one foot in front of the other, winds race wildly across the plains whipping my hair into a frenzy; sand from painted canyons growing old attacks my unprotected cheeks, mounting a stinging, angry defense
this season has been impossibly hard
my thoughts wander every bit as aimlessly as I do, finding us both in a field in the middle of somewhere out in the middle of nowhere
a plain white styrofoam cup, the kind found on cheap tables in basement group meetings where coffee is stale and...
bring me a fancy time machine I want to go backwards! dial up the bygone days when the emerald grass was cool and waxy beneath my tanned bare feet while cicadas sang loudly, their high-pitched death song the perfect accompaniment to long, hot afternoons spent rubbing buttercups under my still-smooth chin and gulping ice cold water from hot metal fountains after waiting my turn, sweating in the high sun
sitting quietly, my eyes fixed on my motherís slender hands a rare point of connection - my own are miniature replicas; I want to talk to her about this yet I know better than to disturb her concentration
she has always been a bit of a practical witch, perfecting the frustrating art (if her softly muttered curses are any indication) of transformation; turning a ball of soft string into a delicate, lacy blanket is nothing short of sorcery to my budding imagination, and I feel honored to...
clouds made of cotton shuffle languidly across the solid cornflower sky, a perfect canvas marred only by silvery-white vapor with soft brushstrokes in varying degrees of gray blending along their edges, casting shadows on only half my leg as I sit in with my face to the glorious sun, begging for its warmth; the ugly yellow grass crunchy beneath me, winterís icy breath still hanging on by a thread
if words could carve skin as deeply as the cutting edge with which youíve learned to throw them at me, Iíd have long ago bled out
cut to the bone
your weapons honed with razor-sharp precision, tempered in the flames of your lacking; this internal inferno stoked to blazing when you throw whiskey on an already roaring fire with point-blank accuracy, all so you can feel temporarily better, considering
Iíve chopped you into small morsels, and sorted your remains into neat little boxes according to who I think you are, ~food for thought~ while I, myself refuse to be organized by anyone; funny, that
I sift through you, labeling your characteristics and cross-referencing my synesthetic symphony in response to your voice, I catalogue the butterflies that wonít stay still deep in my belly whenever our paths have occasion to cross; I realize this defines me ...
melancholy melody in the midst of brewing chaos, like sad, fat raindrops on old glass windows; youíre afraid to sit too close for fear youíll hear me shatter, unexpectedly drowning us both and youíll feel guilty for having enjoyed my song, soothing your tired, aching soul; youíll feel as though youíve taken a thing I wasnít wholly prepared to give to you; while Itís true Iím far more fragile than you can know, Iím so much stronger than youíve convinced...
I want to say something anything † exquisite, ephemeral words rolling † off my silver tongue to the page, the tendrils of my emotion breathing you in deeply and gently exhaling understanding across your worried face, † leaving you a bit † restless; Iíve struggled against the restraints † of my frantic mind today, staring but seeing nothing † ever since my eyes opened too early this morning † after closing much too late last night; so instead Iíll tell you plainly ...
waiting for the sun to realize itís spring; come on out, my dear my world could use the warmth of your lips on my neck once again stop hiding your bright face behind snow clouds that havenít noticed theyíve more than met their seasonal quota Iím ready for soft green grass beneath my feet and yellow sunflowers turning to seek your smile
if you donít believe in magic tricks, it can only be because youíve never witnessed the muted shades of moss and earth transformed before awed eyes into daffodil and spring leaf as the sun makes his way out from under the covers swinging lazy legs to the floor and dusting off his favorite works of art; stringing crystal drops of dew across the fingertips of petals unfurling in his warm embrace