A Cottage in the Woods
Pinpricks of light through worn down curtails announce the waking of the day. I blink slowly awake so as to not rush the beauty. I draw the curtains open to let in the oranges and yellows painted across the sky and bleeding into my home, proof that life goes on and tomorrow always comes. Sometimes I am not sure if my escape was worth it, but that doubt is erased as soon as I wake up the next morning to another artwork being created in the sky, an artwork just for me. I open the windows to let in the noises of the outside world. A breeze rustles the trees, a woodpecker in the distance, birds chirp on my feeders, a stream trickles by. Everything is so beautiful here it must be fake. Everything is so beautiful here it must be real.
Somewhere out there is a town in which I was raised. Told to go to school and make something of myself. I chose instead to make something for myself. Four walls and a roof and a bed and a fireplace. My little sister probably wonders where I am. My little brother was too young to remember me. I name every bird and squirrel and deer and bug after them. I hope they feel my love. I hope they don’t feel trapped.
I wonder if anyone else has fled to the freedom that mother earth provides. I wonder if they feel lonely. When I feel lonely, I look to the stars and think about how many there are out there for me to talk to. I couldn’t see the stars from the town I escaped from. There are so many here. They are my friends and my lovers and my family. I confide in them easier than I ever did another person. This world has so much to offer, if we would just let it.
I am surrounded by art. The artist is Mother Nature. My favorite painting is the sunrise after a storm, and my favorite sculpture is the snowy mountain I can see from my east facing window.
Living here is like living in a museum.
Residing in a fantasy.
Inhabiting a dream.
But I get to call it home.
Change
We are all broken.
The little boys say their silly words, and they don't see the effect it has on the girls.
"She's ugly"
"She's fat"
Well her parents are wondering: why won't she eat? Why does she take her mothers makeup?
We are all broken.
Every one hides in different ways.
Boys act out because they are told they cannot cry.
Girls cry silently because they are told they cannot act out.
Our voices are hidden by stereotypes and outdated ideals of what we should and should not do.
We are all broken.
But we can be fixed.
We can change our minds and let boys cry and let girls fight.
We can love each other and fix each other and fix ourselves.
We can hold each others hands and pray for unity.
We can do so many things if we just loved and lived and believed.
We are all broken.
But we don't have to be.
Depression.
If the walls had ears what would they hear?
They'd hear me cry
And my biggest fears
They'd hear my pain
My whimpers
My tears
They'd know my thoughts
My feelings
My dreams
And they'd know how hard it is to breathe
If the walls had ears, they'd be the first to know
I'm dying
I drowning in my sorrow
They'd hear my words and my last breathe
They'd know it was time for my death
The Edge
Standing on the edge
The wind moves his hair, his coat, and his soul
He finds freedom
Standing on the edge
He holds onto bridge cables to steady himself
He finds courage
Standing on the edge
One shoe off
Two shoes off
He sheds his coat
The wind blows it away
The wind threatens him
Standing on the edge
The man jumps
The wind blows him away
Along with his coat, his hair, and his soul
His shoes remain
Standing on the edge