Why did you find me, to tell me you're sorry?

Don't tell me how lovely I am.

You didn't need to find me, to tell me you need me,

to tell me you set me apart.

I had no secrets but what use were my questions?

When all you want is another start.

We go round in circles and come up tails.

Heads on a science apart.

Nothing is easy.

Maybe we're better apart.

Nothing is ever easy.

But who said it would be so very hard?

I won't go back to the start.

I was just guessing at mirror images,

piecing the puzzle back together.

Questions of science, science and romance,

didn't speak as loud as my mind.

You wanted to love me, it won't come back to haunt me,

I walk as far from that start.

The cycle is broken, the tale told, I'm going with my head,

coming back to who we are.

Nothing is ever easy.

It was a shame we didn't fit the part.

Nothing is ever easy.

But should it be so very hard?

I'm going back to my heart.

How can we ever really know what's to come?

We do our best and rely on the rest,

to fall into place...

but does it?

Is it all predestined

or are we racing like rats?

Unaware we're in a maze.

An infinite haze.

A fool's Spring

buried

in heavy

wet snow.

We must go

on

and

on

and on.

As the rising heat from the dumpster fire that was my former life singed my soul, I walked away slowly with my back to the aftermath and felt lighter, brighter somehow. I could feel the slow spread of a smile creep across my face. For the better part of a lifetime I had been the dutiful daughter, the best friend to all: listening, helping, being there; a devoted employee: working hard, staying late and never being fully appreciated or compensated; a selfless partner: putting their needs in front of my own, being the supportive one, the caring one, the cheerleader, the rock. All this and for what? To be told I'm lacking, not good enough, not qualified, not strong, years worth of putting in the time and dispensing heartfelt advice to go and do the exact opposite. To start the cycle again and again and again to no end. When is enough, enough? I took my life and I encircled it with the metaphorical combustible. The spark within me, so charged, so past the breaking point, that I exploded. The flames raged hot and bright and strong. They engulfed every part of my being, until there was nothing left but me. To start anew; a phoenix reborn from the flames of herself for herself and no one else.

Everything is kind of dying,

yet here we are trying.

Air so cold,

it pulls the moisture from the trees

Bone chilling suffocation

brings you to your knees.

Welcome to the winter of our discontent,

where we forever sing Spring's sad lament.

The promise of tomorrow gone

with the dying trees.

I stare at the frigid air

asking someone, anyone -please.

Life is but a walking shadow,

Stretching thin & reaching for the corners of time.

Escaping yet relating to the conundrum of itself.

Looking ahead with the knowledge of the end.

In the absence of light there are no shadows.

I look in the mirror and see a stranger.

I know it's me this image has my face but the insides are lies.

Who am I really?

I have created a persona for others to like, but the problem is I don't like him very much.

He's the ultimate "my guy," he's funny but shy, artistic and tormented but there's more than meets the eye.

He's played this role for so long he believes it but when alone he's faced with the real shit.

I look in the mirror and the conversation goes again, "Hi, who am I?"

"Hey, you're THAT guy."

Slow sluggish steps creep up the spiral stairs. Sleep covers her face but she still comes. She always comes. The man stays in bed but my lady always comes. I watch her with intense certainty, I am here for her, to protect her, I need to go patrol and she holds the key, or in this case opposable thumbs to unlock the door and turn the knob. I am ready! She comes, she looks at me with deep compassion, "What is it? Are you ok?" I stare at the door. She sighs. She begrudgingly opens the door to my cauchapony of alerts and snarls. "Shhhhh, Marie, quiet, it's 3:34am." I explode into the yard. I glance back and she waits exhausted leaning against the wall by the window waiting and watching me. I do this for her, for them but mostly for her. I finish and request reentry. She greets me warmly with concern and says, "What was it? What did you find?" She pets me gently and kisses me on the head, I follow her to the bathroom demanding more pets as she smiles and abides. Then I go to open the bathroom door and check on the others. She quietly calls me back. "Marie, not yet, it's too early. Come here my baby." I follow her and hop on my favorite blue couch, where I have created a nest of pillows and blankets that my lady always rearranges. She looks down at me lovingly gives me one last pet, kisses me and says, "Goodnight my baby, I love you."

December with all of its magical bright lights, pine trees, snowmen and cheer; yet something deeper and darker looms within us all. The act of gift giving is more than a mere act of love, appreciation and gratitude; it's about the pick and choose, the make or break. Was your gift thoughtful, was it the perfect token of your love and devotion; understanding what it truly means to know someone by what you've chosen on this one day as the ultimate representation. The magic of Christmas is lost on consumerism. When we were young we were taught to believe in magic, that one man can actually ride in a sleigh with never ending presents pulled by flying reindeer but what about the rain, dear? What about the snow? All the elements this poor man would withstand and encounter on this unlikely journey. The fact that it is mathematically impossible for a human to visit each and every domicile in the world in 1 night, 24 hours, even with the multitude of time zones. All that aside when the turkey is dead and gone and the air gains a certain Jack Frostian chill the holiday buzz starts buzzing and one can't help but feel the longing for that childhood nostalgia. The man in the red suit. A slow smile spreads across your face and the lists of what's good and bad begin to occupy your mind and the pick and choose begins. What if the gift were unwrappable and we all chose the magic of the myth and were happy with that?

From cognitive thought

is born societal expectation:

The how's, should's and definite no's

We are bred to:

think

act

speak

Coloring outside the lines

is frowned upon.

Frowning is bitchy.

Smiling is expected

if attached to a specific gender.

I don't care for rules

or tools I was told to use.

Resourceful is my middle name.

I don't blame the sheep

for following the shepherd.

The-buck-stops-here

the cycle must

be

BROKEN

the chain - gang - together

to break

FREE

This is our life to choose

what we make of it.