Your Song

This is to you
You who told me the ceiling can Easily be the floor.
Who said I can do anything
And who told me to be a strong Woman figure.
The one who brushed my hair and told me that beauty is pain.
You laughed, where as I closed my eyes and held back tears.
The one who bought all of my pointe shoes, after they broke.
Who sits next to me and Pretends to understand.
Oh and let us not forget, telling Me things that I really don't want to hear...at all.
It is funny though, because, as a strong woman figure, I have come to realize that, you were right, the ceiling can be the floor, and I am okay with that mom.

It's a little bit funny this feeling insideI'm not one of those who can easily hideI don't have much money but boy if I didI'd buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, noOr a man who makes potions in a travelling showI know it's not much but it's the best I can doMy gift is my song and this one's for you.

And you can tell everybody this is your songIt may be quite simple but now that it's doneI hope you don't mindI hope you don't mind that I put down in wordsHow wonderful life is while you're in the world

I sat on the roof and kicked off the mossWell a few of the verses well they've got me quite crossBut the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this songIt's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I doYou see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blueAnyway the thing is what I really meanYours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen.
" By Elton John."

Paper

Every girl is beautiful, whether she is lucky enough to have red hair and fair skin, or dark skin with brown hair. We are All just paper. Strip away shades and hughs. strip away make-up and clothes. We are all the same. All living, eating, moving, dancing, breathing.......paper. So, be gratiouse about who you are and the way you look and stop saying, " I wish i looked like her," because if everyone looked like " Her" then no one would get to see your beauty, and that is just another painting in a museum that isn't there.

A Metaphor

The blank piece of pottery stared back at me.
It was so isolated on that large white shelf.
It reminded me of home and soon became a metaphor for my life.
I don’t know if I would erase those memories of not.
Forever it seems like I am waiting, like Amber waiting for her father on the front porch step.
The breath of color, chipped, alowing me to see its true redish tone.

Breath the movement that I live by.
You distract me though, reminding me of glazed pottery.
Forever I am mine to love too.
If only this ever changing yellow didn’t keep me so isolated.
I’ll erase this color off my paint pallet.
The colors that are at home are the ones that I will save.

What is a home without the colors on the wall.
Only to be saying, “ let the wine breath dear.”
Stop and take time to erase the thoughts of staying still.
I wish I had pottery to create and break.
Every meal wont be isolated
I am with you for my forever.

Forever on the run, that girl is.
She never seems to be at home.
Dieing to be in isolated arms.
Squeezed until her breath is lost.
Creating things like pottery, beaded bracelets, and picture memories.
Erasing thoughts of leaving in ten days.

Erase pencil from my paper, for I can never use pen.
The thought of ink forever staining the tint of the white paper.
My life ever changing like clay into glazed pottery.
What will my key look like to my home?
What temperature will I breath?
Never isolated in one small location.

Non isolated streets and open spaces.
To erase the past is impossible, unless I become clumsy.
I will breath steadily and take things as they come.
Forever he is mine and I am his.
My home will be me…and maybe his.
And our pottery we’ve created will decorate empty shelves.

We both have isolated arms that squeeze forever.
To erase our pasts and create a future, a home.
And as stubborn as we breath, we create beautiful pottery.

Blueberries

I’m sorry but, I hate you.

Or not hate you, rather….mmm dislike you.

But, actually, I think I love you.

The look you give me is disgusting.

Revoltingly beautiful.

In fact, so uncannily attractive…..it’s…disgusting.

Why are you here?

Is it for me?

Lets touch elbows and put this behind us.

But, can you?

Can you, walk away and never come back?

Best if only.

Fine! Strangle me in my sleep then.

“Please,” Push me off the bridge.

Because to me you are like blueberries.

The world thinks you are blue.
When really, I know along with a few others….. your true color is actually purple.

Them

You went to the dresser and took it out
A box, large at the time like our cats.

Blue with words that didn’t mean anything to me
But to you meant “ expensive.”

When you opened the box you looked at my face
And I looked at them.

I could feel you watch my reaction
But I wanted to see what lied inside Pandora’s box.

There they were, like large blueberries.
They looked like silk woven webs, created by the Siberian butterflies.

“ One day they’ll be yours.” You said
As I took them out of the box.

You said, “ They give off an orah because they are still alive, like my love for my favorite youngest daughter.”
She walked away for things that always talk.

And I, holding the orah of peals to keep my heart filled with love, for I knew, unlike her, they would always be here, and someday mine.

I am women

I am a clean women
I am an art women
I am a Chicago woman
I am a European woman
I am a healthy woman
I am an animal woman
I am a wild woman
I am a circus woman
I am a clumsy woman
I am a passionate woman
I am a secret keeping woman
I am an apple eating woman
I am an ocean, sea woman
I am a healing woman
I am an incense woman
I am an adapting woman
I am a graceful tutu woman
I am a shopping woman
I am a void filling woman
I am a supporting woman
I am an empathetic woman
I am a loving woman
I am a tranquil woman
I am a spa woman
I am a light woman
I am a scared woman
I am a breathing woman
I am a dark purple woman
I am a smiling woman
I am a satchel wearing woman
I am a red lipstick woman