dark sky happiness

Tonight in her eyes I can see a dark sky happiness, a peace that is natural to her like oxygen to the earth.  She feels a perfect kind of alone, like a grain of sand swept away by the winds of her intellect, blown into a sea of a fitting uncertainty only to settle in the scariest, most beautiful parts of herself.

She builds her shaken soul like a sandcastle, she stands with a strength  won't be destroyed  by the  tide of tomorrow or fade away like a reminder of yesterday. I play with her sunshine, lay on her beaches and skip my deepest secrets like pebbles across the oceans in her eyes. I beg myself for the courage to give her something she might  believe in. I write down her wildest dreams in my soul. I scribble them poetically across the roots  of the every Burch tree that still stands in the forest of her living, breathing diary. I give them a place where they can grow old. 

I swear she bleeds the colors of  the wind for I am almost afraid of her. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks hidden agony is beautiful.What does she see when she watches the rain poor from a gray sky?  Does she cry for the homeless man who's cardboard castle is  doomed to die , or does she grab his hand and remind him how dancing could make him feel like he could fly  I wonder if the pain in her eyes is an allusion. Frightened by the very idea that her scars would be too beautiful to wish away. Afraid that she would heal faster than I could bring myself to understand. We are day and night, the latest part of night and the earliest part of the morning, separated by only seconds, a marvelous end and a beautiful beginning. I am swept up in myself until I loose myself within her  and we cry a perfect purple into the latest hours of the firefly morning.

She breathes angry like wildfire and only cries when she can do so with the majesty of the ocean. She knows she's a drop of rain, a snowflake unlike any other. I know only of her springtime dreams.She wants to nourish the grass just to watch it grow slowly. She speaks  to me as if she is far from herself, like parts of her long to be apart of something to the moon. She's the fog that sits on the horizon. The dew that caresses the grass like it's just waiting to evaporate into the weightless afternoon.She has become the mist that is cast into the atmosphere for sake of making our every encounter a hidden beautiful like the day dream stars in her dark sky evening. She is a natural mystery, I am overwhelmed with a loneliness, the wind blows and the my soul grows weary, she's two inches away and I'm not sure I could scream I love you loud enough for her to hear me.

Reverse Cacoon

Calming are the waves of the ocean of anger  that I willing submerse myself in when I paddle back the hours misery and return to our bottomless conversation.
Remember how you were drowning in disappointment, and my not yet resentful words sink like defective life rafts, we have lost ourselves in a storm of honest helplessness and confusion.

My defense  is the ugliest part of spring time. My values decompose. Parts of myself that you said seemed to fall from my identity like leaves from a tree . There they are sitting in the ground all winter finally molding and decomposing until they can nourish my roots and help me grow stronger. Roots that you refuse to recognize, you're stuck in your own visions of summer time, how could such a beautiful flower die like that? You look at me like I'm some kind of weed you want to pull out of your garden If our roots weren't so intertwined you might pluck me from the ground as if I didn't bud from you. A butterfly that looks like a moth.Our every encounter makes you wonder how I could emerge from metamorphosis like this. You do your best to build me another cocoon.  As if I believe the light in her eyes is the moon and I swarm around them until I they won't light up my world anymore. The world has grown cold and so have I.  How can I be killing everything about myself when I've been constantly stopping my own heart to breathe for you? How can everything that you taught me about my identity be lost when all I've been trying to do is find myself?

I bleed silent agony when I cut myself with the pieces of your broken heart. I cry as if I could heal myself with my own tears, or at the very least harbor my own feelings about what matters to me. Shouldn't I harbor you? Or was that ability one of the things  swept away by the waves of recreation that have caused my soul to erode so  demonically that sometimes we can't speak? If I called you every hour on the hour to say 'Mom, I love you," then might you realize how much I haven't lost sight of myself. 

What if I wrote a book about dresses of glitter and tea cups of butterflies? I would dedicate it to us. I would paint pictures of  cocoons and caterpillars only mentioning beautiful wings and how they grew. I would never mention the art of flight in case that offends you.  Would it heal your heart to know that I remember those things? What part of who I have become shames your maternity? Is it my belief in myself that cuts you the deepest? What did you want for me? Please describe your dreams for me in the the kind of detail that might allow me to stitch together a blanket of  accomplishments big enough to cover all the things you tell me you can't understand. I'd give it to you as a peace offering, warm up my heart and show you how the blood in my veins still runs an oxygen deprived blue and hope with all I have  that you could find a part of me that still believes in you.

How Not to Loose Your Best Friend Step Two

When you finally get the chance to sit down with the friend or group of friends you think you are neglecting don't be afraid to act normal.


What happens when you final have that five minutes to spare to see your old friends? I'll tell you what happens...awkward hellos. "I'm here in this place and you don't know it yet but you've missed me," types of hellos are exchanged. Half smiles are dusted with the confusion that accompanies the thought about why we no longer hug are then expressed. Sit down, it's awkward but you've finally made it back to the place that you weren't sure you could actually return to, you know, that place inside your soul were your best friend lives. Here we are sharing the only common experience I believe I can bring up without sounding too reminiscent....I mean being studious. I can still crack jokes, did you know that? I haven't forgotten that much about our friendship, we were always so good at laughing together. Look at us, pretty soon we're laughing at sexual innuendos and drawing copious amounts of attention to ourselves just like old times. Holy shit, I've missed all of you.

It's still weird the way we all walk away without I love you's or friendly embraces, it still bother's me that I haven't been able to see you all semester, but I'm not  surprised that you looked at me like I'm still the same person you met two whole years ago. Happy Anniversary, Bro. <3