A Little Bit Of Sunshine

I wear lonely like a second skin desperation, like a fragrance My mind is in disarray yearning for someone to talk to. I mean, searching...it's not a dignified desire It's downright feral and foaming at the mouth It's shuddering at the smallest chance you might say hi. And talk about the weather.  I've gazed at the sky all week,  trying to keep informed.  I'm hanging by the phone, awaiting the tone Dear salesman, please sell me something Don't hang up just yet! I might actually be in need of a prosthetic leg...now was it the right or the left?  Dear old friend, please tell me something  I gush all my secrets to the poems, and oh do they listen. They've heard it all, carried it all...  Every. Last. Word.  But chances of them talking back are pretty small.  If you're wondering why my inner ramblings are resembling those of an alcoholic writer who fell to his death from an unknown height,  I've decided you don't exist, dear reader.  Every day I writ

Thus, the quest to "find myself" has been one grand celestial crank call (see: big joke)  I was never lost. I've always known who I was and what I wanted. The real issue at hand is and always was, accepting myself. And so, like most stories go... Mine ends right back at the beginning. Back to the fetal position. Or maybe further than that. When I was a hulk of cells, or maybe further more. When the earth was without form. The good ol' days, where days lasted eternity and eternity a day. Sometimes when I pray, it all comes back to me. There's a yearning Burning inside me It seems I'm aging backwards Trying to get back to that place Where I was everything and nothing all wrapped up in one The end and the beginning with no boundary line I'm not fighting for my dreams I'm fighting for what's real Greatness can't be achieved It can only be retrieved It was a stormy December When I remembered That I was once complete and at peace My entire existence

I have lived life as honestly as one can, With my head bent low and meager possessions in my hand. I never did change the world But I always spared a kind word To whom it may concern. I desired not money or accolade Nor the praise of human lips The pleasures of wine Or slimmer hips But I longed for a dance, or two A glance across a crowded ballroom. To whom it may concern. I once yearned to read all the books in the world.  Silly little girl. Every story ever told Is either love or war Love and war War turned love and love turned war Love yearned or unreturned I've no need to hear anymore. What's left to do? I tuck my hands in my pockets And wonder what I might find there. I walk barefoot. Grass between my toes, Occasionally I stop to smell a rose. I've achieved nothing but life the warm feel of the sun on my spine. Wordlessly, I exist. There are no statues erected in my honour My deeds don't inspire song Soundlessly, I persist. That persiste

I've been thinking lately, about constellations Forgive me, I do not think myself above my station- It would be proper, real polite, of me to keep my head down Finish the labour work I left on the ground. I dare not dream aloud Merely thinking it, I overstep my bounds.  When I've tucked in and made sure no one's looking  I reach a hand to the stars, and for a moment...  I'm the biggest thing in the sky It isn't very often I cross the line.  But I brave the journey tonight  My steps resemble a little bird taking flight for the first ti- Yet nothing has changed.   I know my place, the small patch of earth where my name is engraved  Almost sinister, it awaits my return from space.  But for a second I linger,  Clasping the moon between my fingers...  I don't have the might of heroes  Nor the beauty from of old My voice is not made for song..  But in this tiny stolen moment,  I'm capable of flight.