the ocean of life

i dance through life,
eyes closed,
hiding behind a gravestone.
my toes scream,
growing tired of the repetitive movements.
my heart screams,
telling me the secrets my head refuses to reveal.

a swirl of crystal-clear blue appears
in the harsh darkness that is my vision.
water pours in by the gallon,
filling every corner of my dusty mind.

i am not drowning.
i am simply dancing in the water.

my movements grow slower,
fighting the weight of the water,
but they also grow more graceful
as i adjust to the calmness present
in my newfound peace.

the gravestone sinks,
leaving me breathing in and out.
utter transparency.

i feel alive.

hide, walk, twirl

i want to hide
in the cracks between my ribs.
snuggle down deep in there
with my mother’s old comforter
and my beat up copy of “a catcher in the rye.”
maybe i’ll throw a bottle of red wine
for good measure.

i want to walk on snow
and leave no footprints;
no markings along the purity
that the sky has blessed us with.
there is something incredibly appealing
about tiptoe-ing over the frozen water
without an inch of evidence.

maybe one day, i will become one with the wind
as i twirl alone in my backyard.
the sky will consume me,
protect me,
because i will be small and needy.
the stars will dance in my eyes
as i rest my feet on the moon
and my head on the sun.

beliefs

i believe in screaming,
but not rage.

there’s something about that fury
burning up in the pit of my stomach
that scares the hell out of me.
but when i let that anger go
by howling to the sky,
to whoever is up there,
it is the most euphoric feeling in the world.

i believe in release
but not loss of control.

when that anger absorbs me,
i can’t help but feel like i’m swimming
in an ocean of cement.
movement is necessary
to breathe.
movement is necessary
to be.

cycles

the flame flickers in front of me,
cackling at the insanities of life.
i laugh with it,
hoping the darkness will mask my deepest insecurities.
with the gentlest touch,
the chains allow their fingers to fall,
and i am free.

colors begin dancing-
the red of a scraped knee
and the yellow of the sun’s symphonies.
my mind begins dancing-
the waltz of an ambassador
and the jitterbug of the harlem renaissance.

but then the absence of color fills the room
and my mind begins rocking back and forth
in the fetal position.

once again,

the flame flickers in front of me,
cackling at the insanities of life.
i laugh with it,
hoping the darkness will mask my deepest insecurities.
with the gentlest touch,
the chains allow their fingers to fall,
and i am free.

dancing words

i see a tattered group of papers,
bound together by twisted wire.
i see coal-black ink
collected together in thousands of little drops,
grouped into distinct elements of writing
that flow across the page
like water from a faucet.
openly flowing from the spout
to the drain.
words are water.
words and water
dance.
they dance.

minor epiphany:

everything i know
about what family should be
i got from television.

my "guardians" have only taught me
that family = manipulation,
mind games,
and power.

glass bubble

it's a bubble,
a glass bubble,
shiny and bright and new.
we have enough space
to explore
but enough limitations
to feel safe.

i spend my nights
throwing rocks up at the sky.
the stars always catch them,
but i wonder what would happen
if it cracked that glass bubble
and we were set free.