Fair Flying

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", ...