Nadaroot

Happiness is often characterized by love so I forgive you for trying to hurt, sting with your bitter words even looking through this small window I can almost see inside I can't imagine your pain for I only know my own And that is cruel enough by far I can't relieve you of your hurt Happiness is often characterized by love so I forgive you

     A new dawn's blessed light winds its way down the little stone road, knocking on doors and awakening the inhabitants. The small plants greet it, opening their budding hearts to its kindness. For them, it seems only a moment later before the happy bustle of the little shop street begins. Laughter and chatter fill the air as merchants vend their wares. A slight, nondescript figure in a brownish-gray cloak slides through the crowds, touching no one, yet seeming to glide over the cramped cobblestones. A hint of deep amethyst hair pokes out from under her shadowed hood, and her bright silvery eyes glance at the face of every traveler she pass

     The sweet droplets bitterly caressed her red skin. Her darkened eyes turned up to the heavens as they unleashed their tears. Water flecks spotted her skin, and melted into her white dress. Her toes, inherently somewhat long, wiggled in the still-warm turf below, as she sighed in happiness. For a moment, the world was still and beautiful, free of her cares, free of her emotions, but simply full of  being.           A voice, distant, but sharp in her mind, calls   where are you?     Nowhere. Everywhere. Here.     are you coming?     With you?     yes     Always     But the word is snatched from her lips, and she lowers he

sitting, frowning, working her long dark hair rippling down her back a waterfall of hair his eyes pick out the straws of gold in her eyes, and shine of her lips he can barely discern that crooked halo dangling precariously and her cramped wings she stops, and looks up into his eyes into his heart and the yearning to touch her hair to protect her heart to have those eyes gaze up soulfully at him he shakes his head to clear these images guiltily, hair whipping to shield his eyes she gazes, puzzled was he? no... a sigh escapes, sorrowful a light feather drifting from the air light, down feather soft. gentle. lost

raindrops flicker and the sun shimmers through that foggy mist i trudge happily through the muddy puddles and the squishy dirt my yellow coat absorbing my joy and calling to the sun my toes, missing my boots swoosh and squirt and wiggle ecstatically the flowers have just begun to open their petals and now they have caught small basins of water tiny cups of porcelain and smiles of the Mother inside, the people dreary and drab greyish and hidden stare out their windows at me in my yellow coat and bare feet laughing at the sky loving the earth a daughter, a song

Graceful fingers guide my lead And soft songs whisper in my ear But the tears streaming down Prohibit my words I can't feel, I can't think I'm numb I turn my face to the sky Searching for the answers Written in the clouds But they're only within And I can't find them their either I'm cold Rustles in the leaves above Are their soft chattering And gossiping through the day How I wish I was one Free from this pain And bathed in sunlight My face upturned Arms spread as if they were wings Tears soaking the earth by my feet The wind whipping through my hair Oh how I wish And yet  here I sit, curled in a ball of misery This g

           My mother used to tell me stories. Sometimes she fabricated them from her own mind, and other times, she retold famous tales. Normally I hear these before bed, for a few years, until she grew tired of her voice and her life. I miss the stories. Of course, there's a world of authors out there, and their novels, but I don't think I've ever lost delight in the spoken word, the story woven in the moment, the threads of characters and their imaginations.           Sometimes I wish I could be a part of these stories, be a character in them, to escape the world around me. This world, superficial, selfish, and greedy. I just want to be

time  dwindling down that           dark chasm...    and finding it again admist this bed of  thorns  may I borrow yours?     do you think that maybe              time    is lost on purpose?           spiting  those who would conquer it time is  dwindling    but more like casually sauntering  across the fields of irony

It feels like frosting I think Dragging my finger Across its glassy surface The reflection of the day And my hand Dashing across Trying to keep up With me Flying They roll their eyes And laugh Because I’m silly Fearing none of the speed The bright wind In my hair I spread My fingers Like wings Splashes of wet spray Droplets Of white water Grinning in pure joy Defying Their own rules Leaping With me soaring

      Only three words      One after another      Strange pale blossoms      Against morning sky       And soft snowflakes      Leaves of fire        Watching, seeing all      Fresh green leaves          Color of spring     Those new buds            Hand clasps branch     Intertwined by wind              Long thin hair    Spreads into roots                  The sun warms   Rich loamy soil                     Adds bright flecks  To blue eyes                       Fingers grow gnarled Sprouts from arms                         Fresh new leaves The sun warms

She dyes her hair all the right colors and smiles that sweet smile Picks the clothes that are perfect and strikes a great pose But she never feels its enough always worried she will be left behind She just wants to be pretty to know there is someone who cares She just wants to be loved. I wonder does she know she already is. She writes in simple meter her deepest fears She plays down her intelligence tries not to intimidated but she always feels out of place she is afraid she is too far ahead She just wants to be pretty to have someone understand She just wants to be loved I wonder does she know she already is She avoids c

HAPPY It is so strange to wake up and be glad to see another day It is so unusual to smile over next to nothing It is so hard to act as though nothing lights up my life So hard to pretend that I don't love you It is so crazy to believe that some one may be right for me That I may be able to feel so happy To think only of you my every waking moment To want to make you smile at every second To want to steal the world for you If you asked for it I would do my best to get it If you demanded my action I would do my best to perform I would die at a word or live for eternity just to see light in your eyes I live to see you happy To s

Tick Tock It's 11 o'clock I'm 23 tonight And my time is ending. I feel so old sometimes And I wonder what It's like to die When I think about all the Time I spent remembering And thinking of ways It could be different. Tick Tock It's 5 o'clock I'm 17 years old Laying in a hospital Scared of what the outcome was Overwhelmed by apathy Trying to make sense of this And wondering what will happen With this new course of action What the future will bring For our baby. Tick Tock It's 4 o'clock I'm 16 years old I wish I could rewind Change the past Just this once Forget my mistakes The decisions I made I would have said