Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things;
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell;
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And, for the Spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Give all you have for loveliness;
Buy it, and never count the cost!
For one white, singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost;
And for a breath of ecstasy,
Give all you have been, or could be.

My soul is a dark ploughed field
In the cold rain;
My soul is a broken field
Ploughed by pain.

Where grass and bending flowers
Were growing,
The field lies broken now
For another sowing.

Great Sower when you tread
My field again,
Scatter the furrows there
With better grain.

When I am dying, let me know
That I loved the blowing snow
Although it stung like whips;
That I loved all lovely things
And I tried to take their stings
With gay unembittered lips;
That I loved with all my strength,
To my soul’s full depth and length,
Careless if my heart must break,
That I sang as children sing
Fitting tunes to everything,
Loving life for its own sake.

Into my heart’s treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin, —
Oh better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.

People scare me,
They feel so much,
When they know so little,
They try to control,
When they can't do it themselves,
Love or destruction,
Both are the same they just are different words,
One mans Hero is another ones villain,
With this mentality no wars can be won,
And now everything that's is done,
Can't be undone.

i don't like people
questioning me
looking at me
quizzically
trying to figure me out

don't

there's no rhyme
to my reason
no "aha" moments
to be had

for...
there's no book
more open
nothing more readable
than me

so...
if you want to get to know me

just be

eventually
we'll find each other.

I'm not claustrophobic or
scared of the dark or
scared of people or
anything

Really

I swear

It's just--
I can't go
outside at the
moment can't
get dressed wash my
hair open the door find
my keys lock the door walk
outside just
can't do it right
now

so I trapped myself
here
staring at a screen until

288

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you—Nobody—Too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you know!

How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one’s name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!

my mind is a painter, thinking of colors in the form of stories and scenes
thinking about the brightest of city lights  
streets teeming with foreign language
people passing by with stories i'll never know
silent seas along the coastlines
mountains towering above us, old and wise
cabins in the forest with little firesides  
trains full of strangers to fall in love with
airports with people, greetings and goodbyes
postcard-perfect towns and friendly rivers
neighborhoods showered with pretty autumn leaves...

these are the stories painted in my head, the stories i'd love to paint with my own hands.
the places i'd love to see when i'm alone in my bedroom, the stories i want to see for myself.
and sometimes, i fear i'll never reach these works of art,
but with a brush and some paint, what's impossible?