flow,
out, from my innward,
the mask that i hold
for days when i unravel
in shifting, fifty two pick up
my deck of cards, this face
twisted metal
turns like a machine
at times when i unravel,
much like these,
that lead me up
to the day of my coming,
this ever aching, ever lonely
constant lacking, need to be.
all the depressed are living on wasted energy,
but what of a freedoom none can see?
who cares.
the empty and disfigured
suffer void and deformity
as much as me
distorted hang-ups rooted deep underneath
so much it's impossible to see,
from where these crooked flowers are stemming
in the closet where i grew up, the severed garden, hung.
sleeping all year,
to surprise me here, always
my past that haunts me, consumed, disregarded,
hollow yesterdays, remind me of my shell
the mirror, stories tell, these scriptures, preach like hell
my love, can you see now? how,
introducing me to something new, might help
change my attitude about it all,
[ and so ]
because of you
do i find some hope, despite my doubts
you are my light at the end of the tunnel
and the beginning of something wonderful
for which there are no limits of fullfilment.
my love, you are not, for granted.
i love you.
as winter approaches i think we all find ourselves a little out of sorts, finding something to cling to, something that helps to ground you, is truley a gift. may your winter always be brighter and may we never take this for granted.
holding steadily to your image my love~ for my attitude is changed as well. and so... forever is just around the corner.
and ever
~christie renee