Limbo

Apparently I have a very good life
and I guess I wouldn't dispute that
but I can't say the same for my self and my soul
and my mind and my heart and my head
Because my days are filled with little things
No big disasters, just tiny misfortunes
That wear away at my mood and my mind
and make me lose my place in time

they're the reason I don't get out of bed
and the reason for the headache spiraling through my head
the letters with words that look flat and dead
but at least I have a chest under my bed

That gives me hope and strength

There's nothing in it that would save the day
and nothing to keep me warm on cold winter nights
Nothing to make me feel any more at home
But pictures of you and strands of your hair
and pieces of clothing that still barely smell of you
They keep part of my heart out of the hurt
and back in the past when we would lie awake all night
and look at the patterns of light on the ceiling, and pretend they meant something
And only we knew what they meant

Silent voices and quiet silences
and the sound of our fingertips telling each other we love the other

The little things still get me down; you always said I was bad at dealing
And the world in general keeps me from healing
But that doesn't mean I can't live with hurt
Memories of us keep it from getting worse

Poem about Things

Life is better than you think it is, and yours is worse than it seems
The poor are the happy when they're not freezing and starving
and the rich and the famous are the tortured and sleepless
when they wake up to what they've done and who they are

I don't think the smell of flowers can save me when it's snowing in my soul
and out on the city streets
Someone out there is wandering through the snow
Wishing there was a home waiting somewhere
I'd give my home to all of them if I knew who I was

[their bodies are broken and so is my mind
broken and breaking, shattering and flying apart
they need a roof over their heads and i need a hand over my heart]

If you think your scars are bad
We can debate and compare
You'll look at my mind and I'll look at your back
We'll make sure that Christmas isn't a deathday
For the homeless, sick and poor
We'll stave off the pain for a few more hours until the wetness from our tears becomes dry

Wishlist

i wish i could open my arms
wide enough to clutch the whole earth to my chest
and i wish i could open my heart
big enough to give a home to everyone who needs it

if only i could expand my sight
far enough to see everything there is
i think that could broaden my mind
great enough to imagine a world with everything at peace
and just exactly how to get there

if i could perk up my ears
good enough to hear every laugh and sob throughout this tragic sphere
i think i could remember them, and match a laugh to every tear

sorrow is only two letters away from sorry
and a world away from joy
but depending on if the glass is half empty or half full
you can turn sorrow into joy or flowers into dirt
a flood into a painting or mix it with the tears of a dying man

i wish i could liven my tongue
enough that it would never be still
and always moving, always speaking
telling the sad people to keep on moving
that there's sunshine around the corner
and life around the block
but it lies dull and mute inside my mouth

someday i'll be able to make myself as free as life
and as far spread as the ocean and the air combined
so no one will cry themselves to sleep with no one to tuck them in at night