Aubade

I hold hands with the willow branches
and twirl and twirl and twirl
as my green dress flutters and spins
around me like a carousel
and I sing sweet songs that I wrote for you
and pray that you'll faintly hear them
from wherever you are,
from whatever chair you occupy,
and come out of doors to find me.
My heart is alarmed with the rush
of what it feels like to love you
and all I can do to quell
the endless stirring of my affections
is to pronounce it to all who'll hear.
And I deeply know,
that you will discover me here,
frolicking among the willows,
and grin from ear to ear.
You will tell me how you've waited
to hear the soft melody I've sung,
so that you may finally find the one
for whom you've longed.

No longer will I hold hands
with the limp willow branches.

Box/Name/Question Mark

I will drudge up 

an old metaphor 

that I've used for months

without telling you, 

to show you exactly 

what has gone on

in this little heart. 

Under a bed

in a box, 

with a padlock 

wrapped in chains, 

is your name

a question mark, 

and everything I feel. 

It's been sitting there

for what has turned into years, 

because I have no idea

what could happen

if I told you about it. 

I just keep that box

under that bed

and wait. 

Maybe one of these days, 

I'll be brave enough to show it to you. 

When You Sleep In

You sleep in,
through the rain and the windy weather,
dreaming your mornings into afternoons,
while I wait, wait, wait,
for you to wander downstairs.

And I wonder,
what it is you're dreaming of?
Is it the sun and the sky,
the paradise in your mind,
or could it even be,
me?

I call your up to your room,
ring ring, ring ring,
and I talk to your voice machine,
asking her to tell you
that I'm waiting.

Yet, in reality,
I smile inside myself,
knowing you're tucked up,
warm and safe,
while I sit here daydreaming,
of you.

Sometimes when you sleep in,
I really don't mind at all.

Tag

I sat in the third seat, 

facing the curtain-covered window, 

beside a dark haired girl 

who had the same shoes as me. 

You sat in the sixth seat. 

Some simple conversation, 

and some awkward words 

echoed in my mind 

in the weeks that followed. 

Months from then, they still do. 

So many hours laboriously spent 

asking Mr. God-of-the-universe

to slow down just a little bit, 

so I could decipher you. 

So I could decipher my heart.  

Then you created and destroyed me, 

exposed and protected me, 

until you couldn't understand anymore.

Your confusion has yet to change my certainty, 

but my heart can't keep waiting. 

You're still that man, 

sitting in that sixth seat, 

but I've gotten up, 

wiped my eyes and said my prayers, 

and walked away. 

Whether or not I'm worth chasing after is really up to you.                                

                                                                                                             

Shall We?

My arm is tied to a rope,
Tightly, I am secured,
You hold the other end,
And as you walk on, I drag suitably behind you.
I didn't think this was in your nature,
But maybe I read this wrong. . .
Sometimes I wonder if you've forgotten,
That I am down here attached to this rope.
My legs torn up, my wrist burnt,
I try to tell you to stop, to let me up,
But you can't hear me.
Maybe it's not even your fault,
Maybe you don't even know I'm down here,
But I am, and I think it's time this ended.
I've been dragged behind you,
Hanging in the balance,
Waiting on you to stop those feet,
Untie this rope, and pick me up.
Let's cut to the chase, shall we?