A House in a Dream of Mine

There was a house in a dream of mine.
It was big and wooden and blue.
It was thin and beautiful and somewhat all
I remember is the living room.
It's been a while since this house I've dreamed
came up in my thoughts.
I wondered why I thought of it,
I wondered how it caught
onto the word of "dreams",
and how, in it, I feared,
that I would fall through the wood floor,
as presence after presence neared.
The basement was a dusty place,
waiting to be painted.
The stairs to it were steep and small,
the veils of beige had fainted,
into panic, as I worried,
tried to hurry up the stairs,
without getting stuck or falling,
without getting stuck... there.
Had I been in this house before,
before this long ago dream?
Had it kept my thoughts of fears alive?
I guess it does, it seems.
Because I thought of this house today,
when illness silenced voice and caused me gloom.
Because I thought of this basement
and frightening, beautiful, creaky, living room.

-LJ
6 April 2016

Procrastination

I'm supposed to be writing an English paper,
but there's much poetic creation.
I haven't slept very well these last nights,
so there's no preparation.
This paper is due tomorrow, friends,
at eleven in the morn.
Yet I have little motivation
to birth this paper born.
I've had bronchitis the last week or so,
and it's been hard to stay concentrated,
when I cough when I breathe and I'm sick all day,
but there's already so much time I've wasted.
So instead of writing my compare and contrast
on scholarships and student loans,
I'm writing a poem about procrastination,
and blaming it on broken bones.
But there are no bones broken,
and I should probably write
my 700-1250 word English paper,
so I can be done for the night.
I need to be done with this class,
and pass with motivation,
so that I can get the freaking hell
off academic probation.

-LJ
6 April 2016

A Conversation (With My Inner Child)

When you grow up, years from now, will you still sing and dance?
Will you face the world in timidness, or will you give it a chance?
Will you sleep as peaceful as you once did, although very lightly?
Will your imagination linger on, or will it shine so brightly?
Will green still be your favorite color? Will there be things from me you keep?
Will plush toys still be around you? Will lullabies still help you sleep?
Can I still be in your life, as the will to work and play?
Can I be the sunshine that lightens gloomy days?
Can I be the need to be tucked and held?
Can I be the one thing you never have to sell?
When you all grown, will someone love you very much?
Please don't let them break your heart and hurt you as such.
I promise I won't get in the way, but I will still be here.
I'll keep you safe, I really will, as long as you keep me near.
(my inner child asks innocently).

 ~

Dear Child, I am still growing up, with lots of song, not much dance.

I still face the world in timidness, but I give new things a chance.

I don't sleep as peacefully as I once did, and still sleep very lightly.

My imagination lingers on; through poems, it shines so brightly.

Purple is my favorite color, although I can't choose just one,

from you, I keep a drawing of the city and the sun.

I still love plush toys deeply, from you, some I do keep.

And yes, lullabies still very much help me fall asleep. 

I know it seems a little weird, growing up with me.

But there is so much to learn, so much to hear, so much to see.

You are my will to play, and into work, bring fun.

You are my will to want to learn to walk and run.

You are my desire to be tucked and loved and held,

and you are a cherished part of me that I can never sell.

I haven't found a someone who will love me very true,

and I will not let them hurt me, for they will hurt you, too.

You are safe, in my heart, for as long as I'm alive.

We will take the world together, with one another to survive.

(I answer my inner child confidently).

-LJ

23 March 2016

(Searching) For Answers

I wanted to know (why),

but I didn't know (how).

I wondered (where),

but I didn't know (when).

I knew (who),

but I didn't know (what).

(You see,) the world, (is)

a (rocky) place,

with (wonderful) things

so magnificent (and loving),

with (frightening) things

so heartbreaking (and upsetting). 

I searched (near and far)

for answers (that lingered inside my mind),

that I could feel (somewhat)

accepting towards (confidently).

(Had) I finally realized

(that) the answers lied

(there,) deep within my soul,

(and) the questions (of my heart)

(suddenly) falling away into the abyss(.)(?)

(Could I?)  I could go on,

(and) I could live.

-LJ

23 March 2016

The Dance We Dreamed

We dreamed a dance, a song,

much bigger than ourselves.

We were so small, and

the world was so big, 

and colorful, and... dark.

We dreamed a dance that 

soon we could not fathom,

and the dance would be forgotten,

and we couldn't even remember the tune

in which the rhythm waltzed with.

We dreamed a dance, a song

that soon replaced the dream we dreamed.

We felt so small, in this big world,

and now the world is small and

we have gotten bigger.

I never wanted to forget.

I never wanted to forget the way

the world around me shimmered with vibrant shades,

and the way that music sounded as lovely as a masquerade,

and how everything was something new to explore.

I never wanted to forget

the song I sang, nor

the dance I dreamed...

the world, a beautiful ballet.

-LJ

15 March 2016

I saw flowers,

I saw flowers, pretty flowers they were.

Through the blanket of snow,

their colors bring vibrant beauty,

and loving thoughts to my soul.

The flowers were shy, they were.

Poking bud by bud, petal by petal,

their grace spoke meaningfully

and touched my hands.

They captured the tears, the flowers, they did.

Every empty feeling inside,

every tear of blame, and feeling so ashamed,

they embraced what emotion I had.

They taught me, the flowers, they did.

A lesson of looks deceiving;

they were a beacon of comfort,

but some had thorns that stung the heart,

but could hardly be seen underneath a veil of many colors.

The flowers were beautiful, the flowers they were,

and they adorned my head gently,

and reminded me of a time of innocence,

as if my head was being gently stroked

and the flowers' fragrance, relaxing,

and their dance in the gentle breeze,

as if a lullaby for a bustling mind as mine.

They grew around me, and I closed my eyes.

-LJ

10 & 14 March 2016

It Must Be Coming

Is it here? It appears

that now the time is taken.

Every flower, with great power

begins to awaken.

It must be coming; Winter's running

very far away

and with it, bringing a brighter,

vibrant kind of day.

Placid winds, and rain-clouds bend

the bluer skies above;

trees re-birthed, birds there perched

singing of sweet love.

Spring is come, Winter's gone,

Summer, Autumn plan their stays.

Beauty, flower, bird, and shower,

paint Spring's ever lovely days.

-LJ

12 & 13 March 2016