Monday, November 30, 2009

like a Jackson Pollock

She stared at the page as if it had offended her standing. In all technicality, it had. Her pride and gift offended by this blank page. Blank like the glare in her eyes. Blank like the look she held in class. Blank like the page in front of her now. She never found assigments for English debilitating like this particular work in the making. Her mind, along with the gray sky, was blank. She looked down at the blacktop and growled primitively in agitation. She stared into space. Staring into the black. All the emotions splattered upon her core like a paintbrush of many colors upon a canvas, turning it all into a muddy brown mess. That was her emotions now. Her mess. A few passerbys made their cordial hellos but refrained from a formal conversation. They had places to go. People to see. Things to experience. And Deirdre, Deirdre did not. She did not want to go anywhere. She did not want to do anything. She didn't want to see anyone. She wanted to go hide in a cave somewhere. A tranquil place. She hated this and her growing resentment was more futile by the second. How dare she? She loved her friend. But everyone seemed to be a passing fancy. A friend only for sunny days and blue skies. And a present fact that Adelaide herself would not admit to but Deirdre reminded her over and over that Adelaide was a true friend. She tried to push both thoughts from her mind. For the time being, Adelaide was not. Adelaide had promised, she swore on her life she would stay and never surrender her trust. Yet she fled in turmoil. Deirdre understood, but at the same time, she did not in the least. And she can't understand how everyone goes on breathing when true love ends. Or at least when it is missing.

Her family rejoined her and in her desperate attempt to get out quickly and in order stepped wrong on her knee as she made her way across the school parking lot. Oh, damn this broken knee to the firey depths of Hell her agitated reply came to the source of her irritation. Or of them. Too many people, too much noise and not enough peace for her taste. Finally muttering with a voice that disturbed only those homosapiens that would rather not hear her, F this place sick. She'd read it in a book borrowed from Adelaide. She honestly hated remembering that name. Her thoughts returned to the last time she'd seen Adelaide in real time and in her dreams and both were unsightly visions of the person she knew and loved.
She hated what her friend had become. More so what she had become. It all sickened her. As if she didn't feel sick enough. A hand with claws like razors seemed to be scraping at the back of her throat. Her nose congested and running only permitting her to go a few minutes without bringing a tissue to her face. She sincerely hoped she would die from this. It's only a head cold. Absolutely ridiculous. Ridiculous, but one would suppose not. If it mattered to her, it should matter to someone else, correct? For the most part, ethically correct. But not humanly. Humans are cold creatures. They do not consider the thoughts and feelings of anyone but the individual. She groaned inwardly. Whatever. was her post-modernistic mantra. The mantra that controlled the puppet strings. Her apathetic fuzzy creature, sucking the life out of her, in turn making her a creature too.

Into her little car, she piled everyone in and amazingly, not any one of her siblings said a word to her. Her little one, the sister that she loved so looked at her inquiringly through the rearview mirror, wondering who this strange person was in her elder sister's body. Deirdre didn't even know anymore What a cliche. She could have said out loud, but truly. In her mind, she would have loved to know who was making her move her brake and gear shift.

Flat Lines

Earth became a flat hum. Like the hum of bees around sultry bushes during summer. Only this was more without hope. Bees in the summer have hope. Hope of prosperity and sustenance. Adelaide had none present. Only dear Lion...which, by the frequency and horror of her dreams, could very well be an evil embodiment of some sort. Not that she was sure she even believed in evil anymore. Only indifference, which causes the most dreadful screech like the classic fingernails on a chalkboard in one's soul. Adelaide remembered her massive chalkboards back at the place others deemed home for her. Not that they would merit any benefit, considering her mind was a absence of thought currently. It was thought that was displayed on those chalkboards, and even if no one understood, at least she could give them a glimpse of her own insides looking out. Only this hum, likened to the sound to the educated ears, of a tv that is on and yet not playing. Just that annoying never ceasing cyber blue that stares at you until your eyes hurt and you turn it off. Then with a sort of hiss, it diminishes into nothing of consequence. Maybe that was her destiny, to diminish into nothing of consequence. Like her mind, still somewhere up there, having a keen time.

Somewhere, possibly in the middle of her begrudging thought of Mind without problems, there was a terribly scurrying. Deer? must be deer galloping by. Deer live in woods I am sure. There was also a change in the constant hum of her head. It oddly echoed in and out with different keys of a hum, as if someone were trying to find something on the radio but could find nothing clear on the AM channel. The ground was moving beneath her, she knew. Probably an earthquake that the deer and running from. She was unbelievably unafraid, merely observant of this odd phenomenon other than terror that resided now in her mind.

Quickly, as if a light had been turned on, or her throat had been cut off, there was silence. She knew she was thinking, and possibly feeling, but there was nothing. Not even the seemingly massive black box she existed in that simply reverberated her own ideals. Just...a flat line. She was existing on a flat line. And she didn't care.

Lion moaned as he careened his great mane to and fro. He felt wretched for leaving his dear cub. What a selfish horrible beast I am! Because they inflicted pain upon me, I leave her for it to be afflicted upon. He wanted to die, but felt content to wag on in his misery. Everything was penance to him recently. Because his every act was an atrocity, he felt he should punish himself for them, rather than take the convent way out and lunge off a mountain. was better this way. Maybe he would learn a lesson from his mistakes if he dwelt on them enough. Like leaving her. The thought collided with an ear splintering crash over and over in his head. So much that he wished himself voice if only to make the agonizing screams she uttered all the time his own. Oh, what the humans will do to my innocent cub...surely they have even taken thick thread and sewn her beautiful lips together, so as to keep from hearing her cries. Wild with confusion of the moment, Lion howled in angst. He had to go back. Follow her. And if he needed to, he would unsew her shut lips. If only to hear her cry, which caused him uncensored pain, he would die to unsew her lips.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

the sun only betrays

Miles away in her bedroom, the sun poured through Deirdre's window, stinging her eyes with a passionate mocking fury. It did this every morning but seemed slightly less than uninviting today. The sun was never a comfort to her. It only stole the night away from her weary body and mind.
 Don't wake me up! I am still dreaming! She did not want to be disturbed. But, for her eerie dreams to be disrupted, she'd gladly brave the day. The dark circles underneath her foggy emerald eyes betrayed her lack of sleep for days now. Probably more than that really. She groggily arose from the comfort and safety of her bed and turned her sink on. Her face arose to greet her mirror's reflection, aghast by her own appearance. Her hair a rat's nest by her definition. Skin oily, yet to be washed. Her eyes, she observed, unusually puffy and red. It puzzled her because even after crying, she did not get noticeably puffy, red eyes. She brought a washcloth to her face, cleansing away all traces of tears and muddied make up. She had showered the night before to compensate. She knew she wouldn't feel like it today. She drug a comb through her matted mane and face her reflection once again. Displeased, as expected, she returned to her bed. Her parents knew she felt ill. They would not disturb her peace.

She was afraid to return to sleep. Those dreams, those terrible dreams. Dreams of Adelaide being ensnared by a dark, looming apparition with chains around it's ankles and neck. Waiting, watching. Trying to grab her away in the night. In her helpless state. The dreams of the creature were relentless, it was as if it was too close to be unrelated, but Deirdre could not be entirely sure.
 The day after she found out of Adelaide's disappearance she dreamt she too had run away. But ended up somehow in the middle of nowhere and nothing. The dreams frightened her to no end. She was so sick. Sick of being sick. Sick of being here. Restless, she went to her easel. Her confessional. The outpour of her mind's inner workings. She had no ideas. No fresh perspective. She was dry. And she hated it. With a passion and a raging blaze none other would understand. She looked upon a piece that Adelaide had raved over and over about. A piece she loved. Her bittersweet memories returned and she missed her friend badly. But she could not cry anymore. I've spent ten years singing gravity away, but the water keeps on falling from my eyes. The water couldn't fall from her eyes. She didn't allow it. She hated to cry anymore.

She felt her eyelids growing heavy again. She was exhausted no matter how much she slept. She spent night after weary night tossing and turning and struggling to stay in a stable slumber.
She retreated to her bed once again. Hoping to retrieve lost hours of sleep. Even lost minutes would suffice. Up to this point it was getting ridiculous. Knowing she wouldn't, Deirdre climbed into bed anyway. She pulled the ivory covers over her head and buried her head in the pillow. Somehow, by some miracle of God, she drifted off.

Deirdre she heard a voice, a familiar one, calling her name sweetly. Euphorically. So very faint, but almost like a soft spoken lullaby. Words meant to be said and not sung. The child within so longed for a lullaby. Deirdre, I'm cold. Please help me. She saw a haggard, ghostly figure approach her. Hobbling step by step, the figure grew closer. She gaped in horror at what she saw. Addie?! she opened her mouth to synch the words but they did not come out. Deirdre. Deirdre. I'm so very cold. Please help me. As if it weren't enough that Adelaide was painfully thin, her beautiful almond eyes were hollow and dark. Glass. Dark, hollow, glass. Her black hair stringy and dirty. Matted. Her skin, pale as the full moon arbitrarily towering overhead. Mocking as it's lover, the sun. Deirdre tried to move closer to her. Adelaide moved away with every step Deirdre took closer. No, Deirdre, my dove. Don't touch me. I'm unclean. Not fitting. Then backed away slowly, still facing Deirdre. Staring her down with her soulless eyes. Unclean, unclean. I am a monster. Don't look at me. Then disappeared into the fog.

Deirdre opened her eyes and cried.

Friday, November 27, 2009

dear lion

Like a spear piercing the abdomen of a soldier in war, so the sun pierced through the sheer curtains of the tree's leaves with a passionate, mocking beam of light. The world lit and beautiful. The overcast sheen of clouds retreated. The sun poured through, shedding light upon the earth. The lion heaved a pain filled yawn and Adelaide buried her head in his mane. She was ill and had been for 2 days now. He moaned and licked her face, her cheeks flushed a fiery pink from fever. Fever and cold and lack of sustenance in days.
The cold and warmth had morphed into one. She was hallucinating. Horrid visions of her step-father, her father, her mother, and then Deirdre. Deirdre. she sighed her friend's name. She missed her friend. Her dear soulmate friend whose face had not graced her prescence in many days. Not since before she ran away. What was I thinking? Her head throbbed with the tears yet to be cried. Her stomach churned acid. Her eyes and cheeks burned with fever. Beads of sweat mixed with dirt trickled down her face. Her dark hair a matted mess.She sweared she was dying. She was frightened. She spoke in unintelligible, garbled tones and tongues. "Dear Lion, please help me" was the only intelligible sentence she could manage. "The's...No! No! NO!" she screamed in her delusions.

She saw a dark shadowed apparition coming toward her. With every hobbling lunge, chains rattled. Chains around it's neck, ankles and in it's gnarled claws. Come to wrap her in itself. Come to chain her. To make her disappear. As she wanted, but not like this. No, not in such a harsh manner. In between tears she whimpered, like a frightened child. She was a frightened child. The lion nuzzled her face, her fevered face, with his large muzzle. Licking her face and keeping her close, the girl's sobs died down and she slipped into unconsciousness again. He did not know what to do. He only did what he knew and it was not very much. She was worth saving, he knew. She was worth protecting. Worth loving. He nuzzled her face until she calmed completely, her breathing panted and heavy. He was afraid too. He did not want the dear one to die. In a short time, he loved her. He loved her with every bruised fiber of being. Everyone pulse of his heartbeat made his gashes throb. More so infected now, he was sore all over. Broken and torn. How could he prevent this little one from being harmed when he was so beaten himself? 

This child was his cub now. He had to do something. After a short 20 minutes she began writhing again, screaming in tongues he did not understand. She was frightened for her life and whatever horrible thing that was after her could only be in her distorted reality. Half imagination, half reality. For hours this horrid cycle persisted. Her delusional fits only left her more and more exhausted with each end. From a distance, his superior senses detected humans. The smell in the air, the sound of faint voices and tread of their step.
He knew they were coming for her. that they could help her. they were still far off into the distance. He gave a mighty and energy consuming roar, knowing they'd come running. "I heard a noise!" cried one. "It came from this direction!" and he heard them running now, their step faster. He rose slowly, his sores aching with every movement. He pushed fallen leaves with his nose over to Adelaide to cover her shaking body. His heart convulsed to leave her so helpless. but he had to. He moved away quickly so as not to be found out.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

I could only sing you sad songs

To belong. Oh, to belong. She was not barren enough to attest no friends, but she was fallen enough to understand the indifference of family. Oh, Deirdre was welcomed yes, though not wanted. They were courteous, only because relations are expected to be. She was accepted like a highschool class accepts a retarded child. They don't want him. They'd rather him dead. But no one says a word for that is far too cruel. I should be kinder and more understanding, she reasoned. Alright, she was wanted, she would be missed, but she was replaceable. Deirdre knew she contributed really nothing, just another face in the crowd. At the table. Addictions fill that table where the family used to sit and conversate to the sound of a record player with its jumping needle and the lights that grow dimmer with time. Yes, the lights had grown dim, so dim that not one would notice if a stranger's face replaced her own.

That Thanksgiving morning, she had awaken uncharacteristically early, and determined to scribe every aspect of life and humanity and the day she had witnessed. So far, her best friends were the only ones on the list. Two. Adelaide.

“Adelaide, where are you?!” she screamed in her sleep. No, calm calm calm calm yourself when life grows weary. Calm calm calm calm yourself, when worry scares you. Calm calm calm calm yourself, because I will be here or there. In a fit of hysteria she tried to awake. “No! No you are not here! No one I love is here! Only me, this disgusting pitiful wretch!” Fighting sheets that were not present, she could not break the coma's hold. It always fulfilled several torturous accusations before allowing her eyes to open.

Thanksgiving day. 2009.

She drove herself the too-short-half-hour to her Aunt's house in the country. Better that way than fearing her father the entire drive. She smiled at everyone, like an accomplished actress who smiles and waves at her spectators. That is what Deirdre felt like. Only a plaything to be viewed by many spectators. It was an apathetic peace. She'd drink it in rather than ache any day. That is, until father arrived.

She never understood why he said what he did. He preferred sharp words over kind ones. They were his weapon of choice. It was once said, that a coward kills with kisses. Her father was no coward. Unless you consider one a coward that kills those who cannot defend themselves. In that case, her father was a coward, and she despised him for it. How was it possible to despise and yet love? She loved him to her core, loved the way he protected her when he wanted to, loved the way he tried so hard to bring her again to God. But despised him for his disregard for any ones heart and mind than his own. He made her cry that day, with the first words he said he made her cry. She didn't care to recollect them. What infuriated her was the fact that as soon as it was over he pretended all to be sunshine. She feared him, even in his joyous moods.

Only a few minutes later, he asked her if she were ill. “No.” He jerked around, only to pick up a napkin, but she thought him furious for not addressing her properly. “I mean no sir!” she chocked out, fearing being lashed out in public. He did not hear her. Or did not acknowledge her, for he trod away and she ate with her grandmother in the other room.

They were truly the ones no one wanted. Though grandmother be wild and rambunctious, and Deirdre reticent and disengaged, they were together unacceptable.

The events of that day were blurred. She had recent told a friend that Thanksgiving is characterized by eating ones self into oblivion, and hence not realizing any distinct events that commenced, therefore a fuzzy distinct Thanksgiving expectation. This was no different, for she could not remember many transitioned events, only the ones that cut the deepest. Like the baby.

Oh yes, the baby. The little crying black haired baby that was shoved into her hands to do something with it. Feeling no paternal instinct whatsoever for this crying thing, she held it in her arms and carried it outside into the frosty air. She sat down and began to sing songs. The baby surely could not distinguish the joyous from the miserable, so she sang the only songs she knew. Sad songs. The dear seemed so peaceful, that by the moments it became more and more placid, until its little blue eyelids sank down. Perhaps from an angry thought, or the realization that this woman holding her was not a soft mother, but a monster with a mane, claws, and putrid teeth, the baby started, and began to sob. To no avail Deirdre tried to comfort it, until at last she carried it inside to its mother. It broke her heart, but she feigned slight irritation. That baby was the wiser of them all.

With memory of that realization almost two months ago, she woke up, sweating terribly despite the icy cold, and held her stomach with the pain.

To belong. Oh, to belong....

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

run away girl

She ran down the stairs blinded by tears, pain electrocuting her with every step. Her broken knee jabbed her body with a most excruciating shock. she did not care. Leaving the warmth and light, she pushed the doors to the Outside with a bang. He had pushed her this time. She was not coming back. Dusk was imminent. The sky a dusty orange hue. She ran. She ran through trees and thorns and brush twice her height. She ran through puddles and through a stream or two, she couldn't remember how many. The flora and fauna, though so inviting during the day, at night seemed a completely different dimension. A new universe in which the darkness desired to swallow her whole. Her eyes blurred still from her wrath, she had absolutely no idea of where on God's green earth she was going. She had a poor sense of direction anyway. Here, she had none. She ran and did not stop until her knee reminded her of her brokenness and fell. "Damned knee! Damn it to the deepest, aphotic branch of Hell's depths!" there in the middle of all the trees whispering to the stars the plight of this young tawny haired one, she broke down. tears fell many from her sea green eyes. A chill crept through the air like a gnarled hand trying to snuff out the light of day. She had no sweater on. Only a white dress. The white dress her mother wore. She'd forgotten even shoes running out of the comfort and protection of her childhood home. I am a child no longer. I don't belong there. She thought.
"Where are you going now, genius?" the rationalization probed her mind with a fiery fury. She could not escape to Adelaide, her best friend's domicile.

Adelaide was missing.

She was told this yesterday. They don't know where and why and how.

"Deirdre, you are truly my best friend. I am completely convinced that no one else cares anymore." Adelaide had told her just hours before she'd found her friend was lost. Missing She had thought the same to Adelaide. All her other apocryphal friends, fair weather companions, had gone. Blown away like autumn's leaves in a bitter winter's wind. Scared away at the slightest sign of turmoil. Adelaide was gone. Deirdre had the most ridiculous notion to go find her. to seek out her friend's comforting embrace and warming kisses. Her soulmate friend.

"Addie, where are you!?" she cried in desperation.
The stab in her knee went directly to her heart and tears continued to freeflow
from her already red, swollen eyes. Her mind went back to the scene at her home. Minutes, hours, days even, it seemed had passed sense the outburst with her father

"You whiny, attention craving, pretenious, wicked child!" cried her father. "I am ASHAMED to call you my child. ASHAMED. You never do as I ask and never do anything right. You great baby, you cry all too much, dry your tears immediately!" "I am NOT a child and I am THROUGH with your constant badgering and degrading me!"

that's when she ran away.

Her father, though she loved him so could do nothing but make her feel so small. So insignificant. She was sick. Sick of him. Sick of people misunderstanding. Sick of having to bear it all. On the forest floor, amongst the moss and earth, she lied down. she scrunched herself up into the fetal position and cried herself to sleep, alone in the dark.

Lion and Child

She lay silent on the forest's splintered base. It didn't even seem like a forest. It seemed like an unruly sick game created and played by an unruly sick child. A child familiar. One perhaps that shared hot cocoa on days like this. Days where the entire sky was a blank tongue bitten gray. Like the blank stare of the child.
Her thoughts stopped there, like a train happily chooing until it realizes it is going no where at all. She didn't know children, didn't have friends. All she had was this forest that looked like a mixed mess of dark threads that you throw away when you find in the dryer.
The fact that she had run away did not bring any sort of feeling. Which is worse than the most anguished of feelings. She wasn't human, and that was okay. Absence of pain was ignorance. And ignorance is bliss.
No...she is human. That was why she felt terror residing in the moment. Her name is Adelaide, and she is never satisfied with face vale wisdom and happy lies. So she is in this forest
Adelaide tried to remember what she was doing there. It seemed as if her mind was floating somewhere up in the mass of gray above, and was having a much better time alone in the sky than in the hell called her mind.
Brain must have dropped a thought down, for suddenly, it all came back.
She wasn't searching for anything. Rather, waiting. Waiting to see if she would be sought. To see if anyone would notice her odd absence for two days now. She should have written a letter. Not that it would ever be found because no one ever went in her cave. But still, then, she would truly be able to say the world was indifferent if she had left a letter and still no one came. Now, she might just have to blame her future isolation on the fact of life. Busyness. Which was understandable., that's not understandable...that's a wheelbarrow piled with lies like dung. Work is not that time consuming. We're not in Chinese labor camps.
But it was an excuse. And the world thrives on excuses like methane.
Groaning, she pulled herself into a half moon sleepless position, and tilted her face towards her shirt so as to see if a foreign smell of one she loved was present. Deirdre was the last one she had hugged, and even she was incomplete, broken, a misfit. Her nose was far too chilled to even smell, so she concentrated on breathing, though unsure why she even tried.
Between fits of shivers and an empty heart sending pulses to a mind that had run away, she fought herself into sleep. Sleep. What a joke. Sleep meant peace, and there was no peace. How can there be peace between the hammer and the anvil? When one is gone, the other is useless. Useless heart without the mind. Ugh, she should have given into that minds every impulse, instead of disregarding the reassuring it tried to give. Perhaps is she had done this, it would not have flown away.
From her repose she could hear a raspy droning heaving, like the echo in an empty house of a killer. She tried to awake, but her comatose never gave her up easily. If there were men here, I would not be able to differentiate them from the trees, she thought. When at last her charcoaled eyes grew accustomed to the gray air and black sky, she wished she were asleep still.
Less than a foot away crouched an enormous lion, breathing in stridulous, so it sounded as if broken glass were being walked on with combat boots.
He was not kind.
She began to cry. Because her mind was not present at the moment, her heart accepted the job of assaulting her, telling her of her stupidity for even trying to find a way out of the apathy in which she lived. It was better to be alive and anonymous than a tragic story never told.
Upon seeing her tears, the lion's face changed, and his entire being went into a calamitous state. He knew he should attack. The only people he ever had experienced had taken whips to him, and he winced at thought of the crusted infected gashes on his hide. Resolved, he growled lowly, and took another step towards her, his prey, his proof that he was a man, his reminder to men that he could fend for himself. But as he stepped to strike, her glassy almond eyes struck his with more pain than the whips had ever succeeded. Ashamed, he collapsed on the wiry ground, and in penance began to lick her dirty feet with his great pink tongue. He had no voice, but her pain was too great for him to bear. She stared at him in bewilderment, but did not stir in the least. When at last she ceased to cry, he dared to edge closer, and lay his great head in her lap, and kiss her beautiful hands. To his incredulity, she lifted his scarred face, and kissed above his eyes. He made room for her at his side, and nudged her politely. In an exhausted collapse, she fell still beside him, eyes fluttering with the weight of all her ulterior hell.

-the anonymous misfit

rise again

Representation of purity
It is true for her when said "The name is one's virtue"
Evoking innocence, curiosity
An angel of light
A seraph of real
Inspiration, adventure and shelter

an angel with her wings broken by stone after shattering
Does no one know what they did to her?
Pushed to the ground
Dragged through the mud and mire
Bloody, broken, disgusting to any who would dare
judge without knowing
Your ignorance, your complex
You horrid beast

You dug a hole six feet deep
You said she wasn't acceptable
You broke her and left her for dead
Ignorant fools
Complacent bliss-lovers
You sicken me and I refuse to even spit in your
The path on which you walk

Father picked her up, brushed her off
and nursed her back to health
Still tender and aching
Entrusted little one to me
Changing her bandages
Pressing compresses to her forehead
Calling her lovely
Kissing her bruised cheek
I love her so
Angel, love, you will rise again

-the adopted anyone

Thursday, November 12, 2009

fire & water makes steam

Contrasted like rain and water

I must clarify now, for I always speak of us as if we were an entity of one.

she and I, we are not one. I am an "Adelaide" and she a "Deirdre".

I am fire
She is water

I am love
She is trust

She is protection
I am comfort

We are two separate things. "How can an umbrella be a doorknob?" she asked me once

It cannot. That is why we are not the same.

I was me long before I became acquainted with dear hearted dove. she was herself long before my arrival.

In all honesty, we stimulate and build each other up. The blind leading the blind in a world gray and void of color. we fail to see how we add to the human race our color and depth.
I believe we do, despite our lack of knowledge. I fall and fail. As does she.

We are similar but much different. similar enough to be connected. Different enough for spice.

-the adopted anyone

Friday, November 6, 2009

my Spark

she is an oddity.
separate from the whole, and would give her very life to fly opposite of trite normal.
she is hypnotizing illumination.
radiant, reminding all of her glorious Father.
she is the one that even babes comprehend.
she is the one that no one understand.
she awes with her beauty and ability to soar above all, swirling upwards to calligraphy like midnight dogwoods.
she is feared.
evaded because of the painful singe of reality she uncannily bestows.
she spirals freely downward, all aglow and joyful.
parents pull their children away.
she descends on hard cracked earth for a breath.
so incandescent, though on our level.
then she is stomped out.
not only killed.
after all, she is an influence.
she has potential so much to set our universe afire.
to incinerate the dead and superficial.
she is never sought after.
no, she will burn you, nothing more.
only by other sparks is she loved.
because we understand.

-the anonymous misfit

me, Raindrop

"girl, you are like summer rain, soft, and warm, and delicate. and i am a foolish boy, trying to catch every drop of you on my tounge. but theres just too many, and i can't get enough."
i am fallen of Father sky.
i am the grieving tears of old men clouds.
i am life.
i am death.
i am too much.
i destroy what has been precariously planted in the hot sun.
i am not enough.
i kill the innocent because i do not give of myself.
i am soft and warm and delicate.
i am biting and cold and brash.
i maim fragile butterflies so they never again fly.
i provide that glorious sound echoing on the rooftop that makes orphans smile.
you can't catch me, i can't even catch myself.
"if you can't find yourself how can i expect to find you."
you will never get enough of me, i am incapable of allowing it.
you can't capture me without deriving me of my purpose.
"you can't rescue me, you aint that strong."
you cannot depend on me.
for i cannot be trusted.
this is my fate.
and all i have ever know.

-the anonymous misfit