A fractured mind and an old soul aged before its time, infused with an amount of elegance I can only hope to achieve someday. She has an ease with herself that I am terribly envious of.

She has a train of though that only a select few can seem to catch. Seeing the world in colors so surreal she makes the rest of us look black and white.

If you are one of the privileged allowed to see passed her blank stare and paper smile, you will become witness to a level of beauty only seen in fiction. Not something as temporary and superficial as the skin she wears, but the true wonder she keeps hidden inside her cracked shell.

I have never known a love more potent than that of my mother's and will more than likely never again feel something as tranquilizing as her warm embrace. In her arms I am everything I thought I couldn't be. She says I'm her hero, but she's really mine.

She is a creature so beyond this small world that to reach her is a journey in itself. I'm lucky enough to have a highly coveted all-access pass that will never expire.

She has always had a way with words and she weaves them well. A trait she gifted me as well. She has a kind word for everyone she meets, but she saves the best for me alone.

Even though it is my birthright to have her as my maternal origin it is still an honor to share not only her blood, but a small part of her soul as well. For whatever souls are made of, hers and mine are the same.

Love is too paltry a word to explain the magnitude of feeling I hold for her. Perhaps if I say the words enough times they will take on a new meaning, a more important meaning.

So mama I want you to always remember that I don't just love you. I am me because of you. And there are, nor will there ever be, any words in this or any other language that can compare to that.

Home meant spacious front porches and people coming and going as they please.

Home meant childhood imagination with a beginning dose of sibling rivalry.

Home meant first friends both of the human variety and of the fur covered. It meant adventures to be had.

Home meant love, or so I thought. It meant family until it didn't anymore.

Leaving home meant oceans and change. It meant truths being revealed.

Times were brief and waves ever changing.

Straight A's and toothy smiles slowly turned into being average and a bout of never ending tears.

Sickness entered my life which in turn caused my childish youth to exit.

Moving time came around again, another house never to be a home.

Money was tight and the familial lightness I once knew faded.

Running from life again to an escape so free I could practically touch the sky.

Then there were ponies and lifelong dreams coming true. The lightness had returned for a while at least.

And then came more sickness and a distance was created.

Ponies and dreams come to life rode away and with them they took my almost home.

I tasted death for the first time in my short life and embraced my own darkness.

Laughter and love became scorn and loathing.

Mommy and daddy lost love and I lost myself.

Colorful watercolor paintings transitioned into drawings of pain on my arms in deep shades of red.

This particular cage lasted longer than all the others, but still never grew into a home.

Daddy left mommy and the light left my eyes. My family was torn apart and so was my heart.

Tattered shreds were all that remained of both, a reminder never to get too comfortable.

Time kept moving and so did we, but my soul was at a standstill.

Inevitably it was time for another journey away from reality.

The time had come for another move, but as always we are merely passing through.

Nomads for life that's the way it seems. Never anywhere long enough to make new dreams.

Though I'm settled for now my weary heart knows the truth, my family will never again be at home under one roof.

His eyes were such a brilliant shade of blue.

A hue so much like the ocean that I wanted nothing more than to drown in them.

Never did the thought of breathing in the waves seem so satisfying.

He had this quiet strength about him that surrounded me like the softest of blankets.

It was warm and smelled of peace and serenity.

He made me want to be better just so that I would feel worthy of standing beside him.

A man so beautiful, so larger than life as, I could never even dream to compare.

He was everything I could never have.

His love was always just out of reach of my grasp and all I could do was admire him from a distance.

Like a dream that I could never remember the next morning.

He was an alluring fantasy that I could only hold in slumber.

It always ended the same. I, a mere mortal could never measure up to the god like entity that held my heart.

I trip over my tongue and stumble over my words because there are too many in my head to choose from, but none of them seem right to describe the chaos that is my mind. You wouldn't understand anyway.

My body shakes and rocks, my bones tremble because sitting still means I'll drown in my own thoughts, never to be seen again. You offer me a blanket thinking I must be cold.

I do feel cold, but not because of a drought, I'm chilled because I've lost my inner flame and with it my sense of self. You say I'm having an off day.

Nothing is going right and every single syllable out of my mouth tastes like poison. My movements all feel rehearsed like they're coming from someone else, someone I don't even know. You suggest that tomorrow will be better.

I am so damn tired from being at war with myself and so damn weak from losing every battle waged between who I am at the moment and who I desperately want to be. You seem to think I just need to take a breath.

Oh if only it were that easy. If only I could simply breath through the pain and feel all brand new tomorrow. Maybe I make things harder than they need to be or maybe things are harder for me. Maybe I'm broken beyond repair or maybe I'm just broken beyond my own repair.

Either way, a blanket and a day off don't seem to be enough to bring me back to myself anymore. I've grown resistant to such simple remedies.

A flower child in every way, she danced with the faeries as a princess of the forest.

Stars in her eyes and hope in her heart, she believed the world was hers to conquer.

Running through trees imagining all of the ways her life would unfold, her dreams had no limits.

She was a joyful little thing with an infinite amount of smiles to spare, never knowing anything but light. She lived without a care in the world.

Her shoulders devoid of burdens and her soul free of any darkness, she thrived in her self-made paradise.

As the years wore on, though, that wee maverick’s wreath of daisies gradually transformed into a crown of thorns.

No longer a princess of the forest, but a queen of isolation.

Where she once thrived in the sunlight, she now only comes alive for twilight.

Black clouds have concealed the stars that once shined so bright in her eyes, and childish daydreams have been wiped out.

Her trees have lost all their leaves. She has no more smiles to give. Seems infinity wasn’t as big as she’d once thought.

With shoulders weighed down and a soul as dark as pitch, her youthful paradise is no more.

Life has revealed to her its true colors, so that she no longer sees it as one big, beautiful possibility, but a series of coldly calculated steps to be made.

Don’t stray from the beaten path they told her. Best not to be different they’d said.

Everything she was is everything they saw wrong with her. Change it all they demanded, until there is nothing left but what we’ve made of you.

A rebel no longer she walks this world alone. The faeries have all gone and the sun hides itself away. Innocence lost and nothing gained.

She was a free spirit who could have had it all. Instead her heart has been caged and her spirit broken.

Nothing left of the young girl she was but wilted flowers and crushed dreams. She’s empty inside and her fight has all gone now.

Welcome to life little flower child. We hope you enjoy living in pieces.

She was almost pretty. Not like a cover girl, but like a forest fire. Tragic in its destruction, but exquisite to look at all the same. Constantly criticized for not being everyone’s cup of tea. She learned to keep to herself.

He was almost smart. Never got straight A’s, but was a visionary. He saw the world in way no one else could possibly understand. He was harshly judged for his distinctive views. He learned to keep his opinions unspoken.

She was almost funny. Only a select few could properly appreciate her unique sense of humor. Outrageous with her words, she was verging on obscene. Never meaning to offend, but some were still displeased. She learned to keep her mouth shut.

Almost pretty. Almost smart. Almost funny. They were almost good enough. But then again, almost is not what people want. You’re supposed to be attractive, you have to be intelligent, and people couldn’t possibly like you if you’re not amusing.

So here’s to the almost kids. The ones who sit in the back of the room or hold up the wall. The ones who feel that they are not enough of something. I see you, and you are everything you need to be. You are not almost anything. You are anything absolute.