An ocean separates us,

An ocean of water, of fire, of glass.

The water is calm and the fire rages

And the glass is cold and still,

Reflecting the sky's constellations.

You stand on the shore not quite out of sight.

The moon shines its gracious light down

Illuminating you like a lighthouse

That pulls me through a raging storm.

I am sailing across the ocean towards you,

Following your light as I slowly drown

In the waves and thunder.

I am standing on the shore next to you,

The sand soft beneath your feet,

Sharp beneath mine.

I am looking across the sky to your sillouette on the horizon, 

Seperated by an ocean of glass and unspoken words,

Longing for you.

we sit on the school bleachers,

the cool metal leaking into our skin,

with four feet between us.

silence hangs in that four feet,

thick and sticky,

clinging to our lips.

we can both feel it,

feel the wrongness of that silence, 

but we ignore it all the same. 

the faded ghosts of our past selves,

are squeezed next to each other in that four feet,

laughing loudly,

their voices twirling in the wind.

and yet here we are,

avoiding each other’s eyes,

pretending the other doesn’t exist, 

wishing things hadn't changed. 

here we are,

four years later,

four feet apart,

and

so,

so,

silent.

A life that hangs on a number--

A number they can never touch;

One that beeps each heartbeat they have left, 

And measures an arbitrary level of intangible...

Something.

The number looms over their head,

The amount of pills they take each day;

The times they've messed up,

Or a maths class they dread each day,

A life hung on a grade. 

Do I hate the night

That steals my eyes?

No, how could I ever hate her;

She needs them far more than I,

And so I'll gladly give them

For her to see a world otherwise eternally hidden. 

Do I hate the sea

Who swallow ships and men and riches alike? 

No, how could I ever hate her;

For she has been broken -- tormented, beaten --

For what better use could those resources go

Than to feed her starving children? 

Who I hate the winter

Who steals my warmth and light?

No, how could I ever hate her;

For her bones are much icier than mine

Her eyes more deprived of light,

I will give her all she asks for, gladly. 

Broken 

Broken

Broken

How can I ever be beautiful again?

For now I fear

Those I might once have yearned 

For the attention of.

Broken

Broken

Broken

Shattered in pieces on the floor.

How can I pick up these

Sharp, bleeding fragments 

And ever hope to put the back together again? 

Broken

Broken

Broken

Even the ugliest splinters

Will wear down with wind and water and time

And no longer will I be broken

But nothing, nothing at all. 

Something snaps--

It crumbles deep inside

Some invisible organ hollowed,

Caving in past the point of saving.

I can't see it, but it sure feels, and hard;

When splintering bones crack and popple

And I can't move properly again.

I lay there in the snow, turning into a bare mummy

Wondering if anyone'll ever know

Just

What

Broke

Inside

Today.

There is, as of yet

No answer, to my dismay. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Disclaimer: May not be based on personal experience. :/

summer has never been my favorite season. 

in my town, the sun is unrelenting.

it doesn’t freckle or tan your skin,

but burns it until it’s all pink and peeling.

and seatbelts turn into simmering hot metal for a solid three months.

grass doesn’t last long in the heat.

it browns and withers in a week,

leaving dead stalks to claw at your legs,

and even the most resilient wildflowers last a month at most.

chlorine filled pools are the only escape,

until your skin dries out from the chemicals,

and the tan lines of your bathing suit are forever stamped on your back.

ice cream and ice cubes are a must during these summers.

but while daytime might be a hot, sticky nightmare,

summer nights in my town seem like a miracle.

as soon as the sun goes down,

the screen doors and windows are flung open,

cooling the houses with nighttime air.

the symphony of insects starts to warm up beneath the stars,

starting with the low hum of cicadas,

and eventually fading into the song of the crickets.

the jasmine plant outside my window starts to bloom,

and the sweet smell of its flowers seeps through the battered screen.

a fawn and its mother trudge through the dry grass into the meadow in my backyard,

they stand warily, dipping their noses into the just about dry creek,

illuminated by the moon.

if you look up, 

the big dipper stands out in the sky, 

its stars big and bright. 

yes, summer nights are something out of a story book,

a brief escape from the hot summer days.

summer may not be my favorite season,

but there’s something magical to it when the sun goes down.