April 12, 2009

When rain pours
thoughts soar
away
where happy little bluebirds fly

My heart sits in a box
while my eyes remain
gazing
at the horizon

The phone rings
and sometimes
I pick up the receiver
others I don't
I can't
I won't

Gray
depressingly neutral hued
cloudbusting pops of gray
throughout the day
push smiles away
the color of sadness

This week my Mom told me that she thought my eyes might be gray
not blue
as driver's licenses
and past online dating profiles
have suggested.

I know that heart needs to come back out
maybe by week's end
maybe when the fear of it breaking
breaks away

It must be
Lego-made?
Soapstone?
Crumpled balloon?
Paper thin?
Bloody and bruised?

There's all types in that box
smashed and pressed and entangled between
deep
very deep thoughts
of you