I've got love pooling in my finger tips.

It pounds itself out gently through little white keys,

All the while it dreams of leading my hands toward your soft hair, 

Your perfect face that can only try to distract from the brilliance of your whirring mind,

Hoping that it might brim enough to finally force the words

"I love you."

They live just behind my lips,

Belonging to you, but too shy of you to risk an appearance.

They will wait, I suppose,

Until the love in my fingertips brims

And the glow growing behind my ribs shines through my eyes.

The Little Stone Fort

There's a little stone fort in my chest.
I come out once in a while to plant flowers,
And sometimes I draw water from the well.
I try not to stay outside for very long:

It's dangerous out there.

Despite my greatest efforts, I'm often stolen away by beauty.
My own attention deficit breaks me down more than anything.
I'm easily caught up in the stars, or the low burning sun.
I think the sunsets are my favorite:

Colors are so limited within my walls.

I don't worry too much when I get lost.
Rarely does a living soul pass my way,
And when they do, the well isn't far from my door.
It's nice to breathe the air, to observe life once in a while:

I love to watch my flowers grow.

I was almost used to my joyful monotony,
Used to curling up alone and safe in my little fort.
Whenever so much as a shadow crossed my path before the well,
I could retreat knowing my flowers would wait:

They needed me. I mattered to them.

After everything and everyone, all the loss and regret,
My little flowers growing mattered more than anything else.
But things tend to change unbidden.
I was safe, alone at my well and caught up in brilliance:

This sunset clearly a tribute to fire.

I was absorbed by the spectrum, unguarded and uncaring.
I didn't even realize my bucket was missing.
There was no pulling away from the colorful harmonies.
As the sky fire began to fade, I bumped back to reality with a pang:

The music may have complimented the sky, but it wasn't painted with it.
There was a humming behind me, and the sound of water falling happily to the ground.
I turned around and there you were, watering my flowers,
Humming and contented to be a trespasser in my garden.

I was appalled, to say the least.

I felt betrayed by the sunset!
How could it let you slip by me so easily?
How could you have come between my fort and I,
And all the while watering my...

Flowers. You were stoking my little fireworks, helping them grow.

They were happier than I'd ever seen them before that night.
They swayed, calling breezes to make them dance to your little tune,
And suddenly I was enchanted.
I stood there as I watched you, absorbed your little song...

It was as if you'd rewound the sunset.

I don't want to go inside my fort anymore.
It looks dark and lonely now.
I mean, your voice is so warm and my flowers so happy.
I think I'd be blind if I tried.

Especially after the light of you.

Pull Me

Sunlight on the ocean.
It glints and glimmers, almost blinding.
The sun rises in your eyes and the brilliance forces my gaze to

Your smile.

A refuge from the night.
After a long day with the wolves, I need it-
The warmth and comforting sound of

Your laughter.

Music with the power to spread joy.
It echoes into my heart and pulses through me,
Urging me to search out and enter

Your heart.

The central core, that most vital piece.
Everything you are, everything you love, in one place.
The only thing more beautiful than

Your mind.

A dazzling, wondrous circuit board.
It brims with knowledge, with original thoughts,
Inspires me to dream, and I dream about

Your arms.

A better home, a secure place to be.
Finally, a place I might be able to weather the storm,
If only I were brave enough to hold your hand.

You'd never have to be alone.

I care what you have to say.

I always have,

And I always will.

The Edge of the Wind

I find myself floating about in a moment of serenity.
I'm surrounded by naked trees, too sleepy to notice the cold.
My feet find their discarded clothing in a colorful carpet, and my heart finds joy in each crisp step.
My body is the champion of this hide and seek.

The air is still and grey, almost permeable.
I want nothing more than to touch it,
I know that here other fingers wait, just hidden behind these veils of mist that enchant me.
For a moment, silence sings about how small this world is.

I hear a rushing in the distance.
It breaks the silence, and I turn to find the source.
It grows louder, and suddenly my eyes light upon a mass rolling towards me.
A mass of twisting swirling fallen tree clothes.

The edge of the wind has found me, and it's racing ever closer.
I steady myself, willing my feet to throw roots deep into the ground and hold me in stillness.
The stillness that I know will soon be a moment passed.
The mass, the wall of brilliantly colored leaves, rushes and cascades as the ocean courting the moon.
For a moment there is nothing but the wall and I, just two beings in the entire universe.

The stillness shatters and the rush of power and sound nearly fragment me along with it.
My roots do just enough to keep me upright, and I'm not afraid.
I feel jagged leaf edges kiss my cheeks and caress my hair, leaving tiny red memories behind.
The stinging love doesn't faze me.
The wind simply wants to remind me how green the leaves were,
And how sad they are to have died.

Saving the world.

"I'd like to think I'd do this anyway, but I know that right now I'm saving this stupid world because you're in it. That's all that really matters."

As I grow into my big girl shoes, I'm beginning to fear that this man and his wonderful words only exist in my dreams.

Once in a while, though, just when all seems lost, another hero comes along to give me some hope and remind me that not everyone is looking to take.

The man who wields those dream words, the hero I'm out hunting for, will never leave me with nothing. No matter how much everything I give him, he'll give me everything right back.

I think that's worth saving the world for.

Stairs

Here I climb my solitary stairs,
Tired and sweaty as I grow.
I’m not sure where the climb began.
I can’t remember what the first stair looked like
Or what it felt like when my feet weren’t sore.

For all the time trapped in my mind I have marched:
Up and up, around and around these spiraling stairs,
Unsure where they lead.
I know it’s there though, the end... Of climbing anyway.

There’s something better up there, beyond the stairs.
A place of rest, I think,
Rest from the climbing.

The journey is not monotonous.
Some stairs have been broken before me… Abused.
Sometimes I crumble them beneath my own feet.
It makes it harder not to fall.

I’m tired and sweaty as I grow
Taller, maybe a bit wiser. Definitely more wary.
I watch more and more carefully for jutting crags,
For boulders and gaps in the stairs.
You’d be surprised how invisible they become on these foggy flights.

Sometimes I want to stop, just rest a while,
But when I look back I see that the stairs are gone,
Vanished behind me and fading beneath me.
There is nothing, or the climb.

The end is something I can’t see
I don’t know where it is,
I don’t know what it will look like,
And yet I feel no fear.

I hear whispers about the end.
They say many different things.
Here it is bliss, here it is torment,
Here it is even nonexistent: the stairs just stop then nothing.

It might be true, that last one.

Though I like to muse it's everything,

Nothing wouldn't be so bad.

I could return to the nothing and dream forever.

But for now, at least,
I am tired and sweaty as I grow.

I will climb.

Excerpts from the world between yesterday and tomorrow.

The sun is brighter than usual when you're around.
It's like your laugh makes it smile.
The sound always makes me glow a little,
Wakes me up in the middle of the night with a joy that breaks my heart.
My dreams aren't the best artists, they never quite capture the magic of it.
Someday you'll laugh for me again, but until then I'll wake up sad.
It's so much better than forgetting your laugh altogether.

---

Once in a while I battle dragons.
Sometimes they take me down, but that's only when I don't have you to fight for.
I conquer mountains of enemies in the night for all of you.
Suspenseful dreams are only nightmares when I can't rescue my little world.

---

Songs try to write themselves at night.
I don't know why, but I love the sad ones best.
Maybe it's because they're familiar?
More likely it's that they've survived not being okay.
The loop of familiarity and denial is a deadly constant, but a constant it is.

---

Thoughts like to think that they're slimmer than they really are.
The maximum occupancy of my mind is always pushed to the brink when I lay my head down.
For me, rest has always been a shy little creature.
I think it's afraid to join in, to create a place within my mind to make an impression.
I look forward to the day it calls ahead for reservations.
Until then I hope my thoughts try a diet.

Maybe

Maybe I’ll be taken back
To cleaner spaces
Familiar, bright
Maybe they will steal me away
To much happier places
Of warmth and light.

Maybe I’ll find peace again
Within my soul,
My heart might mend.
Maybe those I love and miss
Will remember me,
And the pain will end.

Maybe I won’t make it through
This harsh new task,
The darkness pressing.
Maybe friendly blackness wraps around
This girl at last
A better dressing.

Maybe I can fight it away from me,
Though sad and scared,
Not solitary.
Maybe I will grow up stronger,
Choose to move on
And not to tarry.

Maybe I will be okay
Though life keeps throwing
Bricks at me.
Maybe because I’ll find someone
Who needs this girl
And we’ll just be.

Lamplight

I huddle in lamplight that emanates gently from above, seemingly present only to wrap itself like a blanket over my shoulders. I am in dire need of the comfort. There seems to be a misunderstanding: I am not here to hurt anyone. From the get-go, from the very first breath that I took of this planet's less than fresh air, I only desired one thing. I never wanted the mistakes that are inevitably made within this accursed world, I never wanted the regret and misery that come with them. All I ever wanted was to love and to help, to be a warrior of light and a bringer of peace to my fellow short-term residents. At this I have failed, and my failure claws at my burning skin.

I know that I'm alone here. Eyes may try to pry through my veil of lamplight, but I know that the glowing blanket is an effective and impenetrable shield against them. I can stand here hugging my arms tightly to myself, holding myself together, in complete solitude. Never mind the blackest of mistakes I've made pressing in on all sides, never mind the red and burning pain that I have given others without intent. What has been done cannot be undone, and I know now that trying will get me no where. It does not matter that my sole desire is to set things right, better than right if I can. It doesn't matter that my heart has been broken time and time again by my own free will. All that matters is I've found this kind lamp to hold me here and to keep me safe. I need time to regrow the limbs that have been bitten off by the wounded dogs as I've tried to make amends. Here, I think, is the place to find myself again.

Seconds, days, months go by before I begin to think again. Time means nothing to the gentle glow and I. However, I soon realize that I am truly and completely alone. No one has told me what to do, where to go. No one has appeared to heal me or to hurt me. This revelation neither inspires nor discourages me. It simply sets my hitherto blank mind on the path of thought. I look down at my tiny self, soft and sore looking in the lamplight. Scarred. Torn. I am bruised and tattered, and worry touches my mind. Am I frightened that I've been injured, or am I afraid to know that I can be broken? That I am not, in fact, invincible. As I gaze down at my wounds, my eyes fall upon my hands... Bloody. The emotion this awakens surprises me. Rather than guilt or fear, I simply feel disappointment settle itself into my heart. The blood is, in fact, mine.

The truth hits, and it hits hard. I am unbalanced, and I retain my ground only through the soft warm support of the lamplight glowing around my tattered frame. No one has hurt me, and I haven't harmed another. The pure misguided intent behind my actions, the offense I've taken at those of others, these are the knives that have cut me, have made me bleed and cry out for comfort. The souls that suffer for my ignorance fall only at their own volition. I am disappointed at my little hands. Why have they blamed me for the pain of the world, why have they not defended the little body they were to cherish?

As these thoughts begin to flow through my dammed and muddied mind, the scars begin to fade. The cuts and abrasions, the bruises and the broken bones all melt away, leaving behind nothing but the warm glow of lamplight upon my skin. Finally, as I stare at the tiny appointed defenders in awe, the crimson of my self infliction vanishes. Clean hands.

After what must have been a millennia, what must have been no time at all within my tiny cloak of comfort, my muscles relax. I stand tall and gaze around me. Black and red still swirl and dance around each other, a mass still intent upon breaking through my glowing protection. I start as I realize there is no lamp post beside me, no glowing globe above me. Where has my lamp, my protector, gone? But the light remains, still soft and warm and hardened against the blackness.

I look down once more at my own form, still bathed in brightness, and it is now that I understand what the source of my glowing protection is. A little bubble of joy grows within my chest. It rises and expands until it finally bursts from me, becoming laughter and purpose. The glow, the safety that envelopes and protects me comes not from outside, not from above, but from within my own heart.

I feel the peace within me wash outward and the swirling chaos falters. I walk on.

I'll let you smash my dreams all over again
And that's just on the premise of a maybe.
But no matter how this love story ends
You will always drive me crazy.

I've Got Some Leaky Emotions.

I've got some leaky emotions.

They drip into everything I do and say,
They cause a lot of problems this way.
It's hard to control
I need someone who knows
How to fix them.

They're all sorts of brilliant shades
Crazy colors and levels of greys.
They're nice to see,
But restraining 'em can be
Quite the challenge.

They once stayed locked in tight,
All the plumbing was set up right,
All the colors controlled,
It was no effort to hold
Them inside me.

I would like to share a story
About a bit of long lost glory
When the colors failed,
Chaos prevailed
To loosen the pipes.

There was once a little girl
Who didn't know much of the world.
She was brave and tall,
Though outside she looked small
As a pixie.

She knew there was darkness around her,
But she also knew not to surrender
To the pain that was had
Every time mom and dad
Started shouting.

One day she felt something was wrong,
Mom and dad weren't getting along.
The tension filled air
Was a whole lot to bear
For her smallness.

She watched as daddy stormed out the door.
It slammed more finally than ever before.
When she asked mom, "Where's dad?"
Mom looked more than just sad,
She looked broken.

Mom slowly sunk down to the floor
Said, "Mom and dad are getting divorced."
The girl's insides broke
As mom held her close
They just sobbed.

All of her shining new pipes were crushed,
And her colors ran together like mush.
It was black and brown
And aesthetically loud
And confusing.

Now, it's been a very long time,
Yet the memory burns in my mind
Of a small pixie girl
Who watched her whole world
Fall to pieces.

Over time the pipes found their places
Though they're rusty and a little misshapen.
They do their job fine
And keep colors in line
Almost always.

But once in a while I trip
And my silly old pipes start to drip,
I see colors too bright
And it's real hard to fight
Back the tears.

I know that I'm not alone,
That we've all had broken bones.
Leaky pipes dripping colors
Help us teach each other
About "strength".

We've all had to weather the night,
That first hard one after the fight,
Where the battle was long,
Foes were almost too strong
To conquer.

But we made it and that's why we're here
All we can do is hold loved ones near
As their colors leak
And their pipes all creak,
Almost talking.

So please know that there's always hope,
That when life gives good reason to mope,
All of those colors we leak,
In silent eloquence, speak
Of our bravery.

Unwelcome Moon

Moonlight peeks through my curtains: I think she's trying to remind me of something. It's kind of like that day on your calendar that you starred or circled a while back, but now that it's here you can't remember why you marked it.
Normally her rays would be welcome in my room, but tonight she's just rather cold and grey. It brings an undesirably familiar taste to my mouth. Not a bad taste, just a memory-loaded one. The memories are a bit too pleasant.
I cuddle more deeply into my covers and try to ignore her. What can she do, really? She can't force me into remembering anything! She doesn't even have her own light to give, it's all just borrowed from the sun. Cheap, borrowed beauty...
I was in love with the moon, once. But then again, I suppose that was when the moon loved me.

Beating Heart and Lullaby

Here, my dear,
I lay you down with a lullaby
And ask it to send you to sweetest dreams.
I want them to carry into your tomorrow,
To bless your day with hope
And with safety.

As I hold you close
The memories we've made seem like dreams:
Tangibly unreal and beautifully imperfect.
They're knocking at the bedroom door,
Slipping beneath it and into the seams of our lullaby.
There is peace here,
Peace made specially for you and I.

Your heart keeps rhythm for me,
More a feeling than a sound.
It's beats are beyond precious:
They tie me to the world and give proof of your life.
They are proof that dreams are reality
And that maybe reality lies tucked within our dreams.

Here, my dear.
Here I am drowning in dreams,
Immersed in lullaby and memory as it slips under the door.
Here I settle into the unfounded hope that this,
This dream and this night,
Will never have to pass.

The notion that You and I,
Beating heart and Lullaby,
Can stay like this forever.

As I Sit In Science Class

As I sit in science class
Laughing at the galaxy
My professor makes the dullest things
Seem so completely interesting

It's nice to feel like I am smart
Like I can understand
The thousands of discoveries
That till now've been made by man

We Are Broken?

You never know how broken a person is. It’s nearly impossible to find a someone who is willing to listen to the truth about the darkness that has enveloped and shaped an individual. It’s strange, but we enjoy our pain in a way. We like to think that no one else has experienced our hurt, that we alone know the depths of sorrow. Each of us wants someone to listen, to hear and appreciate how hard life has been, not necessarily understand or sympathize with us, but to see that we are strong. We want someone to validate our fears and our weak points in a way that we can’t do ourselves. Isn’t it mind boggling, then, just how unwilling the vast majority of us are to listen and hear other’s aches and pains without trying to one-up them? We try to make them feel like their problems don’t matter because ours are so much worse. This is the natural reaction of the human mind.
We are all BROKEN. We all hurt and need healing, we all feel pain that we can’t avoid. There are trials that some of us take harder than others, things that seem tiny in retrospect, but enormous while we are experiencing them. This is the curse that is being HUMAN. Being MORTAL and WEAK. We can bend, we can break, we can change.
But it’s also so beautiful. We are mendable, bendable, breakable, loveable, and endable. We hate, we love, we are passionate, we are instinctive and brave. We fear and we fight. We chase after warmth and light and joy. Whatever and whoever we are, we do what we do and feel what we feel for a reason. Each of us has this grand adventure of a story that would have everyone else on the edge of their seats or cowering back in fear. There are things that an audience couldn’t bear to see, and things that they would pay anything to share in.
As scattered as this is, the main point is to express just how fragile we are. We pretend to be strong, we put on a brave face to impress or to save others from bother. We build thick walls around our delicate hearts and hope in vain that the gesture is enough to shield us from the hurt. We don’t say what needs to be said, we don’t do what needs to be done, and we don’t see what’s directly in front of our faces simply because we fear it. We fear the repercussive pain of rejection that might come about if we offend. We fear the end of things--love, careers, friendships--that haven’t even begun yet. We are all so very fragile.
We are broken. We all need so much love, and yet we all need so desperately to give it.