I wrote this because we might be moving next summer.

The white paint
Still shines brightlly and 
If anyone dared to paint it another color
I wouldn't recognize it.
All of the rooms are as familiar as 
An old baby blanket
Keeping me safe
And warm.
It's cluttered,
But messy isn't really the right word
Because everything about it is neat
If you know where to look.
Each piece of furniture
Means something different, something
Right.
Every time I see the mosaic above the stove
I remember the fight we had about keeping it or not.
My dad and my sister wanted it,
And my mom and me didn't.
It's still there, though.
And I'm always eternally glad that
We kept it.
The living room has the feeling of 
Many Christmases spent in front of the fire.
I'll see a dog toy on the floor and remember how crazy we thought it was

The wet juice

From the strawberry

Red

Dripped down her chin

A small piece of happiness, but

All the same

Happiness

Is the joy of living.

Do you take joy from the brush of ink across the page,

Swirling in its own ecstasy?

Remember that

Words written in stone one thousand stars ago

Can find their own meaning

In the stars today.

And if a little boy dreams of reaching his nebula some day,

Why stop him?

See what we can do.

Watch us.

Hush, child.

I am trying to tell a story

One thousand stars old.

Once there was a little girl who

Did what she was told and sat with her hands in her lap,

Primly,

Perfectly.

Now, good night, deary.

But-

We say

Staring up at the stars above our window

The street is long and winding
And there are so many shops to choose from. 
All with quaint swinging signs on the side, creaking on their hinges. 
Two apartment buildings sit side by side on the street,
A clothesline strung between them. 
Someone creaks open a window, and yells across the street
"Hey! Can I borrow a flower pot?"
You smile, then continue on your way. There's a small ice cream shop that you decide you want to visit, so you head in that direction. 
The bell on the door tinkles as you walk in. It smells of vanilla and chocolate. There's a large notice on the black board that says,
"Today's special! Blackberry-Chocolate sundae!"
Small metal tables are set around the shop, with curling legs and pink and peach accents. You sit down at the counter, then look at the jukebox and smile. A few minutes later "Hey Jude" is blasting from the speakers. 

A clink and splash 
From a full glass of water
Gets my senses started.
I watch the
Big glass with green stripes
Around it 
Avidly
Wondering and 
Knowing
Why a simple glass can get me tingling.
I know why.
Water. 
At the very thought of this word
I'm pulled 
First to the ocean
Crashing
Melodic waves
Lap the shore
Reminding me of warm 
Sand
And cool
Water. Floating among the salty, open sea
I feel more mysefl than ever. 
Zip... and I'm in 
The above ground pool 
With flecks of grass in it
Splashing
Swimming like
A seal, smooth
Like cream. 
Again, a change 
And I have been transported 
To the lake
The cold tingling
The slide off the dock
The shouts of ectasy.
The pool again
Then, the ocean
Back to the lake
And then with a whoosh...... 
I'm staring at the 

The glow of the lamplight illuminated her face
As she worked diligently on her essay.
Not small minded
But small
She scratched away with her pencil 
Leaving traces
Smudges
On the paper.
Finally 
The 
Clock
Donged.
Her face lit up with excitement.
The girl put down her lined piece of paper,
That looked like a jail for words.
She took out
A piece of blank paper
Creamy 
White
And began to write.
"The glow of the lamplight illuminated her face..." 
 

Please read this. It is so important to me that this story be told. I know it's long, but it's the most important thing in my life. 

When I first took the book off the shelf, I didn't know what it would begin. I didn't know how attached to these characters I would become, and I didn't know what tears of agony I would cry when I knew that I would never know them. It all began with a book.

I have an itch to dance
To shake my body to the music playing from my phone in my mint green bedroom.
To bend and fantasize in my living room with music blasting from the speakers.
I have an itch to dance.

I have an itch to sing.
To belt out the words to my favorite song ever.
To feel the music in my body.
To listen to the country songs on the radio.
I have an itch to sing.

I have an itch to laugh.
To snort over things middle scholars say.
To belly laugh in charades with my family.
I have an itch to laugh.

I have an itch to draw.
To scribble on the page in agony, wondering how life got this way.
To work for days and days with my pencil clutched in my hand, and finally look at the finished whatever-it-is.
I have an itch to draw.

I have an itch to read.
To curl up on my couch and dive into Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

    Come, little bird, come to me. I can use you.

    Come to me, little bird. Come. I will keep you safe.

    Come! I need you! I will keep you safe, in a nice cage.

    I will keep you as safe as I can. We will be friends. You will be free.

    Free birds are nothing. Birds in captivity are useful. You can be useful!

    I will treat you as an equal. Your wings will be valued.

    Wings are only what makes you a bird. Does it really matter?

    Everything about you matters. You are a bird.

    Bah! And what use is a bird if it is not in captivity?

    You don’t have to be useful. Just be my friend.

    Imagine if you had to be someone’s friend. How awful would that be?

    Please, bird?

I want to remember 
Home.
Frozen at 10 and a half
I want to remember.
I want to remember my orange, crisp sheets.
I want to remember my sister’s piano melody floating around the house.
I want to remember how there is always something baking in the oven
Something yummy.
I want to remember my dad’s flannel shirts
And his hat as he rides our lawn mower.
I want to remember lolling in the grass by the hammock by the magnolia tree
Talking with my sister.
I want to remember laughter and card games before bed.
I want to remember four people and a dog and a big white house.
I want to remember the movies we watched
How we used to always watch the animated ‘Cinderella’
But then we evolved
We grew.
I want to remember the first time I watched the first Harry Potter movie
On the brown couch that my parents say is green
Squeezed in with my mother.