What do you do,
When I push things too far
What can you do,
When I’m stuck behind a screen
What can I say,
Without ruining the moment
What can I do,
To fix every day
What can we do,
To make this love easier

Don't love me,
Please don't touch
                      me (as if I were
poison ivy)
But
Let me run barefoot
Through the morning
Dew, and caress
The
Vines, when they bloom,
Let me
Get drunk with the
Rays of the day,
And I'll make you
Sleep like a bird in its nest,
For you, I'll hold
All summer rains in my arms,

…Only for you
I will carry all summer rains, I'll carry them
In my arms,
Like a heart on fire...

She cuts for the
times she can't ever
replace.
She cuts for the
love he'll never
return.
She cuts to know
what it's like to be
alive.
She cuts in places
where nobody will
know.

Forever avoiding me,
It has a mind of its own,
I reach out to grab it;
Always too slow.

My fingers once brushed it,
I thought I had won,
It consumed my whole body;
My face felt the sun.

Before I could bask,
The warmth disappeared,
It left me alone;
Confirmed my worst fear:

It's not mine to possess,
No matter how I try,
And I won't try to retrieve it
Next time it goes by.

So as long as you're happy...
Don't worry about me.
I'll figure it out,
I always do.

i sat silently
and watched the bugs crawl by.
they weren't butterflies,
or caterpillars,
or ladybugs.

i watched the flies
and the crickets
and the ants.
moving in a secret art no one bothered to take note of.

they were the friends i met in the hallway.
they were shy,
but if you looked at them long enough,
you could see the beauty no one else saw.

if you find beauty in the bugs everyone does not find beautiful,
you can find it in others.

people are like bugs,
similar, but different,
each holding their own design.

everyone  has beauty,
you just have to find it.
even if it means sitting in the hallways alone,
watching the bugs no one cares to look at.

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?