The very air is different in those places so untouched,
smooth and unburdened.
You can fill yourself, let it in with a breath
and it will seek every crack and crevice,
it swirls in the lungs and mends.

You could just about leap -
cast yourself from the very pinnacle of earth,
Forget the stone which proffers you
an open palm to the waiting sky,
Let the renewing air cradle you,
lift you up and twist you around,
show you the world as it sees
the wrinkles in a quilted landscape.

Scramble your fingers
along the jagged earth
to find purchase.

Oh, the drop, the fall,
the catch of breath,
how it sings,
how it calls!

A stacked pile of matchbox dwellings,
yellow hue visible from the shades.
Meant for hiding the darkest truths
and never to be shared escapades.

A withered leaf struggles to escape,
the branch it grew upon.
The fall wind sets it free,
and the dead beauty treads on.

Across the gravel road of my bedlam,
a street lamp casts a flickering light.
Like the rhythmic notes of a violinist
playing an ode to a mesmerizing sight.

The bard sees a silhouette,
his titfer' tip shines.
Circling the edges of the block,
the watchmen protect the times.

.
On a sweet apple crisp cold day we walk
When the air is acrid with distant wood smoke
And bright Leaves fall with determination 
Creating the season’s rich tapestry.

I run to keep up
Your science makes me grateful 
For the rest 
I notice still
My loose-mitted hand tentatively held out 
To all manner of wonders that
My own hasty glances would have missed.

The stream, now  
A sweet musty rug of russet rot,
Rambling with red and black fodder
For urgent little colonies of foragers
Who wait for wonders of the earth to be passed 

There are days like this
Stopped
To sip sweet tea from your flask
The ecstasy of the smallest thing
Remembered.

Double glazed prisons
that suffocate us in
Stopping air
dainty pure
saturating chakras
and healing pores
Skewed panes
Isolate and whisper
Lies
keeping us inside
to jeopardize
All destiny
Meant to thrive.
Glass severing
our connection
to the quaint outside
Leaving Nature,
Our spirit guide,
meekly to subside
when seen
through this lens
of poisoned eyes.

When it rains
And I am happy
I know I am at peace.
When it rains
And I am not
I know storms are brewing within.
The inside and the outside
Are connected more
Often than we think.

You say you know who I am.
But you don't.
You only know the part of me that I show to you.
You only know the girl
     That loves music more than the ordinary person,
     That talks to herself,
     That doodles flowers on her arms during class,
     That buries her face in a book,
     That still has all her music downloaded on an Mp3 player,
     That sings Taylor Swift songs into her hairbrush.
You don't know the girl
     That stays up until 2am sobbing into her pillow,
     That feels like she's never enough,
     That masks her depression behind fakes smiles and laughter,
     That keeps her feelings hidden away,
                              until they blow up and she cries over a broken shoelace,
     That she hopes for the next day to be better than the previous day.
You say you know who I am.
At least you think you do.
I'm sorry. But you don't.