love the mundane things of life with you.

YOU COULD DO IT

You'd do
it as long
you
believe
you could.
And
because you
could
doesn't
meant you
should. Be
good you
certainly
would.
#c9_fm

We may not share the same path or length of time on life's journey.... but we do have in common that each day takes us one day nearer to its end.

Right here,
In the eye of the hurricane
Everything makes sense.
Right here,
Everything is real.
And if the hurricane ends up killing me,
Oh well,
What a wild death would it be.

I've always been in between life.
It's always somewhere over being
uncertain and certain,
optimistic and pessimistic,
and introverted or extroverted.

Despite all that,
there's one thing I'm sure of.
It is holding on to dear life,
going along through it.

I am nothing more than human,
but I am my own future.