Unfinished song! Needs a title!

I try 

and sigh 

and eventually I cry 

One day 

I find 

that you were always mine

But I never knew

But I never knew

But I never knew

And now I've lost you.

You said the words but 

I - I never heard

I - I never heard

And now 

I've learned 

it's your heart that was burned

It's your heart that was burned

Burned

Burned

O-ohh

So I try 

and sigh 

and now apologize

For all the times 

I missed your subtle signs

Take my hand  now

If it's true we'll fly

Like eagles to the sky

Take my hand now

If it's true we'll fly

Like eagles to the sky

There's music to this one...but it's not quite finished. 

Panic.

Air forced harsh into unwilling lungs, 

Heart flying directly for the sun

Skin crusted with salt of tears and sweat

Mind reeling as I fail at accepting this new reality. 

I force the bile down, life becoming too hard to swallow. The room spins and for a moment I'm certain the sky is falling. But it's me.

...

Eyes open and slow deep breaths return.  

Yet I still exist in a newly fractured reality.

I manage to catch my sinking heart, gather my breath, and stand on shaking legs. 

I am strong. 

I am strong. 

I am strong. 

But I can still be broken. 

Gas Station

"What's you're NAME Baby?"

"Personal."

"How you doin, Personal?"

Light

Look up she says. 

Look up and tonight glimpse a passing bit of light, distant echoes of a world a lifetime away from here. 

But here, the gleam of ancient starlight is obscured by the glare of orange street lights-- harsh light that pushes the darkness, and light, of the night beyond our limited vision. 

I see lights, blinking, patterned, mechanical and artificial, satellites in orbit that, too, obscure the view. 

Have you seen the Milky Way? 

She has. 

On the beach of a reef island still isolated from the obstruction of mechanical lights. 

It's vast, greater than her perception of ocean by infinite orders of magnitude. 

There, away from man-made light she walked the shores on a moonless night by starlight echoed in luminescent waves, and finding that the darkness was not so dark and wondering why we hid behind the light. 

Breakthrough.

I tried to fit the prices back into the places they used to belong, 

but somewhere along the way 

I lost a few, I shrunk, I grew, I twisted and turned into something new 

and now 

I'm not the person you once knew. 

Some bits still fit, the easy fix, from the clean breaks, the choices that were easy to make, you can still see the straight lines where I cut and paste, trying to rewrite, revise, renew, revive

And somewhere along the way I realized that grasping at shards will cut.

Broken

Little bird

Broken wing

Tries to fly

Cannot cry

So she sings

I need to write again.

I need to write like my life depends on it. 

Pour my soul out, words splashing dark against bright white paper, carrying my life, my hope, my love, my heartache. 

I need to write until my hands cramp and my mind stops reeling. Only by telling these stories, mixing memory, fact and fiction, (perception, perhaps,) can my mind be settled and my heart calm and if I'm lucky I can sleep.

I need to write in run on sentences that link words, ideas, sprouting like cells of Spirulina on a slide, spiraling out into a larger dreamscape, ethereal yet still rooted to the Earth. 

I need to cast these letters and words out into the works for all to see -- to make them REAL -- as if to somehow justify the thoughts reeling though my mind. 

Is this world in my mind any reflection of reality? 

Does that matter?

Do I care? 

What of wearing my heart on my sleeve? Is being baring all to the world, without hinting at what is fiction or fact dishonest? Is it safe? 

Part of me, admittedly a part which grows smaller as I grow up, wants to take all my words, all my stories, all my passion and hide it in a box at the back o the closet, like some secret cache of treasure I can leaf though on sleepless nights, holding up to the light to proclaim its value, if only to me. (My precious.) 

A bigger part wonders if, by casting my thoughts to the world like some message in a bottle, I'm simultaneously calling for help and hoping to help some kindred spirit, who's own messages are cast out to drift in the minutia that is the Internet.

I don't need the whole world to care, or see, or recognize what I sometime think if as unadulterated brilliance and at other times dismiss as absolutely banal rubbish. 

I believe this need to write, to be heard, to express emotion and tell stories and hope to inspire is a perfectly normal, and exquisitely human phenomenon. 

I only hope it doesn't come to bite me in the ass some day. 

Façade (unfinished)

My heart is breaking

As I watch you faking --

Your act could fool 

even the most practiced eye. 

But I see behind the front, 

You're crumbling, stumbling, 

you leave me 

mumbling 

Unheard prayers 

for an end to all this aching. 

I wish I had the answer, 

But if we had all the answers 

we wouldn't need god. 

No, instead choose to be fearless. 

Dive into the unknown and explore the questions we have yet to answer. 

Science is all we truly have. 

Abandon reason and you set us back another 200 years. 

Power.

Fuck you and your preconceived notions about beauty. I am beautiful. 

Fuck you and your elitist attitude about the value of others. I am not worthless. 

Fuck you and your backward ideology about love. I will love whomever the fuck I choose. 

I am strong.

I am smart.

I am passionate. 

My thoughts and emotions matter.

My goals and dreams and hopes will not be smothered by the dismissive, elitist, and abusuve notions of any other. 

I am determined to overcome every obstacle you place in my way.

I will accomplish my dreams. 

Fuck you, and get out of my way. 

I am determined, I am angry, and I am powerful. 

Written several months ago, I found this scribbled on an old receipt. I may work with it a bit, this is the raw version.  Ordinarily I choose more elegant ways of expressing myself -- but crude language seems to have its place in some moments. Life is not spotlessly clean, and writing, as a reflection of life, is not either.  I hope the colorful language here does not offend. 

Sleepless

Sleep fails me again
As I spend
Another night dreaming of the future.

My mind too full of hope,
Planning for change and improvement,
A future filled with aspiration.

I reach out,
hoping to grasp some wisp of foreshadowing,
What is attainable?
And
What will remain a dream on a sleepless night?