Have you ever noticed those
Grandmas, who stand in the middle of
The road without purpose and as if lost;
Not in the middle of a conversation or
Waiting for a bus on a stop; just some part
Of a road you would least expect it to see
Someone standing there all alone
Especially a senile woman all alone; but
There she stands inconceivable and
Baffles you as you walk by noticing her
Though only on the periphery of your
Vision; and thus your paths diverge w/out
Both of you acknowledging it; but you still
Go on and she still stands there all by
Herself; and that is the truth

The roads I will take
Will be long and winding
Curvy and broken
Split and cracked
***** and dark
Damp and cold

They will lead to dead ends
Disasters and regrets
Heartaches and pain
Insecurities and envy
Burden and loss

They will hold sorrow and judgement
Fear and turmoil
Insincerity and tenebrosity
Anxiety and dread
Betrayal and delusion

But they will one day
Come to an end

The roads I will take
Will lead to floral paths
Full of sunshine and clear skies
Laughter and curiosity
Innocence and empathy
They will be beautiful; pulchritudinous

They will lead to destiny
Opportunities and possibilities
Miracles and dreams
Wishes and desires
Elegance and grace

They will hold hope
joy and excitement
Wonder and relief
Satisfaction and love
Peace and tranquility

They will have been worth it

Peel back the layers
of my rural purgatory.

Figure out
the critical junctures
of where I once stood,
with this one,
now on TV, and this one,
surfing in Hawaii.

I was a **** girl, spreading
my legs for sailors, and
getting crucified for it.

I am guilty
of still imagining
our beautiful possibilities.

Death may yet
claim him, and my ****
are still round
and firm.

I shy away from yellow Novembers,
As I stare into the glowing sun, 
searching for some metal wings, 
ones that bring back unfamiliar winds,
 hoping that they'll take me too. 

I trace my fingers along road maps,
and chase my regrets while looking back
I dream of sunsets on snowy roads 
I run from colours that feel too old 
and search for stories that haven't been told

I've read the writings on the wall, 
it seems like I've been waiting to fall, 
but every time I dream of a new place 
I can't help but feel like I need an escape 
So I find myself on the other side,

walking down roads that never divide, 
chasing dreams I have yet to meet 
becoming someone I have yet to be
searching for fate, I walk along 
towards the yellow November trees 

alone, afar, yet somewhere close, 
hand in hand with vulnerability.