I sit in a paper box,
and straight up.
My body cackles
with my thoughts
and tall aspirations.
Too many to stay still,
flames almost licking the lid above me.
I have this paper box.
It is lovingly folded
but unfortunately encasing.
Written on it is who I am, to others
because I am easy to read.
But I am growing, in blue fire
in the smoke that has no release.
I will find one, a hole
I will make one, to breathe
What is within me will burn through,
the air of opportunity will fill my lungs
and the box
will be replaced with a tower.
High, to the clouds!
that has no top.
The light drizzle in the evening touched my cheeks in a kiss
like how you do, my dear
when life goes amiss.
I had stepped light to the tune of the glad silver lining,
on this cool blue day
I could feel Christmas was coming.
I heard your lovely voice singing of I growing older,
I knew in acceptance and love
this year had left me much warmer.
The hope and the laughs, the dreams yet to become,
I’m building my wings
I’m flying into the sun.
Her laugh pops like fizz in a shaken can,
bubbling, rising, in a release of surpressed glee.
Her eyes, deep brown-
is more eloquent than her speech, that
in anger and in love, sounds through the shutters of her heart.
The physical darkness the skies become
yanks- cruelly, my own shadows.
Through the gates of metal that means to protect,
the rapidly growing rust stains of bad
the wish to be
if ever, if we could.
If we were to dream something realistic, what is to dream at all?
Energy I grow and feel on in the inside
is Tremendously leaking in forced, jerking
shots of inconsistent thoughts and fickle excuses.
the Physical effect shows in my eyes and the
clench is felt in my stomach but either is nowhere as damaging
as the mental repetition of what held, and holds
I dream a beautiful place.
There is music that changes as I change,
communicating my thoughts in instrumentals.
It is never silent as I am never not
in the world that is my mind.
I dream a gentle garden,
where the quiet helps to grow.
I walk through the wisps of my desires that I go to rest
gently, the delicately beautiful secrets of the weaving story I am living.
I dream a world that picks me for mayor,
the sun to never burn and the moon whole in its beauty.
My inner chorus will dance in an endless field and
I am watched
Past dreams prod close, in a proud strut on the fence
between then and the now, a cruel play, a sneer.
They say be a child, and a child I am
I’m the beginning, in ignorance though feigned but still true.
Bliss links hope to stride,
curiosity calls an excited step forward. But-
reason is pulling, with kisses of longing
Caution dressed in care leads in a waltz to the known.
but not needed.
I am blemished.
He knows, and like a snake he slithers in my bed.
like a serpent
A known evil, he goes where I am comfortable
and brushes his forked tongue against my cheek.
and my heart, where my emotions are created he makes a home
too slow to feel the depth
too deep for my lacking height
But I reach anyway.
Paint something happy, watch something creepy.
I thought I taught
'Have I wasted the days I've been given?'
Circling the mind like a vulture in my lifelong sphere,
I can’t tell if good motivation or consequential fear.