I think
I almost stopped
breathing.
I am gasping
through pouring rain.
I open my eyes
—my mouth—
and 
breath.
I am 

breathing.

I feel

a heart

beating.

I am

breathing.


 

Your moonlight skin
cries along with 
the silver sky.
 

Your heart is,
so quick to,
dry up,
crack,
forget,
like this ink.

I called you.
You spoke in fire.
I spoke through falling rain.
You told me you saw a plastic mess and left it.
I told you I grew tree roots from my hands.
You informed me of broken china.
I informed you I was stuck to the wall with super glue.
You notified me through eight books.
I notified you through nine,
but then you switched to ten.
You stomped across your telephone,
while I muddled by mine.
You gulped oxygen,
while I telescoped the window.
The sky was lightning.
We were the burning meadow below it.
You concluded that I never talk.
I ended with you never looked.
But if you had been the wanderer I thought you were,
you would have known
my eyes are books
and your ears are broken.

 

 

Amidst
the last darkness
you left
too soon,
like the moon
behind a cloud.

 

Small girl sits. Alone
on glittered steps with purple
asters, and she waits.

A field of flowers
Paints the sky, but petals fall.
As she sits and waits.

Parental steps slip
home, but the flower is gone.
Lays in pooled petals.
 

I need someone
to unstiffen me
out of my bones
and split my seriousness
until they can taste my smile. 
 

You can find her words
s
 c
  a
   t
    t
     e
      r
       e
        d
         across the page
and her tears
r
 u
  n
   n
    i
     n
      g
       the ink
when she doesn't know what else to do
after you break her like a pencil.
 

A field of flowering daisies,
Is where I want to be.
A meadow of measurable sunflowers,
Is what I want to see.

I want to walk through these pastures
With little to no care,
Even when a tiny bumble
Brushes against my hair.

I want the sky a pretty blue
To contrast with colorful petals,
And an image-capturing device
To fit snug in my hand as it settles.

I want a gentle wind to kiss my neck,
As I click my camera madly,
And a smile plastered on my face,
As I mingle with blooms gladly.

I want this day,
But I can not find it.
Yet when I do,
I know I will not mind it.