Hiding on my own
My face is no longer stone
My emotions are now clear and shown
The things I feel to the bone
Have only grown
When I'm alone

Was i a stepping
stone? A little r
                            o
                             c
                           k
                             to get where you
                        are now? Perhaps
                        that must have been
                        fun...
                             ­                                 Maybe our definition
                                                      ­        of fun do not compare
                                                         ­     to be the same now -
                                                                ­                                                          
I used to have fun when
you would be around,
maybe for you too...
but not in the same
way that I found.

They asked, "why are you as silent as a stone?"
She replied, "why should I be voluble as the Mynah? My heart and tongue are deprived of goodness just like a desert, deprived of a sea.
Another voice said, "Ergo, redundant talk comes with unbearable guilt."
They asked again, " if so, why do you not speak the despairs you hide?"
She replied, " Because, the gift of patience usually reigns.

I allow myself to be a sinking stone-
Settling in the bottom of the sea,
Encompassed in darkness.

I wait for a tide
To bring me to shore-
But it never comes.

wanting to reach out-
but Don't want to know
how will we love
after the first stone's throw?

i have butterflies
every single one unique in its own way
beautiful delicate wings
with intricate patterns and a variety of colors

each individually carved from stone
by the anxious claws that embed themselves into my skin

i focus on those butterflies
if only to distract me
from my thoughts in my head
from my tingling fingers turning numb
from my pounding heart
and from the air that is no longer in my lungs

i focus on those butterflies
on the way their rough wings scrape along the inside of my stomach
their screams from being crushed by those sharpened claws
and the heavy
sickening feeling
they leave behind

pink snowflakes
litter my front lawn

they will melt away
under the watchful eye
of a summer sun

leaving only a stone
surrounded by fruit