Dream Life

                                     Not a flat. Not an apartment in back. Not a man's house. Not a daddy's . A house all my own. With my porch and my  pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody to shake a stick at. Nobody's garbage to pick up after.   Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.

                                         Life is but a stopping place  A pause in what's to be, A resting place along the road,     To sweet eternity. We all have different journeys, Different paths along the way, We all were meant to learn some things,    But never meant to stay... Our destination is a place, Far greater than we know. For some the journey's quicker, For some the journey's slow. And when the journey finally ends, We'll claim a great reward, And find an everlasting peace, Together with the lord.

                              I'm going to love you in your weakest moments to your strongest ones.  I'm going to love you when you're happy and I'm going to still love you the most when you're sad. Don't you understand? I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere I want to love you, each and every piece of you. I want you with your imperfections as much as I want you for you.  And I'm always going to be here loving you with everything.

  One night she took, her memories out, and hung them in the sky, She hooked one on every distant star, and as they burned down into scars, she knew that's how she wanted them to stay, beautiful but faraway.                                             

                                     I remember sitting on the swing in our backyard when i was eight years old, thinking about how strange it was that i wouldn't remember that exact moment in a few months. Eleven years later & perhaps the irony of it all is how clear that memory still is for me. i think about it often not sitting on the swing but just the messiness of memories and how at any given time, we can exist in a thousand different places just by brushing up against other lives. it's a scary and beautiful thing, don't you think? there are things we have said and done that are so easily forgotten, but somewhere, in some mind, they are remembered. i wonder about all the things i am. how in some stories i may be the conflict and in others, the resolution. how i might be nothing more than the girl who ordered a flat white with one sugar but even still, i exist outside of this body and...

                                            You told me your favorite colors were red and purple so i dressed in those colors my dresses carried red ribbons and my eyeshadow glistened in purple but you began to use me as your canvas you'd leave purple marks onmy skin and sometimes when you were livid you'd vibrate red and red would trickle down my lips but i knew you loved me so i let you use me as your canvas and then one day i lay on the floor in a pool of red and you began to laugh oh you're running why are you running my chest is hurting i thought you loved red i thought you loved me your favorite colors were red and purple

                              Some feelings and few people Have the power to make us whole. Others are like weapons- Lethal guests that shatter our soul. Have you ever been so broken; That acid tears burn your hopes? Have you ever had the doubt; Chase the horizon or live like a ghost? When flowers bloom from a broken heart; From the labyrinths within its core. What essence do they have? How Far their stem can go? If you can hear me, my darling I can tell you what I know. Some blossoms have the scent of melancholia Unable to reach the surface( afraid to grow). Others are bathed in new beginnings; Eager to reach, the light of the sun.