Vision+Voice

I’d cross any distance on a map,
Scale any mountain up above,
A knife, a cut, a tender wound,
Anything for those I love.

My family’s care is boundless,
And it only seems to grow,
To me, my friends are priceless,
Much more than they will ever know.

A stranger or a dearest friend,
No matter who’s to blame,
A knife, a cut, a drop of blood,
I’d sacrifice it just the same.

But I’ll always cover up the wound,
Look as happy as can be,
My face is wet, but they can’t tell,
With tears, they’ll never see.

They won’t notice, that behind my smile,
I’m holding back their flood,
Behind my back, I hold,
The cloth I used to wipe the blood.

No matter what, I know,
My love for them will have no end,
A knife, a cut, another scar,
And I’d do it all over again.

I’ve tried many hobbies of all kinds of crafts,
Yet there’s only a few I’ve acquired,
Cause’ in all of those pass times, though really, I try,
They do leave things to be desired.

My photos are failures, in any light,
There’s much too much smoke when I cook,
My drawings and paintings, could make Bob Ross cry,
But I’m always at home in a book.

Origami somehow ends up a creased, crumpled mess,
My sewing is sloppy x 10,
My calligraphy is a calamity,
But I’m clever, with paper and pen.

My skating’s disgraceful, on wood or on ice,
Snails laugh at the speed of my sprint,
But I manage outdoors, camping in the woods,
Start a fire with steel and with flint.

If I try making bracelets, or cookies, or cards,
I always end up messing up the lot,
If I try to attempt any kind of crochet,
I’ll end up weaving a Gordian knot.

You’d think that the mayhem and mishaps and mess-ups,
Would surely show me to the door,
But at the end of the day, I smile, unfazed,
Cause’ I can’t wait to find and try more.

To me really it’s a nonsensical phrase,
“Curiosity killed the cat”,
It’s wrong and restricting in so many ways,
And boring and useless at that.

There’s a thrilling adventurous world out there,
If you just step outside of your door,
There’s miles and miles of breathtaking lands,
Waiting for you to explore.

Don’t sit there afraid of the worry and woe,
Letting all opportunities pass,
You’ll gain nothing, learn nothing, live nothing at all,
If you watch life from behind a glass.

You’ll learn so many secrets and mysteries too,
Don’t let them tell you that you shouldn’t do it,
There’s an endless amount of knowledge in our grasp,
For anyone brave enough to pursue it.

So never look down on the curious cat,
Here is the reason I won’t,
That cat took a risk, to learn something new,
And that cat knows something that you don’t.

Nowadays, wildflowers don’t dance in December,
But once upon a time there were fairies with blue wands.
I promise I try, but it gets harder to remember.

The flickering of office building lights past the picket fence are like fireflies,
That feature ad nauseum in children’s books, and I forget when by the ponds,
Nowadays, wildflowers don’t dance in December.

It’s disconcerting sometimes to look back at the goodbyes,
And plants stay longer than people do — I run my hand through their fronds.
I promise I try, but it gets harder to remember.

And who was that who liked cardinals because they sounded like the sunrise?
Maybe that girl in the odd dresses (bluebonnets painted on their wintry fonds) –
Nowadays, wildflowers don’t dance in December.

And the chocolate milk was always sour, but third graders learn to hide sighs,
And when I’m called innocent I think back to trees’ shadows on nine year-old blondes,
I promise I try, but it gets harder to remember.

Miniscule footprints once marked my driveway, hands full of cream from pecan pies.
And once upon a time (I swear it’s true), fairies did have blue wands.
Nowadays, wildflowers don’t dance in December.
I promise I try, but it gets harder to remember.

Everything about driving through tiny Texas towns,
with the protestant guilt rushing out of every gutter grate.
It’s noon in October,
and the moon is sitting lazy in the sky;
like a schoolchild
refusing to get out of bed.

And those juvenile clouds,
Midland evenings are awfully dull,
but so very bright.
These nights, they bore and scare me all at once,
like the dead deer lining up in rows under sulking grey trees.
I’ve seen a million before,
they don’t bother me anymore.

Some uncanny trail,
it follows you out here,
like a string on a sweater dragging behind.
Something sinister is surely hiding
under all this roadkill and cacti.

There’s a certain sadness that comes with the heat,
When even a breeze flushes your skin
And dampens your brow.

But there’s a bitterness in the cold,
When the sleet stings your scalp,
And your fingers go brittle with the ice.

So when the earth turns to mud,
Rich with sweet September rain;
When the lakes turn shiny and amber,

I can finally revel in all these seasonal amenities,
In my annual holiday of sleep and hugs
And spice and musk.

How there’s some sort of horoscopy falling from the sky
And the leaves,
Precious little snowflakes, you are mystery, augury.

Try to ignore how I’ll soon have to wake
To the impending perineal ennui,
That chews away at my temper every other time of year.

Ever since I was young,
I craved to be old.
I thought, when I was young,
that my life hadn’t even started to unfold.

I thought life was like a flower.
When it blooms, it’s at its best.
But now I see, you will miss all the parts in between.
So it might not be its best,
it might just be a few steps closer to your last breath.

Many people had told me that they wish they’d be young again.
This is one thing that took me a while to understand.

But then I realized I shouldn’t waste my time wanting to be older,
I should be spending my time living every moment of every day.

The flower may be wonderful
but you can’t have the flower without the bud coming before it.
And now everyday,
I see beauty in it.

I get jealous of the time,
How it ticks before my eyes.
I can see it change,
See the minutes peel away.
How it tallies
Rolls forward.
So linear,
Strolling in pace with the sun

I sleep between the clouds,
hang my clothes
on crescent moons.
I linger in the past
In the minutes that wont slough off,
Slipping into yesterday’s photographs,
Hanging every grievance to dry.
I’ll perch on the chem trails,
Re-reading faded notes,
Each kept crunchy letter.
Oh the ink-clad heartache,
So tender still,
I sleep with the memories
And bathe in the rust.

Feel the wind rushing in.
Now all the petals on the ground.
Feel the breeze through your hair, sunflowers everywhere.
Sunflowers above the grass like the sun above all.
At night foxes in the bay kissing their babies and hitting the hay.

I’m like the sun
I’m like the Moon

like the morning Breeze that welcomes you to the day
like the rain who keeps you inside

I’m like that River so calm and clear
I’m like that flood tears everything away

my Smiles could light up the world
and I’m a pot boiling over with anger

this is me and I’m proud of me
I’m like everything