Soft bristles, an extension of my fingertips. Bright colors splatter over a bare canvas. My mind finally running free. No words are needed here. Feelings I cannot voice start to blend into one. I search for perfection in the shapes in which I’ve created. But what is perfection when it comes to a feeling? Can a feeling ever be perfect? Perhaps not. And if that’s so why should I tear myself apart for what I create not being perfect, when the root of the creation is not perfect to begin with? To come to terms with such a realization is a feat I may never overcome. But still, I hold my brush with the expectation of such. To smear myself upon gesso with only my judgment to bear.

Too fast are the leaves changing from green to orange when I have yet to soak up the warmth of the sun.

Over and over and over again. I climb my way up just to fall back down. I’m tired. So tired. Just for once I want to stay at the top. Where the wild flowers flourish and the sun warms my skin. It’s so cold here at the bottom. A ravine I’ve grown familiar with. I want to learn the sky. To be one with the birds and stars. Mud is caked under my nails and smeared through my hair. I've befriended these rocks that support my fall. But I want more than the chill they offer.

Everything is falling apart just before I could put it together. I’m scrambling for pieces of a puzzle that never existed. This isn’t how it should be. I was so close. It was illuminated in the moon light and now the phases have gone dark.  My lungs burn, screaming for air only to fill with the inky sky around me. No stars in sight as I spiral down. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I had it figured out. Or so it seemed. I thought I was certain. But once again I’m shown how I can’t trust my own judgement. I’m lost in the void of what I want to be true and what I thought was true. Is there a difference? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t.

what am i supposed to do when my heart hurts at the thought of you.

The sun combusts. A million flames reaching out to caress the earth. Destruction in the softest touch. And the moon burns brighter, from silver to gold. The oceans dissipates as the trees bow into the dirt. The earth quakes, cracks and breaks in pieces. Clouds of ash float by, harsh against sapphire sky.

Up in the clouds but I’m afraid of heights. I wish so desperately for my feet to once again touch solid ground. The silence is deafening up here and I wish to hear the birds song once more. The warmth of the sun wraps itself around me in comfort. But it’s not the same without cool moss underfoot. Only if I were to fall from the sky, but the fog has too much of a hold on me. The stars keep me company night after night as the moon begins to fade away.

Who are you? Who are you really? Not just the you that your family and closest friends know. Even that you is changed and deformed by those around you. I want to know the you that has only been touched by the moon and stars and the darkest parts of the night. When the sun dips below the horizon, and ink floods the sky. What is bared on your flesh that the sun hides? what song do you sing with the wolves while the birds nest?

The sun dripped gold onto the cool damp earth. Warmth spread as dewy moss glistened. Birds sang, their breath dancing on the wind.

Who are you? Who are you really? Not just the you that your family and closest friends know. Even that you is changed and deformed by those around you. I want to know the you that has only been touched by the moon and stars and the darkest parts of the night. When the sun dips below the horizon, and ink floods the sky. What is bared on your flesh that the sun hides? what song do you sing with the wolves while the birds nest?

I am afraid of the power in which I possess. It is golden and bright. Soft and steady. With it, I can create wondrous worlds. In these worlds, soft, warm sandy beaches can stretch for miles along the deep blue, salty sea which glows orange with the setting sun. Or maybe there's a cool deep forest, with spongey, damp moss covering every inch of the earthen floor. Trees with their rough bark tower into the sky, their lush canopy creating a cover from the blazing sun. Peaceful are the worlds I can create. But this power is also dull and gloomy. Harsh and unpredictable. With it, I can take these peaceful worlds and destroy them as easily as a piece of paper torn from an old notebook. The sand turning ablaze, burning to the touch. The sea can turn feral, wave crashing into the shore, ripping whatever it grabs back into the ravaging tides. The trees could burn, turning the forest into nothing but sickening ash. Or maybe they get cut down, having been deemed more useful for something other than protecting the forest floor which has turned brittle, dried up in the harsh sun that has been let loose. I must cage up my power. Despite the good and bad. If I create too much, who's to say I won't destroy just as much, or maybe more. I must have control, but it is so tempting to release. to see what I can build, just to tear it down. This boredom swirling around me is starting to thicken. The soft whispers are getting louder. Creation is starting to sound like destruction. When the fog clears I wonder which one I will have chosen. To create. Or to destroy.

My stupid brain. Tearing you apart, in spite of my heart. I ache for you but do not deserve you. You are good, sweet, and kind. So I tear you apart, amplifying the smallest pieces to create a problem from nothing. In an attempt to make you bad. I don't deserve the good you bring to me, my brain yells at my heart, while my heart weeps for what it wants so dearly. My stupid, wretched brain. There is no need, can't you see, to tear them apart as you do. We are allowed to have the good, so, please. You stupid brain. Do not tear them apart any longer.

I am bound to this earth, like feathers to a bird. Only for a moment do I let myself fall into the clouds, to dream of other worlds. Slowly I am brought back into my flesh. The roots of my feet keep me steady on cold, damp soil. I cover myself in blankets of moss, to dream once again under an ink splotched sky.

I’m going to build you up, just to tear you down. I will care for you, and love you, and make you the happiest you’ve ever been. Just to take that care and love and tear it all to shreds. Then all the memories of us will be but ashes on the wind.

How am I to know what's right from wrong when all the reasons blend into one.

we may be ourselves, but we are also others. built by each passerby whether we realize it or not. it takes but a glance or even a breath for their essence to become part of who we are.

It has been a year since I last got to hold you in my arms. You still walk this earth, but the missing you feels as if you have left it.

A cool wind rustles the spring leaves as they slowly combust.

how does one create without the weight of the world? how does one use such a power without being drained? every time I create, a great sadness washed over me. how do i create a feather when all my tools are rocks?

A deep gold falls over the horizon. Or is it rising? Where does it go as it fades to blue?

There are two sides to a coin, and mine is always in the air

Constellations light up the inky sky. Each with a story of their own to tell. All connected through seeming specks. What is written in the stars is as old as time. So how can I doubt that which shines as the story of us unfurls like vines.

My heart longs for something that I can not yet grasp. It aches in my chest, and down to my fingertips. Reaching for something that is not yet in sight, or might never be.

What am I supposed to do when my heart begins to break at the thought of you.

I am scared. Scared of losing you. Scared that I may have already lost you. Scared that things will never be the same between us. My heart aches at the thought of you gone from my life. I'm sorry it took so long for me to realize what you meant to me. I understand if you hate me for it. My mind and heart are forever too late. Too late in feeling, and too late in knowing.

I'm sat here in ruins.
Ruins of the earth, and ruins of myself.
Which one is worse? I cannot yet tell.

I don’t want to feel anymore. This pain has wrapped itself around my heart. Its roots expanding through my whole body. Spreading up my spine and into my brain. Taking over my senses. Polluting my thoughts. My body aches, my heart breaks, and my mind thinks. Too much does my mind think. It thinks and thinks until all I can think to do is to rip myself apart. To expose my veins, the roots that lead to my pain. To my heart that still manages to beat. To my brain that is the cause of it all. For if I didn’t think, I wouldn’t feel at all.

I am trapped behind concrete walls and steel bars. The air burns my lungs with car exhaust and cement. Shades of gray cloud my vision and light dulls the dark. Where is the soft grass and the tall trees? The smooth earthy air that embraces my lungs with every deep breath? The blue's and green's and a night sky freckled with stars? For they were home, and this is not.

Your comfort is too comfortable.
Suffocating even.
I need air to breathe,
but the box you hold me in is as solid as the love you say you have for me.

Not quite black, not quite blue, but more of a hue in between. Sprinkled with glitter, oh how it shimmers at a glance.

Let it out, let it go.
Like a breath. In. Then out. Then gone.
Let it out, let it go.
You can't keep holding them in. The screams. The pain. The tears.
Let it out, let it go.
You're only going to hurt more bottling everything up the way you do.
Let it out, let it go.
The words. The silence. The heart, mind, and soul.
Let it out, let it go.
The tears need to fall. The screams need to be loosed. The pain needs to be shown.
Let it out, let it go.
The words need to be heard. The silence needs to be heard. The heart, mind, and soul needs to be freed.
Let it out, let it go.
Out of the bottle and into the wind.

Love is a terribly beautiful thing. It has the ability to build you up and then tear you down without a moments notice. Despite all the hurt love can cause, you should never be afraid of it. Love is worth the risk of being hurt.

You can’t tell me how I feel. You aren’t under my flesh. You can't tell me what to think. You aren’t inside my head. You can’t speak for me. You aren’t my lips or tongue.

Deep in the forest, through the leaves, and under the moss covered trees, is a whole new world full of life, light, love, and mystery. They try to hide it from you though. They don't want others to find out what hides under the tree roots. It's their lovely little secret that they must protect at all costs. I see why they would want to hide it. It is beautiful. There is no fear, and the only tears are from too much laughter. Flowers bloom all year, and the rivers are crystal clear. The mystery lies in how? How does all this exist deep within the earth? How does one get to such a place? Well, I'll tell you. You just have to keep it a secret. They love their secrets. First, you have to go into the forest, but don't bring anything with you. Only yourself, and yourself only. Once in the forest, listen. The birds will lead the way. Hum along to their songs. That's how you gain their trust. Trust is the important part. Without trust, you will gain no secrets. Secrets are the key to a world built by secrets. The more secrets you learn by the bird's song, the better. Follow the birds through the forest until you reach the stream. You'll know the stream when you get there. It trickles on and is dark enough that you can see the bottom. Trying to wade through the stream is not wise. You'll most likely drown. There should be a rock in the middle of the stream. Jump, and hope you don't slip. It is good that you cannot see the bottom. Try to make it to the rock and then to the other side of the stream in one fluid motion. Don't stop on the rock. Once on the other side, you will no longer hear the birds, for you have learned all you can from them. Keep going forward. Soon you shall see bits of crimson fur popping in and out of the bushes. Stop. Hum the songs you learned from the birds and wait for Red to reveal himself to you. If twenty beats pass you by with no Red, turn back and go home. Fast. You don't want them to catch you lingering. However, if Red does show himself, bow, and bow deeply. With courtesy of course. It is a great honor should Red show himself. There is no mistaking Red. You feel it heavy within your gut, and tingling in your toes. Follow him as he turns to leave. If you let him out of sight, turn back home. And go swiftly and silently. If they hear you, you are as good as gone. If you manage to stay with him, he will lead you to an ancient willow tree, its branches reaching far and wide. You are almost there. To the world in which you seek. Now you must tie a piece of yourself to the Great Willow. A piece of clothing. Hair. A breath. But the Great Willow must accept you first. Walk up to the base of the tree, carefully, watch your step. Lay your hand gently on the cool rough bark. If pain flickers through your hand, back away slowly. Red will lead you back to the stream. Thank him generously for the safety he grants in doing so. If there is a warm tingling sensation that flows through your hand and into your body, congratulations, the Great Willow accepts you. Take three steps back. If you are wearing shoes, discard them so your bare feet are in contact with the lush moss that covers the forest floor. The ground will rumble, do not fear. It is just the Great Willow unearthing her roots to give you access to the world below. Thank Her as you pass below her roots down into the cool damp earth. The darkness will not last long. Your path will soon be lit up with foxfire and ghosts. A green hue that casts long shadows as you wander down the soft dirt path. A door of moss and bark will be at its end. The key lies deep. Reach for it and it will find you. Once you have the key, the door will open before you.  Congratulations. You made it to the world full of life, light, love, and mystery. Walk carefully. The roots breathe beneath the earth here.

Upon a hilltop deep in the woods, there lies an iron box. Red and rough. They say that all the worlds secrets lay in this iron box. But no one knows for sure. Many have tried to open this box, all have failed. Men and woman. Boy and girls. All have tried to open this box. There is nothing to show for it though. Not even the tiniest of scratches have been left on the box by all the tools that have been used to try to open it. Today there is yet another crowd surrounding the red rough box that lays on the hilltop deep within the woods. People with axes and crowbars try their luck. Still, the box remains whole. A young boy makes his way through the crowd and stands before the box. An older man chuckles at him and holds out his crowbar. "Want to try?" asks the man.
The boy shakes his head and steps closer to the box. Gently he lowers his hand on to the top of the box, his eyes flutter closed. The box glows under his hand. The soft yellow light flows over the box until the whole thing is glowing that soft yellow. A click sounds and the boy pushes the top of the box off. The whole crowd is silent as they watch the boy. How he opened the box with a gentle touch.
"How did you do that?" the man with the crowbar exclaims to the boy.
"I just asked the box to open." the boy responds before he slips his way back through the crowd away from the box.
Quickly the crowd pushes and shoves, trying to get closer to the box to see what is inside the box. What the world's secrets are. But when they get to the box all they see is a single white feather.

There is an empty space. In time. In me. And in you. It's a type of emptiness that's hallow and distant. But still in reach and full. Hallow of empathy, distant from warmth. Full of disdain, and close to the cold. It lurks on the very edges of what we hold close and dear. Waiting. Watching. Ready to take a hold of you.

I can't say these words I want to say. They lump in my throat and I am forced to swallow them once again. Why can't I say them? They are just words after all. I can't say them to you or anyone else. Not even a whisper of them to myself. So I keep them locked up in my head where they swirl around making me dizzy. Being dizzy on your own words is the worst kind of dizzy. A fog clouds your mind. In this fog is the words you want to say, along with possibilities of the replies you would get from them. The conversations swirl and swirl until your sick. Sick of the words. Sick of yourself. Sick of the world. Don't swallow your words until your dizzy, sick. Until your head and heart hurts from all that you can't say. All the possibilities of what could be because of those words. Don't become dizzy, sick.

Blue smoke swirls around me filling my lungs with despair.
My eyes burn as the tears that swell threaten to spill over.
The smoke is heavy and pulls my body to the floor
Knees. My mind floats to somewhere else.
Palms. The tears drop, racing down my cheek.
The smoke closes in, heavier and heavier
until I'm coughing up blue as an ocean opens up below me.

Fall or Fly?
Earth or Sky?
Fluffy clouds that disperse throughout the bright blue sea.
A chill breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees
which flourish in the cool earth.
Water falls from the clouds in the sky that build the sea
which nourishes the earth.
Earth or Sky?
Fall or Fly?

Green was the soft lush floor that cushions the feet.
Green was leaves that rustled in the warm breeze.
Green was the waves of the roaring ocean.
All of which were beckoning me home.

Only with clear leaves can we see the sky through the trees.

My dreams stretch as far as the horizon.
But what is beyond that
I do not know.
I must reach further
Beyond the mountains
To see what lays
Beyond the horizon.
Do my dreams stop here?
Or is there more depth to them
Than I realize?

Everything was on fire. The bright red-orange flames danced about lapping at his legs and arms but didn’t burn. Black smoke swirled around him, beckoning him to breathe in letting it fill up his lungs. There was screaming in the distance but he couldn’t make out the words. The flames had him hypnotized by their beautiful dance

If home is where the heart is, then by that definition, I have no home. For I have lost it in a sea of self-hatred that was rained upon me by the words of others until I drowned in them and made them my own

People pave over their path and line them with billboards telling others it’s the only path of life. I’ve stepped off the cold pavement and wondered past the billboards. I have found moss warmed by the sun under my feet and flowers lining either side

Whoever told you time heals wounds, they were lying. Time doesn't heal wounds. Time just adds things to them. Covering them up. They are still there. The wounds remain no matter how many distractions Time adds. No matter how many things Time has piled over a wound it can take only one thing for all those coverups to dissipate. Time only distracts you from your wounds. You must heal your wounds. Because in the end there is only you. Time can’t heal you. You have to heal yourself

Home is where you are supposed to feel whole.
Home is supposed to be your anchor to keep you grounded.
It's supposed to be a safe haven, somewhere when everything else feels wrong in the world, you can go home to shield yourself from all the hurt that is being thrown at you.
Home, people say, is their happy place.
Where their heart feels content.
They say "Home is where the heart is".
If that's true then my house is not a home.
My heart is not content at my so-called "home".
I do not feel at home in my house.
When I am home, I am longing to be somewhere else.
I feel homesick.
But homesick is longing for home after being away.
But I am home. I feel empty.
My heart aches to be somewhere else so much, it causes physical pain in my chest.
But why do I feel this way?
I am surrounded by members of my family.
So why don't I feel at home?
Maybe I left my heart in a house before,
Or maybe it's in a place I have yet to be.
Do you know what to do when your house is not a home?
Or when you don't know what your heart longs for?
Because I don't