Some (More) Poems

going back to school

it is time to go home

to where the streets are numbered rather than named

and the snow doesn't stick

where i'm allowed to have rice for every meal

and friends can be found just across the hall

instead of across the country

where fridays don't make me want to lie

and sundays don't make me want to cry

where i don't mind a little rain

because i know the sun will reappear

eventually

guilt

we've all done things we aren't proud of

drawing red lines

on each other and ourselves

kissing our sun and somebody else's moon

hoping the clouds were there to hide it all

inhaling the dark and exhaling the light

even though it could stop everything altogether

walking past the sirens

but playing the sad songs afterwards

as if you did everything you could

love

may all your tears turn into rain

falling onto your back and dripping from the ends of your hair

softly

renewing you of the peace and tranquility

you once felt just before the lightning strike

and landing gently on the wildflowers

that grow within the fabric of your existence

may all your scars turn into beauty marks

painted onto your paleness like brushstrokes on a canvas

gently

as if you were created by some great artist who was afraid of making a mistake

how could they with you

may you rise from the ashes

of the flames this world threw you into

and may you find the key that unlocks the heaven you deserve

and escape this hell you didn't

may you realize that you are just as beautiful and as brilliant as the violins we used to play

their delicate music echoing quietly in your mind

as you drift off to sleep

with tears rolling ever so cinematically onto your pillow

streaming smoothly

like the melodies to the song that once changed your life

may you hear that song on the radio

and the lyrics sound like armistice rather than war

may you realize that you are the color yellow and not the color blue

like the daffodils you used to pick from the grass

wondering how something so vibrant and so lovely

could ever be called a weed

may your eyes open up to the prismatic nature of your soul

just like the rainbows you used to draw with crayons when you were small

fascinated by how all the colors could blend so effortlessly

and calling it your masterpiece

may all my pain and all my suffering

all the blood that still drips from my fingers and all the tears that still trickle off my chin

flow into the magnificent river that is your life

so that you can kiss both the sky and the moon

and dance like tomorrow doesn't exist every single day of the week

may all my sadness and all my emptiness

all the the knives still lodged deep within my lungs and all the needles still pricking my veins

protect you from all that lurks in the dead of the night

so that you can find joy in all of the things i never could

see how truly beautiful the world is

when your smiling face is a part of it