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.

A Little Obnoxious, Actually

There's no song I can sing to bring you back.

Melodies dance,
Little notes that call your name.
They spring from my heart,
They come to my lips,
No matter how I fight them, they're there.
My heart is chalk full of songs for you.

Soulfully I sing them,
The happy little notes content
to orchestrate my sorrows
As if you could hear them.

Why won't they bring you back?
Bits of my very soul are forced through
As the songs burst from my heart!
Shouldn't that be enough?
Enough to prove that I'm qualified,
That I have just as much a right to be happy,
As any other ridiculous person on this ridiculous planet?

Course not.

But I keep on singing.
Blazing notes and phrases
Still springing up and bubbling over
Softly,
A little obnoxious, actually.

But there you go, I suppose.

You just aren't coming back.

But I'll sing your songs

Almost and Always

Success is not set in stone.
It’s not always in the eye of the beholder,
But when it is, it’s easy to please.

It doesn’t really matter how many times,
It doesn’t seem to matter how hard,
You are trying.
What matters is doing the thing right.
Or how much fortune follows you.

It seems easy enough.
Until you’ve given it your all and realized
That you have no idea
What the right way is
To find success.

People tell you that it’s spelled out,
Clear in writing,
That for you, it’s not so hard.
They think that they know
Everything.
That they can say words to help you.

Sometimes you wonder if they’re right
If they really do know how it is
And you’re just too small,
You are just too blind
To see the truth.

But how can anyone know?
How can someone profess to know
Everything about you?
How you think,
How you work,
The things of the past that haunt you.

Success comes almost always.
If you try, if you aim at it well enough,
You might just get there.
But Almost sits calmly,
Constantly sharing the picture
With Always.

That is what they don’t know.
Success does not always come.
Not even to the skilled,
Or the fortunate.

Not even to those who need it most desperately.
Or those who most deserve it.

Success is not always.

And when it isn’t,
Grace intends for us to learn
Failure
With patience.