Years

When I was six
I knew I'd save
the world and be
a hero brave;

And at age nine
I found a group
to play and laugh
and shout and whoop;

Then I turned twelve
and desperately sought
to flee far into space,
alone with my thoughts;

But then fifteen came
and no one understood
this pain that I felt,
but I did what I should;

So at eighteen I fell
hopelessly obsessed--
busy though I was--
driven by love to madness;

At twenty-one I picked up
the pieces that remained,
tried fitting them together
(perhaps gluing them in vain);

Twenty-four and lost:
that's who I am today.
What will i be tomorrow?
I guess I'll find my way.

take me away

take me away
to bluer skies
where i can dance
freely outside

take me away
to warmer climes
where i can soak
up rays of time

take me away
to joyful days
where i can laugh
in so many ways

take me away
to a place i know
where i can think
deep thoughts and grow

take me away from here

Dream a little dream

This I dreamed the other night:

I was standing at one end of a gymnasium. Many grown-up children were playing on the smooth, gleaming floor. I was not there to play. I was on a mission. A man-child stood in front of me with a volleyball by his feet. He kicked it swiftly towards the other end of the gym, and I raced after it. My goal: to reach the ball before it crossed the goal line at the end of the gym, reverse its direction, and kick it past the man-child's own goal line. The ball came to a stop at the foot of a large girl standing with her two friends in the middle of the gym. I slowed down. She glanced at me then gave her friends a small smirk. As I approached her, she gave the ball a light push with her toe. It moved away from me. I blinked. She followed the ball, serenely. I tried to reach the ball, but she was in my way. Every time I got close, she gave the ball another push. As we neared the back wall of the gym, my desperation increased, and I hastened my pace-- but she was quicker, and she gave the ball a final strong kick as it neared the goal line, then she planted herself firmly in my way so that I wasted precious seconds swerving around her. It was too late. The ball crossed the line, and it was over. I whirled around, fire and ice coursing through my veins. I must have yelled or screamed or hurled at her an epithet for her lips, formerly sporting an amused smirk, twisted into a predatory grin. She took a slow, measured step towards me, then another, and another. I stayed put although I yearned to leap at her, throttle her, maim her. She halted mere inches from my face. I was wrong; she wasn't twice my size, although her bulging biceps were all I could glare at due to her proximity. She did not speak and neither did I. Then she took a step back, grasped my hand, and smiled as she broke my thumb. I burst into tears.

My eyes snapped open. I was breathing hard. I was shocked. I was horrified. I was humiliated. Above all, I was furious. Oh sure, I was angry at Her. But mostly, I was angry at myself for crying when all I wanted to do was rip her throat out. I don't really know why I have this tendency to tear up whenever I'm feeling a strong emotion that actually translates into "I'd like to smash your head like a pumpkin". It probably has something to do with hormones; if I didn't let out all that rage immediately, I might just follow through with my thoughts. It's too bad that I can't release my anger in the form of some scathing retort and walk away, although sometimes, it's the knife-edged words I'm holding back that cause me to bawl my eyes out. Oh well. And I can't walk away because of that damn pride thing. Such sticky situations; is it truly better to walk away and live to fight another day? Rationally, yes. But the mind can have a heckuva hard time convincing the heart.

Anyway, I think that's quite possibly the most disturbing dream I've ever had; it even beats out the one where I was a Viking princess and Daddy invaded New York, but when we returned home over snow-covered hills, a velociraptor bit off my arm.

Happy Birthday

Days go by, still I remain
Hopelessly lost, endlessly drained.
I'd be a wanderer if I just knew
Which direction to start in; I haven't a clue.

Yet something tells me that deep within
Lies surety, conviction, passion even.
I need only find the right lock for my key
So that gateways will open to envelop me.

Too many questions, no answers in sight;
How shall I know if my choices are right?
Do I take the safe and well-worn road?
Can I really place my instincts on hold?

On this day, I wish to act, somehow
(seems appropriate, a turning point, now)
Still. Something in me releases a scream
And wants to know why I've let go of a dream.

Malaise

As I lay here, adrift, alone,
Idly staring into the night,
Afflicted by a malaise unknown,
I don't quite know what to write.

Should I speak of a sunrise bright
Breaking free from clouds of gray?
Or of cheerful chirping by waking birds,
Preparing themselves to start a new day?

But that would require effort, exertion,
Mental energy I've lacked for some time;
My lies have eroded until all that remain
Are glib diversions that follow this rhyme.

No, I'd rather that sleep whisk me away,
Let me figure out things in peace.
Let me be comforted, though in dreams;
Let me believe that wonders never cease.

Where do we go from here?

There has been an uneasy truce going on for a while, and it feels as though I'm just waiting for a catalyst. I have noticed that everything has felt dimmer and sharper at the same time. I'm not sure what this means; I'm not getting a bad feeling about it, which worries me a little.

On a more concrete note: I watched the PBS documentary "Depression: Out of the Shadows" (http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/takeonestep/depression/about.html) on Wednesday and thought that it was beautifully done. I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to understand more about depression. I'll try to post a more comprehensive review later, perhaps by updating this post.

I'm currently working on a poem/song. (I say poem/song because in my head, it's set to a tune.) I like it.

Back to falsity.

Dreamer

Some days I wake and close my eyes
And pause to breathe in the surprise
Of sunlight streaming on my face--
A warm caress that leaves no trace.

And in that instance of silence still,
There is no fear, no dark, no chill,
As I recall my dream (so dear)
Of love, of hope, of endless cheer.

And I can smell your sweet perfume,
As though it lingered in the room
To keep me company, hold me warm;
In your absence, keep me from harm.

And I can hear your laughter ring--
Peals of joy I imagine angels sing.
It fills my heart, that your smile
Was caused by me, for a while.

And I can see, your eyes, they glow,
They sparkle with passion and bestow
Upon me a Look that takes my breath,
And makes me die a little death.

And I remember all the moments spent
Together at home, at parties, events.
We had fun. We enjoyed every day,
Every moment and in every way.

And that's what made it so amazing:
That maybe, just maybe, I was deserving
Of an every day love given free
By someone so special-- anyone, really.

Then some sound jars my senses
And all around up go my defenses;
It was just a dream, reality knocks:
Things to do, reminds the tick of the clock.

So the illusion fades and life remains
Tedious, dull, indifferent, inane,
But even though the dream's now out of sight,
It was with me once, once upon a night.