Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

You are like an old house with build in book shelves and weird angles. Nooks and crannies that welcome you into their safe space just big enough to hide inside and find comfort from the harsh realities that lay just outside your walls. A place where when you breath in smells like home even if you've never been there before. A place that holds adventure and comfort all at the same time. Where broken windows shine light through cobwebs casting shadows that look as though art has begun to grow from the walls and floor boards. Completely organic and something all it's own. Something all YOUR own. You are art work in its purest form. Missing a signature because you're never fully finished. Like an ink blot painting that looks different to everyone who sees you. A kaleidoscope where you always peer through the same hole but find new beauty in every way that it turns. You are not the type of art that belongs on the walls of museums, more like graffiti some broken teenager spent hours creating knowing they would never see it again but that it would be viewed by someone somewhere who needed it to get by. Something to be seen in a fleeting moment but that stays with you for a lifetime. You're a fire that burns white hot, threatening to scorch anything that comes too close but offering such an amazing warmth to anyone who knows how fiercely you burn and knows how to appreciate how brilliant you are from a distance. I...I was the woman unafraid to dance in the licks of your flames. Proud to wear the scars from your raging heat. Covered in the colors from your paint splatters and wrapped in the webs and ribbons of your soul. You were dangerous and I was never one for taking chances, but you wove a net to catch me in case I fell when I tried to fly. Unknown to me I became a work of your art when you pulled out your brushes and with strokes of emotion painted my wings. I was no longer a creature of fear but a fierce whirlwind of life. Walls could no longer hold me, chains couldn't bind me. So I flew, staying close to the ground. Dragging my toes through the soft earth, knowing that I could venture up but refusing to feel the chill of the clouds too far away from your embers. I caught glimpses of you in rail yards and on old bridges. I felt you in the thunder of hot summer nights. I heard you in the conversations of the crows that flew just above me. But not only did I find you, I found myself. In the moss covered rocks by the riverbanks and streams, in the windows of old buildings oddly shaped and holding images of lives long since lost. In the stories about Magic told around the fire pits that you sought refuge in. I found beauty in my scars, never straying too far from the smoke trails you left in the air. I welcomed the ashes that landed in my hair and on my arms, tiny reminders that you were never too far away. You blazed in the hearth of the home you created for me. And on rainy nights when neither of us could bare natures tears I left my wings by the door and fell asleep beside your glow, letting your sparks and crackles be the music that played in the background of my dreams. Allowing myself to be pulled back into your flames adding new dimensions to the master piece that we created together.