My restless eye wandered/ Fixing itself on artifacts/ Reminders of past loves
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Isn’t it romantic to be at peace
I take Fitzgerald’s words to heart
Venturing out to see things that startle me
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Last summer I saw the world in technicolor…
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She felt the anguish in the paint strokes/ Could all pain be made useful/ In art it’s finally understood, validated
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The world’s fogged over and bites of cold, accompanied by Sam Cooke and heat, beaming light through sleepy streets…
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I was eleven when my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.
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It was her birthday today, she sang a string of covers feeling a bit peculiar
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Two sensitive souls linked by loneliness, hurting for love and acceptance
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We’re all scared shitless hiding under cool she mused
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I visited dream books as you might have visited grandparents.
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I love you she said simply, you are wonderful
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She smiled through tears, “I marked myself”.
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The minions cast her out of fairytale land, only nice happy creatures belong here
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Should it be content with the seaweed?
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Waves reflect the emotions welling inside me, salty air taking my breath away
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I’m a deer on top of the world…
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She was a sparkly kind of girl.
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