I have had enough nightmares
This week
To last a lifetime.
Are nightmares
The same thing
As dreams?

This I have discovered:
Life is an egg.
Feel free to hard boil it.
Crack it open and scramble it.
Fry it.
Make an egg sandwich out of it.
But don't forget you could always have
Easy Over
or
Sunny Side Up.

Who Are We

Once upon a time I looked like my sister, like my mother, like my father. We all smiled the same, cocked our heads, had a dimple or two. Once upon a time, we could speak.
I waited to feel the wind kiss me and tell me I was older, grown tall like they always said I would. I was always waiting for the roof to cave in so that I wouldn't have to be here any longer. Make the roof cave in, I'll live outside. I will sleep with crickets beneath stars, and when it rains, I will embrace the fact that God created the Water Cycle and the Universe created God. I have always been a tad bit dyslexic and mixed up who made the chicken and who made the egg.
Once upon a time, I found cream cheese despicable unless it was pink. They said it was flavored with strawberries, but looking back it tasted nothing but sweetened cream cheese. I used to have a real hankering for sweet things. Now, a grape fruit will do.
When I grow up, I want to be a nomad, a poet, and a musician. I always had trouble agreeing with the other kids. I see life through a telescope. They see life through a sheet of wax paper. Only the paper itself is what they see clear.
Recently, I realized what makes me so strange. Not strange. Unique? Everyone is unique. Recently, I realized what makes me me.
I am ridiculously depressed yet absolutely adore being alive. Every feeling that I feel contradicts another, every thought that I think contradicts a different one at the exact same time. I make terribly little sense.
But so does the rest of the world.

He has grown calm
And reverts back to curiousness again,
As if he were a kitten.
He is passed the highest point of the arch
And slowly growing young
Going backwards
To complete the circle of life.
His hips are going,
He is having trouble walking.
How I wish I could carve him a cane
Out of the bark of my Birth Tree
And filled with catnip and cantaloupe
So he can always have a few of his favorite things.
He can not leave me.


He Can Not Leave Me.
Wait it out.
Fourteen years isn't quite long enough to know someone.
Do not.
He has grown dirty and adorable, too tired to bathe.
It makes him look supremely adorable.
Wait it out.
Just a few more months.
Or years.
Or lifetimes.
Wait it out.

No, I am not a good cook.

But today I made yummy yellow cupcakes from scratch and homemade chocolate icing. They taste shockingly good. I also made a healthfully delicious salad including some of my favorite things: Caesar dressing, apples, carrots, onions, onions, and some more onions. I am an onion addict. Its really strange and probably unattractive, but they smell so damn good. I guess its equally strange that I find the scent of onions so appealing. I just can't help it.
The world is being such a ridiculous place to be right now, what with the miles and miles of snow. I was walking through a few areas up to my waist.
Yes, I am sick of being home and thanking my lucky stars I have not yet murdered myself or my mother, but it has made me realize how much better I feel when creating. I made plenty of food, created paths through the snow, and began writing a story.Writing really does soothe my bones when they start itching.
Today, I have witnessed some of the most incredible icicles that I have ever seen.
I wish my photography skills could do them justice.
The coolest things though are the spider webs covered in ice and snow.
They are ridiculously beautiful clinging to the corners of our windows.

Im getting worse and worse at everything I love doing and I leave everything unfinished. I believe its the whole being stranded inside thing. Fresh air really brings out my thoughts.

I am not a whole in the ground,
dug by a boy with a snow shovel and a small dog searching for lava.
I am not a better idea than a volcano.
I am nothing that I ever pretended to be.
But I am everything that I ever pretended to be.

Too much love not to share it. Not enough love not to appreciate it.
What if I grow old with snow men by my side
Waiting to melt away
Float away
Run away
Or die.
A bleeding heart with nothing but
Nonsense by my side.
A Jack-o-lantern to call my best friend.
If you could understand the pieces, hold them in your
Hand and prevent them from slipping away
Falling away
Getting away
Would we be put back together to smile
To laugh and to remember lightning bugs sitting on our hair swimming through the air.
It wasn't so taboo to hold your hand.
To fall in love to breathe to understand.
Whatever you were aiming for
You missed.
Life was brighter.
You win.