your music starts and eight counts leave my mind the magic of artistry blends together as twelve individuals move as one months of preparation for a taste of euphoria passion exudes from every pointed toe as their bodies tell the stories of their hearts an honor to behold the wonders of a dancer's soul you run to the wings, overflowing with joy wishing us luck as we admire your performance our team embraces before entering the stage hands outstretched as our music starts

I often wonder whether I am failing myself but then I remember the girl I once was the one who was always the third wheel who carefully planned out and calculated her words only to be talked over when she finally spoke the one who was bullied by her first grade teacher who hated her looks and despised her body
who stared blankly into space until her mind was elsewhere the one who was called useless after trying her best throwing kindness like confetti at people who couldn't care less what would be the look on her face if she found out that I am working at a summer camp as happy as could be holding out my hand rather than being walked over cracking jokes without fear choking me to death opening the lid to my box a little more each day if only I could have washed her tears away hugged her and told her it will be okay

my dad used to say all of the songs were about being seventeen young and sweet, wind in your hair, excitement in your veins and I thought wow, that means seventeen could be my year will my fairy godmother spare a wish? can my rags of hopelessness finally sparkle? maybe seventeen is the excuse I need to be brave to take the shot in the dark if it means finding light to cross the unbeaten path even though tree roots are out to get me to express the love flowing in the canyons of my heart to stop closing doors as quickly as I open them my age is young, but my dreams are old with this next chapter comes stories untold
I've had 536,457,600 seconds of air and don't want to waste one more

she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could

I am troubled by affections
that which you give, but I do not receive
Lost in your eyes; I see you've lost the love

Tragic!
a time you and I were magic
to read thoughts;
words on your mind I could spell
Havoc!
reaping what you sow; a pretty rose from
the garden—pierced hand of thorns

A taste of blandness
blah, blah blah, blah

I must sound like to your ears
my dreams hear you speak ill to peers
In perfect silence, can you hear the sound of a tear

                                        ...these are my tears

Then out of nowhere and at once, the voice stopped.
No lingering feeling of self hate
The questions
The pondering
It all came to a halt
A thing that’s been with me all these years
Came to an abrupt end
Not bitter
Not sweet
Just end
An ending i’ve been hoping, but not waiting on
I didn’t know that there was such a thing
As an end to it

A blabbering, mumbling sorrow of self pity
Or just a mere convenience of a lexicon with words to degrade myself
A daily reminder of how worthless I was
So I would’ve never forgotten my reason
A reason never explained
Never cared for
With a reach of a sovereign hand I touch the notes
Floundering through the air
Playing a floating piano
“A river flows in you”
Caring for unprotected skin

I was waiting for a different ending
An abrupt ending, not like this one
Fingernails not bitten off bleeding
A curious feeling of relentlessness
Not used to the feeling of not being alone

It all came to a halt
A voice that’s been with me for years
A sadness of emptiness is nowhere to be found
A clue to a healthy mind
Maybe a fear of what could’ve been if not the voice left
A sort of trembling worry of who to now complain when I do wrong
An understatement of falling leaves from my tree

I know my family will be glad
Even though I haven’t ever told them bout the pain I contain
Who to be worthy shall never pass
Through my gates of hell
No one is worthy of that pain
Maybe not even me?

I think this was and end worth waiting for

The chill morning brought a first of winter  
snow fall, accumulating upon the branches
of our naked Birches, and stalwart towering
evergreen Spruce trees, coating each in
alabaster, like powdered sugar frosting on
holiday pastries, lovely winter décorations
of the season, compliments of mother nature.

Gone two hours later, missed already.