We collect every hope.
Every dream, every wish.
Every visit home.
We gather them in baskets
or cans
or even the cradle of our t-shirts
as we stretch them out and care nothing
for the damage we may cause them.
Damage is a price we pay.
Willingly.
The risk we take.
Gladly.
Damage is a thing we will all carry -
but unlike our hopes and dreams,
eventually we will leave it by the roadside
while the rest
we store away
in boxes.
My brain is aflame as it rains and explains the life insane as it rolls and rocks with urges and thoughts and spills through the thrills of my energized frame. 'Tween the low and the high, I'm piercing the sky with no means to fly but my frantic supply of dreams and drive as I live and I die, minute by minute.
Do you remember that night, the night we first kissed?
Me in my Sunday best, you in that summer dress.
The one I will forever measure your best, till the end of days,
in spite of the countless fashion candidates to follow.
Standing close, your chin on my chest, breath heavy and shallow.
Aware of the spell our hearts were deftly weaving.
When finally parted, I knew mine had been stolen, and I was glad to see it go.
Glad it had found a home.
Glad it was no longer alone.
I knew even if broken, it was the only possible conclusion,
and I accepted it gladly.
Do you remember that morning, the morning we first kissed?
Me watching you rest, you in a state of undress.
The moment I will forever measure our best, till the end of days,
in spite of the countless cherished moments to follow.
The days marched on and life laid heavy hands on promises given.
We played our parts, committed to the script we had written,
but even we lie vulnerable to inner critics.
The future is uncertain.
Circumstance the final curtain.
Even the best intentions can meet the worst conclusion.
Drifting apart, a hole in my chest, breath heavy and shallow.
Aware of the fact our hearts were slowly bleeding.
When finally parted, mine remained stolen, and I was glad to see it go.
Glad it had briefly known.
Glad it had experienced a home.
I knew even if broken, it was the only possible conclusion,
and I accepted it gladly.
Here I sit in my math class, feeling fine, except for my ass.
I stretch, I yawn, let it all hang out, but I get too loose, and my tongue falls out.
There’s a girl on my left, a guy to my right, I shake my head and they watch the sight.
I start to drool, I start to shake, I forget my ass, as my head now aches.
I’m out of control, there’s just no stop, to the gruesome sight - the spit and the slop.
Everyone shouts, and they dive for cover, as I come to a stop, my tongue just hovers.
I look about and see disaster.
I try to run but my teacher’s faster.
He grabs my collar and pulls me back.
I yell and kick, but he gives no slack.
He makes me scrub, he makes me clean, I try to joke but it’s not his scene.
It wasn’t great, it wasn’t a gas, but at least I can’t feel that pain in my ass.
If you dream of flying and I dream of dying, who’s the one crying for help?
You yearn for things, only my dream can bring, while I do not lie to myself.
To dream that you can, do things beyond man is exactly what I myself do.
But you try to clasp what lies past your grasp while I, to myself remain true.
Your fantastical dreams bring your life to its knees
In the end, you must take from yourself.
So, if you dream of flying and I dream of dying, who’s the one crying for help?
The loneliest place you will ever stand,
is on the rocky shore beneath your own skin.
Trapped between your now and the past.
The "who you were" and the "who I am",
the “where you will go” and the “never began”.
An island onto yourself.
Adrift.
Alone.
Alive.
And from the jagged cliffs you will dive
to the darkest depths,
holding tight to the belief
that the weight you have carried for so long,
has made you strong enough to swim.
In these dreams I dream these days
that a secret fear I’d locked away
and hoped to never bring this way
has finally come to call.
I stumble forth from sheets still wet
in sleep I dampened them with sweat
while try I might but never yet
have I made it past these walls.
I struggle now to find a door
and running circles round the floor
my heart it breaks again once more
to hear the echo of my calls.
There’s no door that I can find.
No ladder to the top to climb.
No window shares the sweet outside.
In the corner now, I weep and hide
from fear that wells up deep inside
it bubbles up within my mind
and traps me yet again.
The open air that was my friend
has left me here to break, not bend
Claustrophobe with naught to lend
but the dreams of which I fear.
She chases her dreams like raindrops chase gravity down a pane of glass
tracing erratic patterns on their way to an end
to merge with others as they collide along the way
breaking free when it's time, taking pieces from each
expanding
understanding
not lonely but always, in the end, alone.
She believes without the benefit of leadership, moving through instinct,
trusting she'll know when she's arrived and in an act of defiance,
a "fuck you" to those who stood by, even while they moved ahead.
She carries her dreams on the outside, like armour
exposed and vulnerable to the world
even as she's wrapped tight
tight enough to hold conviction and strength
to hold her sadness at length
to hold her
everything.
I have to leave before she arrives, but I stay as long as I can.
She doesn't need my help, never did, but I think she liked me as a witness
to prove she was everything they said she wasn't
to remind her that, if not this time, she'll try again
that, without a doubt, she is that strong.
Storms can be a cleansing
a second wind
a chance to mend
and when she needs another drop to chase,
the rain will come again.