The Ghosts Upon My Back

I want my wings.

I'm trying to climb out of this place,
This dark that has clipped and torn and pulled out my feathers.
Beautiful feathers woven of innocence and blind belief,
With quills of tear hardened resolve and a wingspan strengthened by how swiftly I've had to fly in order to escape reality.

I want my wings back.

The ghosts protruding from my back are weak and fallible.
They want to be wings, but wings lift you.
These useless things weigh me down, make me heavy.
I am heavy and I cannot climb out of this darkness.

I find menial hope here and there,
Reasons to wait through the dark night to greet the sunshine,
But my feathers grow back slowly.
They grow differently.
They grow with great determination, with wills I didn't know I had.

Wills for others outside of myself
Wills to be strong enough to lift them, us.
To give us hope.
Wills to lift myself,
To escape breezes made of pretty lies and forced morals.

I must climb out of this darkness.

My quills seem to come in more painfully this way, but I shoulder it.
Embrace it.

I must have my wings.

I need to fly out of this place,
This angry pit of shame dug by cons and tricks.
I was deceived into believing that the only way forgiveness can be given is to make payment,
To shore off wings, to sacrifice sons.

The feathers blossoming on these heavy ghosts of mine are pale gold
They are silver and rose colored
Brilliant and shining.
Strong.

I will fly again. I will have wings.

Wings borne, not of innocence, but of knowledge.

Wings strong enough to make me free.

Hashtag

Look at me,

Please look at me.

A voice in this strange void.

Hear me please,

See my words for a moment.

Look at my life,

Am I interesting yet?

Favorited by the same old people.

Look at me,

Just look at me:

Each thought meticulously preened,

Typos eradicated so you know I'm bright,

Each post well worded and witty.

Look at them,

Just look at them!

Are these words good enough?

My voice is gone and I'm alone.

See me!

Look, am I pretty yet?

I think this is the right angle.

A favorite.

A like.

So this is validation?  

Little red notifications

-Empty thrills.

Look at me.

Please, just look at me.

Anyone?

"I do it for you"

Only words, but they turn my world upside down. 

My heart expands and bursts through ancient shackles, and tears roll down my cheeks at the unexpected pain that comes with relief. 

Warmth floods corners of my heart that I'd forgotten exist. 

I had closed those doors, locked memories away within them and forgotten the combinations. 

Now those memories flood out, maddening emotion ripping apart my resolve and drowning the mask that I have convinced myself is me. 

Is this what healing feels like? 

I don't want to pull you into my chaos, but I have an inexplicable and unshakable impression that you will hold my hand as I stumble into and adjust to the light of possibility. 

Of worth. 

Of happiness.

 I'm both elated and terrified. 

Silence

Silence is a rare commodity these days.

Ears ring in the nothing.
Rhythms with no origin fill heads.
The echoless freedom is almost blinding.

Madness comes quickly to the lonesome.
Ideas bloom as the madness seeps.
Or is it madness, this odd new pattern of thought?
Patterns born of rhythms born of nothing.

The influence of chaos lessens as it's studied.
What are we doing, what is this nonsense?
Clothes, hair, stereotypes. Made-up faces.
Lies, really.
Lies photoshopping pretty pictures we'd rather believe:


-Love requires a painted face.
-Our little footprints we leave mean nothing.
-Crowds are objects, cattle, really.
-That brand name on your tag spells out your soul.
-Change is made of cattle prods and needles, is preached by devils.
-We are canvases to be painted by the world.


-We are alone.


A barrage of lies typed out by fearful masses.
In the disconnected silence, they're finally challenged.
Unplugged, staring into nothing,
Alone with the mind,
In company of the stars.

Being stumbles through lines of pure thought,
A light unfettered and unfiltered by chaos
As knowledge unfolds, dawning.


-We are not here to be painted.
-Every print carves safer paths for new feet.
-Each mind in the masses is singular, changing, infinitely precious.
-No soul can be summed up by a generic set of letters.
-Change is not always synonymous with growth, but without it we grow stagnant.
-We are here to paint the canvas of this world.


-We are not alone.


The mind's universe inverses,
Silence carries comfort to the exposed soul.
Thought to be unplugged, it finds itself finally connected,
Finally with purpose.

A return to chaotic, photoshopped lies is not only inevitable,
It is necessary, a responsibility.
Surrounded by the noise, but not drowning in it,
Painting beauty over the anger, order over the chaos.

Because we are not alone.

Silence is a rare commodity these days.

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.