Peace

For the first time in a while, I felt something I hadn't.
It was something I could only describe as the soft clouds that accent the sky.
Or, the way the multitude of stars guide lost souls back home.
It was the soft grass that, when I laid on it, caressed my entire being; and it was the beautiful flowers that began to color my soul.
It was the soundscapes of tomorrow, and last night's lullabies, and bedtime stories that I just couldn't resist replaying in my imagination because they were just too amazing.
It was the lingering sounds of cathedral bells I heard in a dream long time ago, accompanied by visions of midwinter, and the scripture of stained-glass windows.
It was every little touch; every soothing and gentle stroke of the head, every time invisible arms wrapped close around me, keeping me safe.
It was the calming scent of lavender, and the little plush animal that has been at my bedside since only a few years ago.

It was peace.  And as soon as I realized what presented itself to me, it left my feeble grasp.

The last few weeks have proven to be rough.
There have been days where I have isolated myself out of choice for the best, and days where I have isolated myself because "no one wanted to deal with it, so to go to your room until you do".
There have been days where I could not find the motivation to get out of bed, and days where I would go back to my bed not even three hours after getting out of it.
There were nights that I was so irritable, I snapped at everyone and didn't realize I had done so and sounded so angry.
There were moments I felt such guilt, I wished not to be seen, and moments that I felt such grief, I wished not to be heard.
I found myself crying for no reason, except for unexplained feelings of sadness.
I found myself drowning.  Drowning in thoughts of worthlessness, helplessness, loneliness.
I found myself drowning in the numbing tingles of when I looked down and thought my feet had turned blue... that my entire body was beginning to become painted in the blueish-gray I thought colored my feet.
I found my muscles growing incredibly tense, my hands becoming fidgety and scratching my scalp, my head, my arms, trying to brush off the inevitable panic, and my breathing picking up, up, and away, until I was swept up into the darkness.

But I didn't understand.
In the midst of depression, why did I suddenly feel peace?
Why did I suddenly begin to giggle with a cat walked on my back and then lay at my feet?
Why did I suddenly feel like painting beautiful scenic views (and my art skills suck), slow-dancing in the middle of my bedroom by myself, only illuminated by the nightlight, or singing the blues away?
Why did every thought suddenly become a poetic line in the catacombs of my frazzled mind?

Why did this feeling leave so quickly?
I wonder, but for now, I thank my lucky stars that my eyes lit up for the first time in weeks, and that they can close with the gift of a peace that left me too quickly but was still a wonderful gift to receive.

-LJ
19 June 2016, 5:26am

The Music Clock

Maybe it began
when the circle of fifths
didn't look like a clock.
Or, when I heard buzzing clicks
as I waited for the tick - tick - tock
of the music clock.

Maybe it began
when the click -click- clock
had no hands at all
to tell the shoes and the socks
and the shiny red ball
"don't forget to call."

Maybe it began
when the circle of fifths
and the hand-less clock
began telling myths
and silenced the tock
of the music clock.

Maybe it began
when I overslept,
but I still kept
the tears I wept,
and the shiny red ball,
and the number to call,
and the shoes and the socks,
and the tick - tick - tock
of the music clock.

-LJ

June 2016

Lavenders & Violets

One day,
in my imagination,
I was looking at flowers.
Lavenders
and violets
on cloudy days
looked
simply
beautiful.
Sometimes,
I imagine
myself
picking them
and taking in
their soothing fragrance,
feeling numb enough
to only find myself
in the cloudy day.

-LJ
5 August 2016

The Sweater

It's ninety degrees,

and I'm wearing a sweater

because my body's getting cold-

as if everything is slowing down,

and I am growing weaker

by the second.

I am tired; let me rest

and recollect my thoughts

as I wrap my arms around me,

being the source of my affection,

love, and protection.

The sweater is white,

knitted, and has holes

to keep me breathing.

 My arms are open wide,

but there's pain where there

should be someone that cares.

I am afraid; let me go,

for I can't keep on waiting.

They'll come for me,

and want the things that I can't give them,

because I haven't got them.

-LJ

5 August 2016

Dear heart, be still;

Dear heart, be still;

for when comes your final breath,

so will tell untimely death,

and I don't believe

that I could breathe

in this lonely world in me

without you.

Dear heart, be still;

for when I listen to your voice,

so will my whole body rejoice,

and fall into slumbler here,

as I'm flooded with your tears

that you kept hidden for years,

your soul, so dear.

Dear heart, be still;

for when your humble nature's drained,

so my entire soul is pained,

and wallowing in earth so deep

as taking you is sweetest sleep

and taking part of me to keep

with you, to dream.

Dear heart, be still;

for seven years have come and gone,

and I  still hear your gracious song,

and I still feel your love and laughter

and the happiness that you're after

will show itself in life so dear,

that, to me, brings you back here.

Dear heart, be still;

for I know you have been through Hell

and that's a story I can't bear to tell,

and I believe

that I couldn't breathe

and my heart would tear
at the sight of you

so vulnerable and bare.

Dear heart, be still;

and know
I love you so.

Dear heart, be still.

-LJ

25 June 2016
19 July 2016

Sleepy Bird

Sleepy bird, how is it that you
are able to do the things you do,
with a smile and just as much
grace and beauty, song and such?
Is it that you're much too known
for all the heights you've ever flown?
Or maybe it's from the nests you've sewn,
or all the lives you've helped and grown.

Sleepy bird, how is it that you
are able to carry the strife you do,
with all the world's unending love
and wonders up from Heaven 'bove?
Is it that you know to speak
and touch the soul of every peak?
Or maybe it's the way you hear
the crying, fears, as you comfort tears.

Sleepy bird, how is it that you
are able to know me like you do,
with sincerity and big ol' eyes
and knowledge of knowing how to fly?
Is it that you can teach me how
to follow my dreams, even now?
Or maybe, perhaps, we could teach
each other to grasp the dreams we strive to reach.

-LJ

15 July 2016

The Dreams

I loved the dreams where I

could feel the rain on my face,

where every time you embraced me,

I could feel my heart race,

and I loved the dreams when you

told me "I love you",

so that I could blush and whisper

that "I love you, too".

I loved the dreams where we

could just be as we are,

and I loved the dreams where we

could count every star.

Because I loved the dreams

where I could just be free,

and I loved the dreams when you confessed

you were in love with me.

But I know you by voice,

nothing less, nothing more.

And I love the dreams you weave for me;

a love worth dreaming for. 

-LJ

17 June 2016