yexy

This is a love poem. My heart is filling with memories and hope and they are quivering, vibrating down through my veins to my nails and pouring out through my thumbs like my tongue would release if it were not midnight in a quiet house on a Tuesday. There is love in every room. There is pain as well undersurface and under skin but there are hugs and kind words and bonds and they are a hell of a lot more useful than one might think when it comes to not feeling like you are nothing. There is promise of tomorrow and even more to find, more to discover and learn and I wouldn't trade a single day of this adventure for a solid mediocre normal be

I close the door softly behind me, breathe deep, and begin to undress. Clothing slides to the floor as I look up at the stark figure in the mirror. Familiar. Tired. The mouth is thin and skin pale. I critically observe the flaws that are there every time-- The roundness that wasn't there in years past, the hair that refuses to behave, the flat, dark moles that spill freely down my neck and arms. I trace the scar at my throat briefly. I remove my glasses and everything goes out of focus, making me feel unstable and a little scared. I lean towards the mirror and suddenly all is sharp again-- The constant, deep purple that underlines

     During my teen years, I had a place to hide away and dream. That place was my mulberry tree. It was my sanctuary, the place where I could be myself, and I ran there with all of my joys and troubles. I grew there, and changed, and matured, and though I eventually grew out of it, I will never forget how it affected my life.     It started when my family moved from an apartment in town to a small farm in the country. One day I got upset over something, (I can't remember what it was, now) and I ran into the field next to our farm. In the front there was a row of small, scraggly trees and in the middle of those trees was a giant mulbe