Make myself a new messiah,
"Trust me," I say- they know I'm a liar;
some good old-fashioned bloodletting,
you take it back- I'm not forgetting
that time they told me I was dirty-
              dirty?
Little birdie,
far too wordy,
                      quite upsetting.
It wasn't long before it worsened,
hateful, pithy little person-
can't explain why my shows are all booked;
you say they're mad- I say they're hooked
and maybe just a little crazy-
             crazy?
Slightly lazy,
eyes are hazy
                      since I first looked.
Burn this copy; new revision-
tripping on my tunnel vision;
dark and gritty, avant-garde,
cannot swallow- much too hard
if you've ever stopped to listen-
            listen?
Twisted vixen,
pavement glistens
                              with glass shards.
The shades are drawn; the light is darkened

Is HOME a concept?
If it is, it's one I don't understand

Because my blood does not feel like it belongs in my body
And when I hold still I can feel all the tiny pieces of pale, shapely bone holding my body together
How beautiful is bone
How delicate are the bones in my hands
Hands that are always cold
Cold blood
Cold mornings that keep me in my bed
My head beneath the covers
My head that aches at the beginning of ever day
And the end of every evening pressure building behind my eyes
My eyes
The only part of me that feels right

Is HOME a feeling?
If it is, I can't feel it

Even though this place is full of things that remind me of home
With it's crystals, pure and clear and natural
Children of the Earth
The Earth
held together by stone, strong, solid stone
Buried deep in the ground
The ground
Where roots twist and bend 
Connected to trees

Turquoise
What is she? 
She is a sailor.
She is an oddity,
   a spectacle,
      an outcast.
But she doesn't care. 
She's smiling anyway.
She's dressed in
    cast-offs,
       remnants,
           ideas collected in a gallery
Topped with a
   blue
      feather
         boa
And her
      heart
        on
           her
             sleeve.
Eloquent without words,
   graceful without movement,
      dreaming, though
         wide
           awake.
She loves but
   two 
     things.
Her first love is the sea.
She lives for the hazy mornings,
   the wind-tossed fancies,
     the waves rolling,
      tossing,
       winking,
         the same blue-green as her name.
Her second love is Fleeting.
Fleeting, here for such a short time.
Fleeting, like
   sunsets,
     spring,

     It was only a bowl of pears. 
     Nothing more than five pears in an ugly ceramic bowl sitting on a table in a cheap hotel room in Burlington, Vermont.
     And yet this incredibly unextraordinary bowl of pears had been holding Xavi's utmost attention for a little over ten minutes now. 
     Xavi had been born in Zanzibar, and although his memories of the place were faint, he could distinctly remember a bowl sitting on the table, perpetually full of pears. Pears, of all the fruits in the world. What had his mother been thinking? He supposed she had expected them to eat them, and he did, because when you're a young kid just the novelty of grabbing something out of the fruit bowl whenever you want is enough. And so, his mother always bought more pears. 

Today I randomly feel like shedding some light on an underrated musician: Mick Ronson
David Bowie fans will know Ronson as the petite, delicate-featured, glammed-out blond guitarist standing next to Bowie onstage, singing backup and shredding guitar. Despite playing several instruments and working with several notable musicians such as Van Morrison and Bob Dylan, he's not quite as well-known as he should be. 
Besides being a multi-instrumentalist, was also a songwriter, producer, and arranger. Mostly working as a studio session man and playing behind frontmen, his brilliance was revealed to the world as the lead guitarist of David Bowie's band, the Spiders from Mars. 

There is a young woman who lives nestled in the mountains
Her eyes sparkle behind wide, rimless glasses that make her eyes even more beautiful
The rain falls on her smooth, toffee-colored skin and she welcomes it
Like she welcomes everyone
She has very short, very dark hair that is never perfect
And seems to have an endless supply of clever t-shirts
She always smells like lavender and lemons
She is childlike and yet wise
She is open and loving and understanding and balanced
And will always be there to guide you through a rough spot
Everyone who meets her can't help but adore her
Everyone should know someone like her
 

I am no one
I sit alone in my room
Writing words that no one has read
Yet
I dream
The stars call me
Tell me what I could have
But they're not going to give it to me
I learn
Hours
Sweat and exaustion and yes, tears
But someone told me it would all be worth it
Someone handed me the world and said
THIS IS YOUR DREAM
No one is going to give it to you
Dream it
Earn it
Live it
I am empowered
I hold the power to create my own future
No one can take that power away
 
 

I'm a beginner guitarist having a try at songwriting... I'm not sure how it sounds, hopefully it's decent...

Lyrics:
Well you're so great and I can't get over the modest things you've said
You're so very amazed with yourself, you're a star in your own head
Who did you think would be lining up to be your backup crew?
Open your eyes, to your surprise there's no one there but you
When will it be enough?
What would it all be for?
You had everything
But you wanted more
Here you come, the one and only
Not at the top but you're still lonely
Who will you turn to for help
Now that you've lost all to yourself?
When will it be enough?
What would it all be for?
You had everything
But you wanted more

I'm curious: If you had a time machine, what are four things you would do?
Here are mine:
1: Go to the Beatles' first performance at the Cavern Club.
2: Go to a Led Zeppelin concert- any Led Zeppelin concert, it really doesn't matter.
3: Go to a Queen concert
4: Go to a David Bowie concert- specifically, his last performance as his alter-ego Ziggy Stardust. 

As you can probably tell, I'm a fan of classic rock.   
 

     Once upon a time, I lost my grip on reality. I spent years with my head in the clouds, dreaming of a life I could not have. I fell in love with people I'd never met, became attached to places I'd never been. I waited for the impossible to happen- for those dreams to become a reality.
     One day I realized I would be waiting forever. What had started off as daydreams became so real to me, and I wondered every day when my "real" life would start. I accepted that if this continued I would live a dismal, unfulfilled, life, unable to become attached to anyone or really live. I couldn't go on like this.