Fair Flying

Dear Family, Thank you. Thank you for always being so crazy and lovely and wonderful through everything. Thank you for raising me with all the love and kindness that you could muster, and all the greatness of your souls. Thank you for surrounding me with warmth and joy, even on the darkest days. Thank you for standing with me, even when I don't know exactly what I'm standing for. Thank you for accepting me as I am. Thank you for loving me as I am. Thank you for seeing the good things about me when I cannot. Thank you for bringing me up and keeping me there as much as possible. Thank you for sacrificing your time and energy for my well being. Thank you for making me smile and laugh and cry. Thank you for being my family, for being my home. Thank you for letting me come home. Thank you for all the stories, all the tales of old and new, and thank you for just being you! It's not even everything, but it is mainly what I've been thinking about lately. I am filled with

Dear friends, Thank you. I'm going to be honest: you have all shaped my life in some way. Throughout our hectic years of high school, or even long before, you've been there for me, like guardian angels. The funny thing is, you don't even realize it. Some of you live with the delusion that you don't matter, that you're just specs in the vaccuum of space and time. I laugh and I cry at that notion, because you are so much more.  Have you ever stopped to think how much you mean to me and to others? Do you ever value your existence the way I do? Because you should.  Each of you are special in one way or another. Each of you have a piece of my heart, a piece of my soul. You've given me hope and you've given me comfort. You've been loyal and sweet and kind and wonderful and mind-opening. Your experiences have become my experiences. When you hurt, I feel that pain too. You probably don't see it, but maybe if I tell you enough times, with just the rig

Although my pearl eyes are vacant, they light up when you rise, your breath the flame of life inside me. I’m doused in the heat of you, the light of you in the reign of your excellency and I know you like no one else. You are celestial to everyone but me because I see you as a new hue every day we meet. I know I’m not meant to think of you as such, but your lips are the softest embers I’ve ever touched.

I always cry when I am home I guess I'm meant to be alone And now and then I feel like stone, Powerless, unable to roam. For years I've left my home a mess, Counted myself among the blessed And now I am a silhouette Swallowed by subliminal stress. I watch the stars above my bed And count the colors, blue to red (Looks like the contents of my head) While the rest of me turns to lead. I am always sad when you go For time will never ever slow; When I look back I still feel low Because I see what you don't know: You always cry when you are home But you shall never be alone-- I'm here for you through sea and stone; We'll be together forever And then some.

Lately I've found myself watching every blessing around me and thinking, "I don't want any of this to change." From the warmth of the sun to the people sitting at the dinner table. I don't want it to go away. I don't want it to change. The problem is: it already has. It's been changing when I haven't even noticed. There are many things, even the little ones, that have already changed and continue to change as I sit here quietly. Summer in itself is a blessing. It's a portal to change, which is a good thing, but it's apparent perfection is there for a reason. Summer is a stasis of comfort that prevents us from feeling anything but calm. It is constant potential and constant motion without really doing much moving at all.  It fills every breath with something new even though it's the same oxygen we've been breathing since birth.  So when it ends, we react rashly. Part of me wants summer to last forever. But the rest o

I have always been very enveloped in other people's lives, in other people's dreams. When I'm not tucked away in my own world, I'm being wrapped up in someone else's, trying desperately to breathe normally in a foreign atmosphere. It's not that it's bad... It just takes a hold of me and overwhelms me in a way that nothing else can. People have always seemed to flock to me, with their souls and secrets stretched out above them like banners. But sometimes they come to me quietly at first, like little fireflies with excited, yellow mouths. It takes them a while to sing their song. And when they do, I listen to every word they say, to every breath they breathe, and it fills me with feelings I don't always understand. It's a perpetual reflection of what I wish the world to be, and what I wish it wasn't. These lovely lights keep me awake at night, and sometimes I feel nothing but yearning. ("Yearning for what?" you may ask. Th

One of my best friends wrote something interesting in my Yearbook at the end of this school year. He started with: "Amelia, what can I say about you?~ Everything and Nothing At All." At first, I was confused by it, because I wasn't sure what he meant. Usually I'm the one who's spewing cryptic or poetic phrases to express how I feel. I was caught off guard. "What do you mean?" I asked him, but soon enough, I began to understand... Then I did some thinking, and I noticed that "Everything and Nothing At All" was becoming a common theme throughout the discussions of our friend group. We were all feeling the same way, thinking the same things, without even realizing it. We've been through a lot, good and bad, high and low. A lot has happened. A lot has been felt. This past year alone was a chaotic tumble of emotional, mental and physical closeness with all the people in my life. And because of this, there is a steady silence withi

I fell for the moon the same way I fell for you; I went there to swoon and left behind what was true. I love the stark sky That is far more vast than I and no sacred sigh will ever be satisfied with the fall of night or the doused design of sight bedazzled in flight all to my brightened delight. Henceforth, you are mine! Forever we will align, Borne back from turned time, swallowed up by summer rhyme.

Gratitude is the weighty wind that picks us up and puts us in our place. It is the feeling we bear when we are reminded of how indebted we are to those that protect us, serve us, keep us safe, keep us loved. It is the gentle mist in the eyes of those who have seen death, and those who live in the place of others. It is the kisses and the hugs and the wishy-washy words of a thousand brave souls and a million more to come. It is the silky string that ties us together, delicate but never truly broken, as long as we keep our souls alive with the reminder of this memory. When all is said and done, gratitude is what keeps our feet on the ground. We look to the sky and we are enchanted because we know that there is always someone looking out for us, someone to protect us and love us no matter what. And there are those who have not even seen our faces, have not even had the chance to look upon the sparkle in our eyes, and return such requital. Gratitude is not just a feeling. It is a

To some, thought is a stream. It flows and does as it pleases, without stopping for a moment to take heed. It brushes by brush and dances with fish and it is eager to join the closest, biggest body of water. It's stubborn and foolish and full of meandering and trepidation, all the while leaving chaos in its wake. To others, thoughts aren't unified. Thoughts are stitches. They are thick at first and fill our mind's skin with familiar soreness and good old fashioned swelling of the soul.  They stick out and can be quite ugly at times, and sometimes they're fit to burst. They pull and stretch. They can be painful, constantly reminding us that they're there. It takes some effort to pull them out, to free them and become free.  When the thoughts are finally removed, they must be gently tugged away, either by ourselves or another, and with each strand of thought flying away, our minds open, and we enter healing bliss. ("And then you're fine",

Do you ever wonder why things turn out the way they do? Is it fate? Is it destiny? Is it the pressure of a trillion worrisome minds colliding over the centuries? What can be prevented? What is inevitable? What's important? What isn't?  When do we start? Where do we begin? These are the kinds of questions that flood into my mind in the middle of the night when sleep seems useless. The little voices in my head get louder and louder until I'm sure I must be having an argument of some kind. They're persistent sometimes. And they do propose interesting points, don't they? There are events that happen in this world that are unable to be explained, even by the most intelligent, well-spoken people.  And it's not just the "what" and the "why", but also the " how ". There is such intricate detail that goes into every choice we make and into every event that occurs throughout our life. It's not just choices and events, either. I

I prefer to experience things in my life with a certain clarity. If my perception becomes too warped or obscured, I become overwhelmed, and where's the fun in that?  I prefer to take my time with many of the activities I partake in; such as running, eating, reading or creating.  Like my actions, my emotions need a bit of time as well. Time to develop. Time to heal. Time to expand.  My experiences are important to me because they make up who I am. Sometimes I let them become too important, however, and one wrong move upsets me beyond recognition. But I just have to remind myself that even the worst days have some merit to who I am as a person. My life is not justified by my sorrows, burdens and mistakes, but by how I choose to act and deal with them. That's how everyone should feel. There is a certain clarity that comes with knowing oneself, to see and to reflect on one's experiences and to make sense out of even the slightest mistakes. There is some

My heart is my palace where our soul flirts with malice. And there is nothing here aside from usual fear. My love is my anchor; our canvas not much blanker. My will is my power which outlasts every hour. You are, delicate star, all my joy by and by far. And here will always be our spitting epitome.

We wake up and we realize the day before this is over. We can never relive. We can never go back. There are great days, there are amazing days, and there are bad. That night of absolute joy and celebration with everyone you love? It has passed. That minuscule, miserable day that made you feel like oblivion itself? It's gone. So breathe deep and keep your head held high, because we're changing, we're shifting, and we're moving on, whether we want to or not.

I've always had mixed feelings about this holiday. Part of me thinks it's overly commercialized (as all holidays tend to be), and part of me thinks it's ridiculously adorable (that's the consumer in me). I'm kind of a sucker for cheesy cute things, even though that isn't always the case. I'm also a sucker for romance, despite my lack of experience with such an obscure notion. However, I do know what love feels like, and it's probably one of the best feelings in the world. I'm not talking romantic love, with chocolates and flowers and kisses and cuddles. I'm not talking lust, either. None of that 50 Shades of Bullshit. No drama, no ridiculous fantasies or expectations to fulfill. All of that is fine to an extent, but people tend to miss the point. In my opinion, Valentines Day is about much more than just romantic love. It's more than just candy and cuddles or cute messages to loved ones via social media. There's an essence

There is no wasteland As pretty as this Where ships lie in piles On pale crystal sand And taper to knees Of children younger Than I once was then In circles of trees. Where barrels and tons Mean “snow day!” for us; How does something big Turn to only one? It’s barren and fun At the same damn time While washed winds approach To break off a lung. When did something small Become everything- When it’s not really That barren at all?

Gentle falling snow, What have you done? Gentle falling snow, What have you become? Is there order to this chaos that falls beneath my feet? Is there lord there in malice who tends to slicking sleet? Gentle falling snow, What have you done? Gentle falling snow, it seems you have won. I’m fighting hard, my brothers, to make sense of all this white; I’m fighting hard, my sisters, against the black that burns bright. Tender falling snow, What have you done? Quiet falling snow, Take flight under summer sun.