Poem A

If

If I stood on the shore every hour of every day I would never miss the beauty of the sunrise or the sunset

And as the sun sets on old photographs and memories I feel it rise in my soul

Because I've been attached to the hip of another for far too long to know what it's like to walk in my own shoes

I've been looking for clovers not to prove that I am lucky but to prove that I am patient enough to look

My hands seem to be constantly reaching and pulling at nothing but air to prove that they selfishly hope for someone else's hands to fill the spaces there

If I stood by a clock every hour of every day I would never think that time was flying

I would know instead that it is the one thing you can depend on to always be changing

My mind changes course with every gust of wind and I fear that I am not very skilled at sailing

Oh Captain my Captain

I'm drowning out here in an ocean of forget me nots and self pity and nights spent hiding under blankets from You and from myself

There is no lighthouse steering me clear of the rocks and boulders

But every bruise on my knee and cut on my shoulder serves as a reminder that I am not only fragile but I am here

If I stood by myself for the rest of my life I would be fine

Not great, fine, because there is a difference

You can grate things until they are fine enough to sit comfortably in the palm of your hand and you can study every molecule of their being

But you can't always find things that are great enough to study to begin with

Talk with me for long enough and you'll come to know every molecule of my being

You'll know that I can't sit for long and I can't stand to be left waiting

I schedule life down to every moment

Even the minute hand knows it should only move when I say so

But I am learning to give up and give in

The minute hand deserves to live on its own time after all 

If I could tell you one thing, I wouldn't

Instead I would write millions of things down with black ballpoint pen and I'd crumple it up and scatter it over fire and watch as tiny sparks rose and transformed into fireflies dancing their way to your heart

Fire has always amazed me not because of it's heat, but because of it's refusal to go out

Even as wind blows and water falls it protests back loudly and flickers all the more lively

You can't add fire to fire, it doesn't burn bigger but brighter

and I can only hope that you will find someone that will help your fire burn louder

That your spark will continue to light even in the midst of impossible rain storms and quite possible turmoil

That you will never stop asking "What if"