I wake up at daybreak, wipe the sleep from my face.
I take out all of my dreams, and put them back in their case.
Under my bed is where they must go,
It wont be until tonight, that they get released for the show.
I then pull out my clothes, the societal norm.
Dressing light in the summer, and in the winter, warm.
I slip into some jeans, put on a nice shirt.
I put a hat on my head, to prevent my mind from getting hurt.
But what if I decided that it was time to dress twice?
To put on another layer, Boy, wouldn’t that be nice.
Perhaps dress in dignity, clothe myself with strength.
For clothes like these, would I even go to any length?
No. Or at least I haven’t yet.
In hindsight, this is something that I truly regret.
It is time. What must I do?
How much do they cost? …They costed you.
They were there all along, in the back of my room.
In the crevices of my mind, I built them a tomb.
I do not know what they look like, I wonder how they smell.
Will they look magnificent, or just be a former shell?
My memory, is a fallen tree.
Amongst jungles that struggle with deforestry.
As an infant, a lone flower bloomed.
In a place where a garden would soon consume.
Others fostered it, planted the seeds,
Did their best to pluck out the weeds.
It continued to grow, my mind was a yard.
Neatly tended and trimmed, the labor was hard.
I learned to ride a bike, a rose bush sprouted.
When I first said “I love you,” and meant it I shouted:
“Look, a new tree! I want it to grow!
I desire a jungle, where rich rivers may flow.”
So I poured out my soul, I studied and tried,
The flowers, trees, and bushes only multiplied.
The jungle was mine. A sea of lush green.
Nobody could help but admire the scene.
I was on top of the world, the highest of highs.
That is when the first flower died.
I cried, I cradled it’s remains.
“But you have a full jungle!” The people proclaimed.
But I couldn’t help but think, that this was where it started,
The mind I once knew got sick and departed.
The trees, one by one, fell to their knees.
Begging me, “Victoria, you must save us, please!”
But I frowned, there wasn’t much left to do.
The people with lawnmowers and axes knew.
Like dominoes, things started to fall.
Green to brown. Life to death. That which was tall,
Fell. Now I am left alone.
What was this place that I called my home?
Now my memory is just one of the fallen trees,
It’s death dominates my mind amongst other things.
On My Mind
You do not understand,
I dream of the ocean while I am on land.
My glance is glazed, yet clear as water.
I feel like both the clay and the potter.
Right is similar to the left,
Perpendicular but never met.
Dusk but never a sunset.
Wants to leave but never let.
I always trip but there are no cracks,
A rattlesnake with venom lack.
A spider caught in her own web,
Fully alive while incredibly dead.
I want to be polite, but I use words sour.
I am the most basic of huts, yet stand as a tower.
My thoughts are bringing me to the brink,
When it comes to appliances my mind’s a kitchen sink.
Dirty dishes fill the space,
With hopes of getting cleaned and put in a glass case.
So what is next for us? I do believe I am lost.
I am wandering alone on a road seasoned with icy frost.
I am barefoot. The chill originates in my bones.
I am what makes these icy roads cold.
Yet I crave feeling warm, I desire the heated.
Warmth here is in a famine like edible food depleted.
The last time I felt warmth was when I talked to you in earnest.
Not unlike when I talked to my human Father as a kid.
I was one fourth of his size, weighed less than a penny,
I’d stare up into his deep green eyes, and he’d protect me.
I opened my mouth, had planned what I was to say,
yet my words would just ruminate like a horse eating hay.
Point A to point B was an impossible feat,
Yet he would continue to stare down lovingly on me.
Why can I not talk like I used to? I believe I am lost.
In an over air-conditioned room, my lips are what’s frozen with frost.
I now am in a tall building, for white walls and florescent light.
A man in a suit is explaining my downward plight.
He says I need to literally cough up my debt.
He is the coldest person I think I have ever met.
Colder than me, but alas, I am lost.
So I payed my dues unaware of the cost.
Lord, who am I? Why do I hate being alone?
The smoke signals are useless from my mountain-top home.
Yet they are my preferred method of communication, they cloud my vision.
There is way less tension when there is no decision.
I can not sit on your lap, for you are not like my father.
Or are you? Well then please cause me not to wander,
On roads, seasoned with icy frost.
For I do believe I am lost, I know I am lost.
I want to be a lot of things,
So much pent up inside of me,
I want to be strong, but too long,
I’ve sat here decidedly,
Planning strategy, half of me,
Knows it’s all just a fallacy,
Failing miserably, drastically,
And then I crash dramatically,
In to a wall,
I’ve hit a hundred times before, and yet I still ignore,
The dark red blood stains on the floor,
And I’m back,
In front of you, Lord,
With blood on the floor,
Is the blood mine or yours?
I keep my insecurities in these cabinets next to all of my bad habits.
Including when I tuck away my thoughts, to which I have had it!
I may be a bit crazy, a little lazy,
Definitely biased towards the media mainstream,
But I have had it.
I keep an ounce of hope in a drawer under my cabinet,
Every now and then it grows to a seedling at best.
One time it grew and stretched through the cracks to the next.
I just couldn’t let it blossom, because I couldn’t make myself forget,
That emotions are worthless, so for life I was set.
“Life has only one purpose, feelings are petty things.”
I was not ready for the turmoil and the inner conflict they bring.
Well, It’s time to take these emotions off of the hangers in my closet.
It is time to take the hints of happiness out of my lockets.
I know a love that loves the un-loving.
For now all I can say that I think you’re lovely.
Why I Haven’t Written
I’m sorry I haven’t written - its been awhile since I’ve dreamed.
It’s been awhile since I’ve acted on my hopes for anything.
Now that you know everything,
Am I everything you wanted me to be?
For this city is laid out like a massive machine,
And up above the clouds I can see everything.
When I look down the road, and the bystanders look at me,
By the glow of the city streetlights,
I appear crystal clean.
This city is laid out like a massive machine,
And it’s synched up all perfectly with all of my circuitry.
I am not a complicated human being:
I just want to love and for someone to love me.
This city is filled with so many broken dreams,
And so many beautiful memories, which one will it be,
For me? These are my honest thoughts.
I am sick of looking out onto empty parking lots.
This city is laid out like a broken machine.
I am starting to believe that no one will come home to me.
This is why I haven’t written, this is why I haven’t dreamed.
It seems so pathetic, many use these thoughts for selfish means.
This city breaks me down like a massive machine.
And if there is no hope for me, then forget it! I will just leave!
I am hitting the road, goodbye and adieu.
Most times not, but this time I wish people knew.
I am a wet mass of clay without a skilled potter,
I am a pretty potted plant without the proper water.
Although, I wish I was a seed. I dream of that day,
When I grow. Seemingly out of nothing, I finally may,
Raise my aged hands toward the heaven’s high.
My branches, my fingers, will stretch for the sky.
The downside, though, is the shadows they will cast.
Dark shadows in a dark night, that will always seem to last,
Forever. Never ending into nothing.
But I will be closer to the sky, so at least that is something.
I think I love this rainy weather;
It fills up my hollow bones just right.
I think I love this rainy weather:
the dripping sings me to sleep when I can’t sleep at night.
I think I love this rainy weather:
It makes me choose to ponder my life.
I love this rainy weather,
Oh God, I wish I could cry the way I see you cry.
The last time I saw God cry was Tuesday of last week, and I wasn’t sure why,
But the skies just opened up, and I sat there beneath it in a puddle of mud next to the memory of my favorite swingset, as a kid, and wondered if it was my fault that you were sad that day.
Jesus, the last time I saw you cry was in my dream last night. You held me tight and wept until I was drenched and I said: “I am so sorry God! I’ll never do that again!”
But the other day I met a girl who talked about love as if it was real,
And I shared a few things about what I thought I could feel. I said:
“Well I don’t mean to shatter you naivete, darling, but you’ve so much to see”
And she just said that I would be the one seeing and smiled at me.
I love this rainy weather,
It reminds me of when I didn’t worry, but I worry more than ever now.
My biggest secret is that I don’t have any secrets left.
I HATE THIS RAINY WEATHER!
It reminds me of being a kid when I used to trust without question,
and now there are so many questions.
Why are there so many questions?
I hate this rainy weather, get out of my head.