A letter to my mother

I watch you sometimes, when you don't know that I'm there
And secretly, I feel honoured when people point out how much alike we are.
I'm sorry that I can't be more like you
and I'm sorry that I can't be someone for you to approve of.

Somedays I feel as though all the best parts of me, I inherited from you
but that I somehow never inherited all the best things about you.
It's killing me
to watch as I break your heart.

You didn't deserve me, you know
I'm not good enough for you.

I'm sorry for all the things I've done
For all the things I've said,
For all the things I'll say and do again.

Know that I love you,
No matter what,
I love you.

Paper Planes, Jeremy and the Way We Solved Our Problems

I taught you how to make your first paper plane.
I was in love with you.
I think.
It was so long ago that it's hard to remember,
But I do remember shaking my head at the paper plane you made along side your friends
Trying to make a plane by folding-squishing the paper into
what I assume was supposed to look something like a plane
And then sticking tape all over it to make it stay in that shape.
I should have realized then that you could never love me
Because where I tried to fix problems by making them right,
You would just stick some more tape on all of your shortcomings and hope that no one would notice
It was so long ago, but I remember
I was the nerdy, awkward, socially-inept third grader
And you were the "fly," rabble-rousing fourth grade student
King of the summer camp playground, conqueror of all the rug-rats and dirty rascals.
I was in love with you.
I think.
It was so long ago that it's hard to remember,
But I remember holding your hands, molding them to fold the perfect paper plane.
I remember smiling, sheepishly at you and saying "this is how it's done."
And that was all
But it wasn't.
Because two whole years later I transferred to your school
We were still children, but as children do, we thought ourselves adult
We scrambled over the monkey bars and you chased me through the "forest."
I realize now that the forest was just a small grove of trees,
And I see how small we were
But in that moment you were the biggest thing in my world:
The sun which I revolved around, my one true love.
You pulled my headbands off my head and threw them like frisbees with your friends
I didn't care.
All I cared about was you.
You teased me about my geeky books and all my nerdy ways
I didn't cry.
But I cried myself to sleep each night, wishing you would care for me.
I was in love with you.
I think.
But what is love if not the mere absence of hatred made stronger by mutual physical attraction?
What is love if not the mere absence of frustration, made stronger by the desire to procreate?
Love is nothing.
Love is childish, as small as we were and yet, as we did, Love thinks it's self adult.
I don't think you ever loved me,
We went our separate ways and now I see that it was for the best
Because you just stick some more tape on all of your shortcomings and hope that no one will notice them
I fix my problems by making them right.
So I'm fixing this problem
I'm going to fold it into a perfect paper plane
And I'm going to throw it out my window and out of my mind
I won't look back, and I promise I'll never think of you again.

This is the story of a girl in a glass box.

This is the story of a girl in a glass box.
Nothing can touch her, nothing can harm her.
She loves no one and no one loves her back.
She lives in a world with no sadness or pain
A world with no people, every day just the same
As the last, whichwas boring, as boring can be
Life in a glass box, with nothing to see
Until one day a glass cutter visited her home
And cut away the side of her box.
He said, he'd rescue her from the monotony on one condition:
She wasn't allowed to fall in love with him.
What is love? She asked him, and he laughed.
They travelled the world together, the glass cutter and the girl from the box.
They visited Paris, Milan, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Brazil, Mexico, and the Great Wall of China.
Together, the glass cutter and the girl from the box hiked in the Cloud Forest and swam in the seven seas.
Then one day, the girl from the box said to the glass cutter:
"I have grown to appreciate your company very much.
You are funny and kind and considerate. I don't think you could stand to hurt a fly,
But you could certainly take down a lion if he dared to hurt anything you cared for.
I wish," she sighed, "I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you.
I am so happy," she said, "I could burst.
And I wish that I could do something to make you as happy as I am now."
The glass gutter stopped laughing
And he looked at the girl
"That is love." He said.
"What you have described is love."
And he left, without another word.
Because he knew that the girl from the glass box had fallen in love with him.
And so the girl who had lived in the glass box found another glass box to live inside of.
And she thought.
And she thought.
And she thought and she dreamed and she wished for the glass cutter.
She saw nothing,
she did nothing,
she felt nothing
but she thought everything.
She thought rainbows and oceans and tall ships and telegrams.
She thought lunches in Paris and late night trains to London.
She thought of eating rabbit at midnight and of the shape of the glass cutter's chin.
She thought:
This is what love feels like.
And then she realized, with a start,
That even when you live in a glass box you can still feel things.
You can feel longing and fear and misery and love.
You just can't do anything about the way you feel.
And she dreamed and she wished for a happy ending to her story
But she couldn't do anything about it, because she had ruined everything.
She had fallen in love with the glass cutter
And she had found herself another glass box to live inside.

And honestly, that's the end of the story as far as I'm concerned.
The glass cutter may have come back for her, but he also may not have.
In the end, it doesn't really matter.
There is no moral to the story.
Sometimes, that's just how life is.

Resurgence

I'm dreaming of a crumbling city citadel
A mossy tussock sits inside
Arched windows overlook the city of light
Broken and buried in rubble
Trees sprout from the ruins
Bird calls echo through the silence
As nature reclaims what is naturally, rightfully hers

I'm sitting on top of this mountain
A sheer, cliff-face drop to the water below
And I dive, reaching for the pot at the end of the rainbow
Sailing my ship down the waterfall
Flying my kite into blue oblivion
Riding on the back of a whirlwind
And laughing at the child I was, I am, I'll always be

I'm finding myself in the least expected of places
Dreaming within the confines of this box I call home
Writing on the white walls that surround me
Pissing my signature on the pillars of conformity
I'm learning to love despite my cynicism
I'm living the life I didn't think I wanted to live
I'm growing into shoes I thought would never fit

White gauzy curtains flutter at the window pane
The storm rages outside the latch
The key disappears under the doormat
Opening doors that cannot be seen
The butterfly leaves its cocoon
The kitten opens its eyes
We all hold hands and face the new dawning

We become transfixed, transfusing, diffusing
We become what we are
When no one dares to look
Where no one dares to look
We live different lives
When we're not under the microscope
When we are free of panopticism
We become lighter, floating, we become light

Metaphor

The man who eats his words shall have a feast indeed
It may be flavorful and rich
Or scanty and decayed
but it shall be a feast nonetheless

The man who speaks with much thought
may not have much to eat
but each bite will be wholesome and good

The man who speaks only good of himself and only ill of others
Shall eat until he runs to fat
Gorging himself on the things he oughtn't to have said

And the man who speaks only in lies shall not eat his words
but be eaten by them.

One thing we have established, if words are food for thought
I quite like playing with my food

Devil in the Details

Today I realized that my math teacher pronounces calculator wrong. It made me smile, but it also bothered me, just a little bit.
I noticed as I rode my bike home yesterday that as the wheels spin, they hit my gears, creating just a little click.
Every crack that's in the pavement
Little things which pass you by
These things just drive me crazy
And I can't say really why.
A week ago last sunday I realized that my mother has a mole on her left cheek, it twitches while she talks.
And on a school trip I noticed that my best friend looks like a deranged penguin when she walks.
Every crack that's in the pavement
Little things which pass you by
These things just drive me crazy
And I can't say really why.
I went through testing as a little child. The doctors said they'd say if there was something wrong with me.
And yet I cometimes can't help wondering if they didn't tell the truth, if they left something out to make it easy.