I Don't belong here.
In this castle built with lies
stranded at the tallest tower
with nowhere to run
and everywhere to hide

I don't belong here
in this house of plaited gold
looking grand and innocent
the mocking oxymoron, masking
the nightmare that lay behind

I don't belong here
in this forced dream of fancy
in this perfect american family
that choked me into a whisper
complete with silent feet
and empty words

I don't belong here
stuck behind a wooden door
I closed myself
locked from the outside
with bolts of judgement
that my cowardice
won’t allow me to break

I don't belong here

So I lean my back against the gold,
and the stone and the wood
shut my eyes as tight as I could
and fought the instinct of flight
then I wished and wished with all my might
to live in the rose colored cliche
and wake to a golden carriage
with a price knocking at my door
ready to whisk me away
because I don't belong here
I’ve never belonged here
standing in plaited gold.

I belong behind a Piano
fingers gently splayed across the keys
keeping time with my toes
I long to have a Cello between my knees
the button
pressed against my chest
every note vibrating through my limbs
my shoulder and right hand feels empty
without a Violin to keep them company
weaving my melody through the air with silver thread
stitching together the accompaniment and counter melody
while the bass thrums through the floors fusing us together with it’s
heartbeat
my fingers twitch filled with the need to touch the thin cords of a Harp
every lyrical note smoothing my frayed edges
lulling me into a daze
colors swirling behind my half lidded eyes
the lullaby flows from my fingertips
softly wrapping itself around me like a safety blanket
the musician in me craves music the way a ****** needs ******
my body sways to the music in my head
my soul belongs to the thrum and hum of the music
my heart belongs to the bone deep vibrations of every note
surrounded by music
the heartbeat of the bass pulsing through my veins
I have found where I belong
the place my soul, body and mind finds peace
I have found home
in the reverberating notes of the Cello
the thrumming heart of the Bass
the steady pulse of the Piano
the lilting lullaby of the Harp
and the Violin’s silver melody

There are 7 billion, 290 million people in this world and I want to believe I matter.
I know its a lie but prefer it to the alternative.
There are millions of student athletes and I want to believe I will go pro.
There are hundreds of millions of writers and I want to believe I will be the next Dickinson.
There are some 3 billion men in the world and I want to believe I'm going to be HER one and only love.
There are 7 billion, 290 million and 1 thousand people in this planet and I have the audacity to think I matter.

There is a place in this world where we all belong

Where we can be as free as the wind and as reckless as the waves

We could sleep on the sand and walk the shores

Where the water will love us and we will care for it

Where we can swim forever into the depths of the sea

And explore the places where people have never been

And share secrets with the coves and have a family of miles of seawater

See creatures of other worlds and beautiful kelp forests

That’s where I would be forever and ever

I wish I could be there, live there

Soon I will be at the sea and live with the
Creatures

Soon that will happen

My skin often feels like
An ill fitting suit.
Too big in spots
Too tight in others
With seams showing and scratchy fabric.
My life often feels that way-
Something I tug at that settles for a moment
And then shifts back into discomfort when I take a breath.
Sometimes its worn spots let in the cold wind,
Vicious.
Sometimes it sticks to me and refuses to peel away, suffocating.
I feel like a child in church
In her Sunday best
Who knows she must sit still and quiet
Even as the shoes pinch
And the stiff collar closes round her neck.
I sneak glances around me
Trying to discern if anybody else feels
This way.
They all seem content.
Comfortable.
Still.
Perhaps if I just breathe shallowly
And don't move a muscle
I will learn what they know
And settle into my shrink-wrapped existence.
"Tiny people with tiny lives-"
Is it the truth?
Or do they just look small
Because they've learned to squeeze into the space they've been given?
Does the woman ordering coffee in her business suit and heels
Sit up nights, unable to sleep for a longing she can't name?
Does the man mopping the floors
Dream of a woman he will never touch
Again?
I wish I could find those parts of people.
The parts they hide.
Because mine won't stay hidden.
There is something too thin between me
And the world
And it is poorly fashioned
And it is tattered.
And sometimes people look at me with disdain
As if I've walked out of my house naked
Unable to properly clothe myself
And I wonder
If they aren't
Right.

When you're so used to feeling broken,
Feeling whole again probably just feels like a different kind of broken.

When darkness and chaos become home, what used to be home seems to be so far from home that it may as well not exist.

But home is always waiting for you, regardless of where you go or where you've been.

Yes, it will take a lot of effort to get back. But it will be worth it. Just start the journey. You will stray from the path, but that doesn't mean you should give up.

Home can be a house, an idea, a pair of arms wrapped around you, or anything else. Home can take many faces, and, here's the kicker. A lot of times, home never leaves you. You just think it does.

That sense of belonging is there, just buried deep below the surface. Home goes where you go. Home is you, and you are always home.

Her love was mighty,
Great ocean after desert—
Little hands open.

He gave her his love,
Salt of her tears— shining gift,
Both heaven and earth.