dancing to
Clair de Lune
I dreamed of you
choirs sing
church bells ring
waltzing in spring

Debussy and Chopin
mastered my childhood
I loved them but
I spent hours at the piano
perfecting perfectionism
a lesson my teacher made sure I'd never forget
nightmares basked in the moon

in the car
age nineteen
I cross the lines
lyrics mean
more to me
open my eyes

to sensuality non-conformity shades of gray
and the blues
once I only knew black and white keys
now I see
dissonant chords and improvisation
what, not everything is planned and perfect?
showtunes and musicals
I gorged on the meat of their stories
sweet delicacies
the orchestra played music that never sounded more delicious

night descends
first love ends
six years to mend
drinking in
Taylor's blend: acoustic pen

melodious lullabies
familiar comfort
Celtic tunes of magical lands faraway
Chinese songs of my parents' day
they used to play when I wouldn't sleep as a baby
and I fell asleep
writing my way into healing

years have passed
take me back
nocturnes bathed in moonlight
dancing to
Clair de Lune
still I dream
of you

I scribble my brain on paper
crumpled ugly mess that I struggle to form
into something I might understand
maybe one day it will
become
beautiful

there’s magic in this madness
but it takes a lot of belief to hold onto the magic
when the madness drives you to tears
and threatens to destroy your organs
with invisible illnesses no one believes you have
the doctor and your mother think you’re faking it
and your friends say you’re killing yourself with madness
but you believe in the magic they can’t see
it’s all that’s keeping you from mad destruction

I often wonder why I can’t be normal
just be like everyone else who gets married
to simple people in simple homes with simple jobs and simple children
but simple isn’t my cup of tea
Why must I crave complicated people?
friends with Cheshire Cat smiles
charlatans grinning
I always question their motives but I want them to like me anyway

I fall for the Mad Hatter because I can’t figure him out
but I do love a good story even if I knew he’s full of ****
he’s a million piece puzzle
I try to sort through his magical madness
but he’s snuck in extra pieces
and I can’t find the missing ones
he’s hidden them too well
it’s fun to play with him for awhile
until I realize I might love him
so I get scared and leave him
scattered and undone
every time I see him half finished on the living room table
I’m reminded that I failed to complete his bigger picture
I end up throwing him away
it’s as if he never existed
easier to pretend I never started on him at all
yet his madness lingers
adding to my own
so I continue shaping the madness
hoping to find its magic

always chasing the elusive golden butterfly
people see me but I remain invisible
yet the promise of holding the fluttering creature
tickling my palms 
drives the whimsical wallflower to run
the bitter brew of morning is a siren call on my tongue
Taylor Swift's snakes turned into butterflies
perhaps they were never snakes
but lonely and misunderstood like Starbucks lovers
they deserve to feel salty
perhaps it's about embracing snakes rather than chasing butterflies then
papillon sounds much more romantic anyway
the fickle nature of happiness tells us, "Yeah, no, for sure"
which I think is yes but still might be no
and leaves behind the sour odor of last week's spaghetti
instead of chasing 
I think
No. I will commit to becoming
what many find elusive
Golden and Free.

made sure mama recorded the new episode
of sailor moon every afternoon
my eighth grade euphoria got me through homework
love and justice were worth the wait
couldn't discuss my obsession of tuxedo mask
with my friends until school the next day
i had their numbers memorized but never dared call
unless it was about homework
even then i digested my heartbeat when their parents answered
the phone

in those days the popular girls would write lyrics
backstreet or nsync
battled over which was better by
displaying their fandom on the front covers of their
three-ring binders
while i took 3 hours on aol
waiting to download and print pictures
of apolo ohno and michelle kwan
and some pretty boy actor
whose name i don't remember

my friends wrote letters in a morning glory-like
journal we exchanged between us
once a week
the secrets of our heart
random roaming thoughts
current obsessions
eye candy crushes
in fifth period
whatever happened to that journal?
i think it's in a box under my bed

i took a snapshot of us
under the shade of our lunchtime tree
senior year of high school
the last time i used a camera to document
a single moment in time
before instant came into being
before selfies were a thing
and delay faded
a forgotten dream

I.

I’ve always formed an instant bond
with eccentric people
the ones scorned for being weird
by a society focused on coloring between the lines
but I love the unconventional
the oddballs the misfits
minds that are bottomless wells
of inspiration, innovation, creativity
of dreams turned into reality
it doesn’t surprise me
why misunderstood people
prefer to live as hermits
ain’t no use playing piano to cows

II.

take my girl, ms. emily d.
an introvert poet who lived in isolation
she probably preferred
the friendships of her ghosts
the companionship of her thoughts
than to waste time with people
who underestimated her because she was quiet
no use convincing them QUIET doesn’t mean SHY
but then I wonder
if she ever regretted
not falling in love?
did she even try?
or was she so afraid of falling
of failing
she never let herself jump

III.

stop dwelling on the negative
be positive, they say
like you can control your feelings
an on off switch
so I try not to bother them with my emotions
because they’re always annoyed if I’m not smiling
not pretending to be the light giving energy others need
but last summer I visited the moors
following the footsteps of the Brontes
it rained all day
the land shrouded in ghosts of gray
so contrary to my California Sun
and being quarantined now
I empathize
how one can lose sight of hope
it’s hard to keep smiling
when day and night intermingle
until you lose sense of time and meaning
and you get lost in loneliness
lost in your thoughts
lost in their fascination of turbulent men
so lost
it’s terrifying
will I ever see the sunlight again?
will I ever feel love on my skin?
did they wonder if they could tame
the rochesters and the heathcliffs
of unrequited love
did charlotte finally panic?
was that why she settled for something less?
what if I die loveless and unhappy at 38?

IV.

in fourth grade I read
the works of a Canadian darling
dear Maud
so began my love
for Anne and her imagination and romantic
lyrical prose
and the longing to find kindred spirits
who understand
my brand of weird
on my 31st birthday I traveled to the island
for a chance to breathe her air
Maud Montgomery also gave up
on romantic love eventually
his name’s not important but I believe she loved
a man her family deemed not good enough
and he died soon after
no wonder she deemed love tragical
she settled too
when she finally married
at 37
I’m getting there
dearest Heavenly Father, you do realize I’m getting there, don’t you?
but nothing could live up to the ideals of a romantic dreamer
I’m afraid

V.

I’m afraid
falling could mean failure
all my creative heroes died depressed and alone
never discovering the love they craved
the touch they desired
logic says if p then q
or something like that
I’ve never been good with math and logic and that rational ****
but if
they are my kindred spirits
then
am I doomed to share the same fate?