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Stars and Snowflakes

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Habits

Bad habits
Die
Kicking
And screaming
And fighting
To kill you, too

Lessons

I am a child of Spring.
When I was a child,
Summer taught me
How to be alone.

Summer burned my fantasies
Of friends I thought I knew,
Family I longed to talk to
Who didn’t want me,
So I didn’t want me.

I spent years
Brokenhearted,
Disappointed,
Distraught
That I
Was all that I got,

So I fought
To feel connection,
Bonds of friendship,
Even more.
They left me
Disappointed
And more lonely than before.

I’ve stolen time from me
In pursuit of
Futile fantasy,
But somehow
I’m so much closer
To the truth.

I am mine.
I have me.
I know nothing
And no one
More intimately.

I am my favorite discovery.
I’ve learned to be alone with me
In brighter ways
On rainy April days.

Melting

We can let life
Act upon us,
Melt us away,
Like Summer melts ice pops
Onto pavement,
Or the Sun melts Winter into Spring.
Fear melts into excitement,
Into thrill, rush,
And back to fear.
Studio lights
Melt dreamers
Into extras.
Time melts memory,
Conviction,
And certainty
Until what we stood for
Mixes with who we used to be
Down the drain.

Sometimes

Sometimes things fall apart,
Sometimes together,
Into place.
Sometimes they splinter
Into pieces,
Sometimes they bend
Before they break.
Sometimes you see it coming,
Sometimes it’s a surprise
When what you love
Shatters
Before your eyes.

Braver

I’m stronger for what I don’t have,
Smarter for what I don’t know,
Braver for the many places
That I desire to go,
For the things I dare to dream,
Especially since they seem
Impossible.  “I’m possible,”
They whisper to me
In the mournful quiet
Of missed opportunity.
Hope and faith
Give my eyes their shine
And sketch my new life’s design.

Hit and Run

Memories are best left dead
On the side of the road.
Hit and run
Don’t think about what you’ve done.
Don’t be disturbed by what you see.
Build your own reality.
—Until
A sudden trigger
Pulled on a starting pistol
Signals the beginning
Of the race of our lives.
The sound sends me tripping
Onto needles and knives.

Cycle

It’s a cycle
Not vicious
A pattern
Of polka dots
Evenly spaced
A series
Of floor tiles
Perfectly placed

Life, Death, Birth
Death, Birth, Life
Birth, Life, Death

It’s a cycle of beginnings,
And a cycle of endings,
And a cycle of constant existing
In all states at once.

Whirlpool

Floating through time,
Slipping through days
Without reason or rhyme,
Counting the ways
That we’re wasting our prime.
What does that even mean?

We struggled through chores
To meet expectations,
And yet at each turn
Confronted accusations,
Judgment, setbacks,
Suppression, attacks.

Set up to fail
So we flunk ourselves.
No use trying our best.
We’ll just blow off the test.
But we’ll do all the rest,
Follow each social rule,
Become the culture’s tool
While spinning
Drowning
In this whirlpool.

Key Words

She had never heard the words
Until she told them to herself.
Like floodgates, the locks released
The fear trapped in her mind,
That trapped her in her mind.

They granted clarity,
Made room for possibility,
For a life of new potential
She had never had the chance to see.
She hadn’t allowed the chance to be,
Tied her future to lovability.
Upon discovering the key
To her restraints,
She set herself free.

An open world is her reward
For the fear that she’s forsaking.
Excitement blooms within her heart
For the new risks she’ll be taking
And mistakes she will be making.

She’s got a shot at life
And hope to be proud of
Because she has her own love.

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