windchimes & airlines

anchor

my anchor won’t lift as i try to sail away,

leaving me stranded in this dark, rainy bay.

my crew is fighting to get out to sea;

the only thing holding them back is me.

a lighthouse calls from some faraway shore,

but i’ve lost my direction, can’t see anymore.

even the fish scorn my very existence,

spurting bubbles as they watch from a distance.

i lost myself in the construction of my masts,

as they poured out my oil-tank heart,

and turned my mind black.

so now i am stationary, wondering when

i’ll finally feel my heartbeat again.

Utopia

I’ll find a secret place by the chirruping stream,

where rocks are bright blue and trees glow green.

Birds singing like baritones, bears roaring the beat,

in this beautiful land where the air remains sweet.

I’ll find my secret place in a forest full of moss,

a single patch on earth where I will never be lost.

The wake of adventure will nip gently at my feet,

in the calm forest where the world will be at peace.

I’ll discover my utopia on a crystalline beach,

hidden from the world, where no one can reach.

The water will paint the sand purples and teals,

and seagulls will socialize with kindhearted eels.

I know, though, internally, that this place isn’t true

or, at least, it will not be until I first find you.

Princess

I like to pretend I’m a starry-eyed princess,

temporarily stuck in this constructed mess.

My tower is scraping the skies of New York;

escape’s gonna take more than long hair to work.

My companions are pigeons, stray cats, and flies,

but beautiful enough to be loved in my eyes.

My kingdom is made of Starbucks and lawyers,

no such thing as kings or medieval employers.

I’m chained by the words that we speak as we live,

things that take happiness, with no room to give.

I’m restrained by poverty, and kids without love;

but even if I yell, I can’t be heard from high above.

I still make believe that my prince is out there,

and he’ll find me, 

and save me,

when the world starts to care.

barefoot

I walk barefoot in the snow

‘cause I miss the warmth you used to show me

I reread books I can recite

‘cause I miss the way you used to know me

I no longer share my secrets

‘cause I miss the way you kept me safe

I made an island in my heart

because you left me cast away

rhymes

forget rhymes

and verses

and poetry

can’t you see?

i can’t think in alphabets and number lines,

can’t count in minutes or hours or time

i’m thinking in leaves that scatter, widespread

in bursting colors like umber and red

i’m living in sap that gets stuck in my hair,

breathing in feathers that swirl through the air

writing in deep breaths and tears and chewed nails

running on nothing but deep forest trails

feeling through vespers I’ve said years ago

it doesn’t have to rhyme to be poetic, you know

plant life

I think I learned to live a little in the woods out past my place

feet free of shoes, nothing but wind against my face.

I shed my jacket and grew wings that took me in the trees,

nerves not reminding that I was bound to freeze.

I left my socks on branches, white flags in autumn wind,

forgetting every moment of impending sin.

I felt what I can describe as alone but not at all lonely,

pressed against a being, a girl defined as me.

I let my hopes fly, and almost cried as they grazed clouds,

didn’t even care if I was being far too loud.

I blew kisses to bluebirds, and they tweeted back melodies,

whistling to my heartbeat as I nodded off with ease.

I went home within the hour and slammed the door behind,

plant life (or was it hope?) crowding my mind.

To be

To be numb, you must first feel the pain.

To see sun, you must first live in the rain.

To truly live, at times you must feel slain.

After all, without hurt there is no gain.

To be found, at one point you must be lost.

To be worth something, there will be a cost.

To feel warmth, there first must come frost.

Every rebirth was once a holocaust.

To have undying courage, you must know fear.

To understand completely, you must first hear.

Trust in me, and keep these words near - 

for to be in love, you must believe I’m here.

trust

in the backyard where our souls entwined,

I planted a seed, just yours and just mine.

the roots grew, expanded, below our feet,

to far down places where we couldn’t reach.

the buds on the stem grew old and bloomed,

and I was too blind to see, but I was doomed.

the seed of our friendship grew to the sky,

as we sat in happiness, just you and just I.

I was telling you that just a day before,

I’d found another seed, and we could plant more.

so with my heart in my throat, I dug down deep,

planting the secrets we were trusted to keep.

as the roots and the leaves started to fall in line,

I watered the trust, just yours and just mine.

one day I went to water, but found in deep despair,

our seed of trust, so beautiful, not to be there.

all the time I’d spent watering, tending to our seed -

and you’d plucked it out, mistook it for a weed.

I don’t know if I can plant trust

in a garden 

anymore.

it’s just like love

come, hold my hand. it’s just like those years,

when we knew each other without all these tears.

come, walk with me. it’s just like that time

you fell and hurt your knee, so I purposely hurt mine.

come, lead me down. it’s just like that day

we sat on the swings while the sun fell away.

come, hold the door. it’s just like i’m there,

as I thank you shyly, and you tussle my hair.

come, sit by me. it’s just like i’m not obsolete.

and be just friends, young, lost, and sweet.

come, promise me. it’s just like love:

in summer, hand in hand, in winter, glove in glove.

miles mean nothing

Van Gogh painted night with swirling movement,

Salvador created scenes of abstract illusion.

Among the jungle of quixotic brushstrokes,

I fell in love, and my heart slowly awoke.

But you, you’re the master, not just of your brush,

but of painting the world, creating forests so lush.

Of washing hunger away with your watercolors, 

not just painting covers of future bestsellers.

Miles mean nothing when your heart is broad,

roads don’t matter - it’s with your mind that you trod.

Friend, paint the world with words of your heart.

They are the purest form of your art.