Lapping waves, pull at my skin. Clear water. Like, Jellyfish. Immortal, untouchable. I can feel my hand crossing through the fog. Another Jellyfish. Always there. Immortal, untouchable. Can a metaphor take away time, throw it away, like a used napkin. Grab my wrist, before your grasp isn't being hoped for, any longer. I will wash away, down the river. Splashes and droplets, you'll be unable to catch.
smooth dandelion petals a perfect yellow egg yolk the smile of the moon a lilac sky a laugh like a lullaby with soft dimples and freckles
burnt down to nothing but ashes. raw and undercooked. wiped off with alcohol that burns. sunny days can easily turn into hurricanes. devilish and mocking. and a sharp look full of chipped glass.
don't ever think just because someone is kind they won't stand up for what they believe we are who we are because of you. we could never taste an insult sliding off our tongue. we could never smirk at a fat tear. we will stand up for what we believe. and that is when you will see us transform into something not so happy. not so kind. we are fierce and yet, we are kind.
Tomorrow I Hope, that we will have solved global warming. Tomorrow I Hope, we will have chosen the right president. Tomorrow I Hope, we will have realized we are all equal. Tomorrow I Hope, we will stop world hunger. Tomorrow I Hope, everyone feels loved. Tomorrow I Hope, you will be kind. i will be kind. Tomorrow I Will Hope, Today I Will Hope, that Tomorrow will be a good day.
I place the marigolds on the altar and pick up my camera. I take a picture of the beautiful arrangement of fresh produce from the market and the rusted trumpet. When I study the picture I feel you are there telling me the lighting is off just a bit, so I pull down my orange curtains and snap another photo.
Sometimes, when you look in the mirror and tell yourself your beautiful with your baggy jeans, and white t-shirt with an ice cream cone on the pocket.
You notice the chipped nail polish and the seashell soap, maybe the girl walking by has a ponytail that isn't so frizzy.
If that happens you need to come back, come back here where the woman with soft hands needs the dough, she makes rolls. You can fill them with butter,
And when you don't feel so beautiful anymore, with the spring flowers challenging your flowing dress, come back with me, and we can snack on the french rolls and the loaves of bread with crusts filled with tiny nuts and berries. The oats can dance with us, now look in the mirror, You Are Perfect Just As You Are.
