Everything is pure imagination,
colors pulled from the mind’s
massive palette,
as new dimensions reveal themselves
in swirling abstractions
of curling rainbow action.

The colors she sees internally
are multi layered and 3d,
rapidly releasing childlike energy
and remaking her inner existence
into a safe fantasy,
as she takes that imagery
and makes it her waking reality.

She takes the power to paint and reshape
a poorly formed life of pain
into a playground of
crimson, purple, yellow,
pink, and blue
for everyone to view.

Everything fades to background noise,
and there is only art unfurling,
as the unconscious writes its own story,
as time moves at its own pace,
letting awe and intense focus
color her sweet cherubic face.

if you stay in
your own head

the memories,
faded, might

leave you
in dread.

consuming,
just torturing
yourself

simply feeling
hopeless, and
angry instead.

it's not worth
putting yourself
through this

even if life's
a little complicated.

look with your
eyes, not
all hope is lost.

even in the
darkest places,

the light will
shine bright
when you need
it most.

it always seems that life is happy to remind you
that it doesn't owe you anything.
it doesn't owe you happiness.
or friends.
it doesn't even owe you an explanation
of what happens at the end of your story.
but guess what?
you don't owe life anything either.
you don't owe anything to anyone except yourself.
it's your time. your happiness. your choice.
because it is your story.

humanity is at constant odds with freedom.

it varies in definition – one man’s liberty is another’s snare. there is so much that is preconceived, that precedes and influences human thought, it makes freedom seem self-indulgent — a vehicle for ego-stroking and inflated sense of purpose.

freedom is simpler for others. it’s the one objective way to live — it’s the only way to live.

and maybe i’ve become too accustomed to the weight on my wrists that i refused you, vehemently opposed a chance to fly out from my cage into the new world. was i supposed to be thankful? i didn’t even know i had wings.

you released my usual tight ponytail from her tower upon my crown. black waves crashed upon the shore of my shoulders, i couldn't help but feel drowned in them.

you bared my skin from the safety of my clothes. you assured me that your touch was better armor for me. but there’s not enough free flesh of yours to cover what i wish to hide. a small ice age passed through the room every night, chilling me so deeply that not even your cloying warmth can stop the shiver of disdain traveling my spine.

you freed me from the comfort i used to have. you relinquished me from the safety of being me.

i tried to see everyday as a chance to grow comfortable, and everyday i had no choice but to be a stranger my own house because every chair was taken by your wants and every wall painted with your desires over mine that there was only standing room left for me.

i felt liberated in the way a captive animal roams its enclosure. i was king of a small domain, but a pawn to a larger kingdom. but i’d much rather liken your love to being an animal lead to slaughter with no wool over its eyes. it’s freeing, just not in the way you’d want.

when i finally gathered enough scraps of courage to tie my hair up again and sheathe myself in layers, i retreated back to my cage, not with my tail between my legs but the feathers on my chest ruffled with pride.

i believe more now than ever that freedom exists in the captivity of self. let me throw away the key and waste away in comfort.

When the cold seeps through your skin,
thinking how many times you've walked here alone
when you might have been lying in the arms of lovers,
warm and comforting,
don't sit there shivering.
You weren't meant for those chains.
  
You were meant to rise on cool mornings
and swim in deep, clear ponds,
to walk along mountains
and stand at the edges of cliffs,
to gaze at stars --
drawing strength from their fiery motion.

To be a woman, in today’s world,
that stretches into the writing of a tomorrow’s world,
a world that feels so absolute in its reckoning
feels like a mountain that cannot be climbed.
I pray that you find some sliver of beauty
in the moonlight that chases you,
and the stars that kiss your forehead
when you sleep with your big dreams.
I pray you don’t let those dreams flow off your palms
into a river stream when this world threatens you with its cold air
You hold onto them tightly
because even with their singular light
the shadow you leave behind,
so big and strong – a fearless fighter
you stretch into the writing of your world
and your light brings me to write of you
in awe.