My arms stretched around her.
She rose like a flower.
Blossoming to life.
Her lips a bud.
Flourished full.
I a reddish ceramic.
A reminder that we are grounded.
She filled where I felt most empty.
On certain days she would dance in my arms.
Painting my cheeks rose red.
Creating foundation we both can grow.
Her trust being the ultimate gift.
Arms wide open she dug deeper.
Without soil, water or sun.
I'd stunt her growth.
Our self love being reason to how we feed each other.
Blooming the petals of what became ideal.
I gave without fear that the vase would break.
Butterflies loom over her head.
Watching her grow was the most important thing

Let me then
get a vase
and water

For the Rose
that I have
brought You

Let me
liberate
Your spirit

So Your song
You will sing anew

For the beauty
of Your presence
And Your company
to keep

Let me then
adore You
In all the magic
moments that
You bring

Let me
see You
A living vision
of an Angel

For a time
of We alone

Celebrations
Sure and Certain

Far beyond all
hopes of dreams.

-R.

8.24.17

-LA
-4S

Where do you see yourself in fifty years? I have absolutely no ******* idea. I don’t. I really don’t and for the longest time I thought that was something to be ashamed of. It probably still is but I certainly am no longer on that boat. I can tell you where I would want to be, if that makes it any better…
The proper or more common way to answer this would probably be to describe my future employment of choice or the amount of little Julie’s and Tommy’s I plan on having around the kitchen table. Yeah, that would be ideal but then again, there is no substance in that. There is no honesty in that type of answer, only social norm. Or our need to go against it.
In fifty years, I hope to be sane. I hope to have developed the capability of living with my sins and not let my anger and poor decision crowd my mind. I hope to see that behind every stupid act I’d done in the past, were hidden good intentions and not just a broken window where the frigid wind of teen rebellion would flow through. I hope to be able to sit on my front porch, watch my grand-Julie’s and Tommy’s run around freely, knowing that the life they have is much better than the one I wanted.  
In fifty years, hopefully, I’ll have learned that grey hairs don’t mean wisdom but experience. That instead of guidelines to live by, I’ll have stories to share. I hope that my skin will have become creased with tall tales like a vase molded by life’s hands.
In fifty years, I hope to be young. To be filled with vibrant energy and to resonate love. I hope not to be the answer to problems, but a set of hands that’ll hold a loved-one when nothing can be done because that is when we truly need saving.
In fifty years, oh, how I will have lived. I will have fulfilled my most wanted wish from childhood.

In fifty years…I will have lived.

The flower droops,
showing its true colors.
Leaves fall to the floor,
all shriveled and brown.
The little old vase was all that was left,
It's steardy glass held in the water
to keep the flower alive.
Around the rim, cracks began to form.
Nothing was done to fix them,
they were little, they didn't matter.
But today, they grew large.
The vase broke, water spilled everywhere
and the flower was left,
laying on the floor,
*helpless

If you look closely

You will see

The cracks and fault lines

That comprise me

From the outside, to the unattuned eye

I look like a normal vase,

For the glue is now dry.

Truth be told

I was smashed

Obliterated

Pieces essential to my core

Strewn haphazardly across the floor.

But thanks to those that saw me,

And a little internal conviction.

My pieces have been collected

My old form resurrected.

Thanks to a little glue

I appear to be almost brand new.

But don't be deceived

For what you perceive

Should not be completely believed.

For the vase is very fragile,

Not to be toyed with.

Not a player's game.

Please don't mishandle me,

And resurface days of misery.

it was my
fault

i moved the
table

because of me, the vase is now on the
ground

broken
shattered

oh, what have I
done?

i've made a
mess

i need to get it back to what it
was

it's not just a vase to
me

oh my god, i can't do
this

it's not getting *******
fixed

the shards stab my
hands

funny, the thing i love most
hates me now

my fingers
bleed

my heart's beating
fast

i can't bear to part with this
vase

sitting in the corner crying, i'm
dying

i need that
vase

it's very dear to
me

you won't understand, you
see?

the water's spilled
everywhere

mixing with my
tears

the flowers look at me
accusingly

i can't do
this

the vase will never be the same
again

i cry and
cry

until i finally
decide

that it's time to throw the shards
away

it's time to

L
    E
T

G
    O

I put my trust in an already
broken vase and
handed it to you.
I said, "If this cracks
even a little bit,
my trust will ooze out
and the shard that splits
is a piece of my heart
that ran away again."
It's taken me so long
to find that piece
and convince it to
fit back where it was supposed to.
But it always struggle to accept.
This is where I urge you
to not drop me.

When you put Water in my soil
My roots begin to expand
Hoping I can be inside a vase that you cherish