There are ten million people in the city tonight
And one angel.
Plotting promises of good days to come
Where screams once painted sleepless nights.
“Everything will be okay, honey.”
“I won’t ever recover from this.”
Broken shards of glass
Still shine in the light.
Still can be picked up and
United to reflect the colours of your dearest dreams.
Don’t give up.
You have to win.
“Okay, I want to.
But isn’t zero worth more than a minus thousand?”
Every life is a pile of good things and bad things, he says.
The good things don’t always soften the bad,
But the bad things don’t spoil the good.
It isn’t a minus thousand.
It’s a hundred, and a minus five, and a seven, and a minus thirty.
Numbers are your friends.
Zero isn’t worth anything.
“I no longer believe that there exist good things.
I can’t think of any; there must not be any.”
If you stare at the sky long enough, he teaches,
You begin to see the stars.
“I see them now,” I realize, in awe.
He smiles at me until my smile is no longer under my own control.
The angel that lit up my life.
Sunshine brings life, yes, but
I seek shadows for comfort when I’m alone.
Scars shine in the moonlight.
It’s thunderstorms that conceal my tears
Hide the stars, cloak the moon,
Eclipse all light
So no one stares
As they weep with me,
Flashing lightning in snatches
To illuminate my grateful smile.
People think of these as mere absences,
But silence is a saviour
From all my commotion, and
The dark night is, after all,
What makes the moon and stars worth looking at.
My Angel, I smile
As my closed eyes fly open; this time
In colourful dreams –
The nightmares never come.
Because should I awaken with
the ghost of my scream from last night on my lips,
I know you’ll be there
Whispering it’s okay, hush, it’s okay
And maybe you’ll listen to me sleep,
Watching over me with your warmth,
A moonbeam in the gloom.
Mon ciel étoilé,
My starry sky.
Rien n’est éternel, mais notre amitié est pour toujours et à jamais.
My lips are chapped.
I don’t fit in small sizes.
I’ve got messy hair,
I don’t have clear skin.
I’m not smart
I’m not ‘cool’.
My eyes hide behind thick glasses,
I’m too soft to be heard and
I crack lame jokes.
This girl doesn’t have that fire in her.
But it’s your loss that you,
You don’t see my raw smile, the most genuine one you’ll see
Don’t see how well every inch of me fits with my piano pedal and keys
Nor how wildly beautiful my hair gets after an hour of dancing in the rain
And you haven’t held my warm, welcoming hands
Haven’t been blown away by the whirlwind that is my mind.
You don’t know or care how thoughtful I am
Or see my eyes shining every sunrise, every morning.
You don’t hear me sing lullabies to my cat every night
So she doesn’t go to bed crying like I do
Your loss that you’re oblivious and
You think I’m a burnt out matchstick
When really- there’s this glowing ember waiting
To engulf you with its flame.
I’m a whirlwind inside of my head right now
And the butterflies in my stomach!
They need no urge to appear.
Their fluttering gives me life. It’s a sunshiny feeling, I swear
But then the brutish grey clouds eclipse my warm star of fantasy,
Their cold, cruel droplets of misery blur my vision,
I can feel them condense on my skin.
The last vestiges of my stability shivering.
It’s getting everywhere, it’s clogging my mind, clouding my reason
In torrents, overwhelming; my butterflies are terrified
And the butterflies know only too well –
They must rise above the clouds.
They try so hard, they really do
They are capable.
But somehow, instead, just as they reach the silver line,
Crossed wires spark a flame.
Five words uttered viciously send them into a frenzy again,
And somehow, instead, they just get stuck in that whirlwind.
I’m afraid of the rain.
Flung away harshly, disoriented, those beautiful butterflies
They’re lost, in a daze.
And they’re broken, they’ve lost their wings
And they’ve lost that charm, that sparkle, that grace
And no longer
Do they give me life.