18.19.20

Due to my roommate, boyfriend, and best friend having coinciding birthdays for the next three days.

Here is a little image for the three of you. I love you all.

The Sound of San Francisco

In about 14 hours...

I'm going home.

Songbird

The songbird sits in the windowsill.
While her bright red feathers become the blackest black.
She was left in the rain.
Its such a shame.
She never sings anymore.

Little songbird is far from home tonight.
Some creatures aren't meant to be caged.
But those who are caged, are caged for a reason.
To keep them from singing their song.

What I wouldn't give to set her free.
What I wouldn't give to hear her sing.
What I wouldn't give to say goodbye.
And let her know everything will be alright.

But that will come in time.

Time.
Time.
Time.

Such an envious pot of molasses.
Thick and heavy on the wings.

She won't be going south for the winter this time.
Stuck in that lonely, somber cage.
That cage that paints her already greyed days an even deeper grey.
And covers her eyes when it's already dark outside.

But she'll come to find on her own.
In whatever nest she'll call her home.
That her wings may be clipped.
And her feathers may never be the same.

But she'll sing again.

And she'll come home to me.

Where she belongs.

Wherever the song will take her.

She will sing.

Damn.
Right.
She.
Will.
Sing.

Silence is only temporary until you have the power to open your lungs and let the world know what you have to say.
To sing.

And.
Damn.
Right.
She.
Will.
Sing.

Goodbye, my songbird.
I await the day to see your red feathers one more time.
Until then, know I love you.
For these words mean nothing unless you know the truth behind them.

And.
DAMN.
RIGHT.
SHE.
WILL.
SING.

The Rope Course

And it's another Monday in the basement.
What are we doing here?
Reconnections.
Falling outs.
Stressing.
Relaxing.
Breathing.
Ashtma attack.

Take it all in stride when it all starts to collapse.

Paint these nerves
raw.
Be electric.
Don't miss your
opportunity.
There's nothing worse than
missed opportunity.

Take
it
all
in
when
it
starts
to
CRASH.

Crash.
Bang.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.

Monkey bars.

Swing.
Swing.
Swing.

The sand below you is lava remember?
Don't hit the ground.
But you need to hit the ground in order to know what's above.
So where do you go?

Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.

Swing.

It's a Tuesday morning in the basement.
And the tape rewinds.

Billie Holiday, Winter Holiday, Roman Holiday

And I'm realizing that it's so bittersweet.

Maybe I'll figure out exactly what's going on soon.

"This heart of mine hasn't got a ghost of a chance."

Desole, Somebody Prays

Walking on egg shells that are already cracked.
Consistant dissapointment.
Consistant inability to please.

I'm not perfect.

I fold my hands.
And lay my head in my lap.

Take it.

Please.

Just take it.
The strain is thicker than blood.

So.

Just take it.

Pray.
Prey.

Shifting Gears

It started to feel like fall today.
A sign that change is coming.
It's something in the air.
Something in the sun.
Caught in the falling leaves.
Like little suncatchers glistening.
How fast things change.
In as little as a week.
A moment.
A second.
For the best.
Or the worst.
But I guess in the end, everything is for the best.
Even if you know it right away or not.
But are things changing?
Or is it just me?
Am I changing?
Are you?
Are we?
Let's hope that's what it is.
Embrace it.
Easier said than done.
But we'll get there someday.
For now.