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what the pages say

standing in this place
makes me remember why i am still around
and the wind on my face
tells me again why i kept up this fight.
there are roads ahead
waiting to feel my shoes against them
and views inviting my eyes to stare.
underneath there is always a story,
so let these be the words.

caught in a struggle
that has since gone by.
so fast.
trees and buildings and streetlights fly by
and nothing stays in focus.
but slow.
wind and rain always show up to push apart.
now faces stare
underneath wishing to curl up
up and into nothing.
distrustful eyes...reflections
of something strange coming into view.
fractured but mending
deciding to run or just hold on.
arms on shoulders
eyes on eyes
carried away.

midafternoon midwinter
and what exactly makes me come here?
maybe it's a need to understand.
to see images some never dreamed possible,
to listen to the words he says
and to notice how every once in a while,
he stares skyward smiling with lips, eyes, and heart.
midafternoon under sunny skies
where a few of us sat in a small place
white light streaming across green walls and black tabletops
to listen.
at that, the two fixed glances
with the eyes of those who share tiny secrets all their own
how could i have gone to sleep
before understanding where the light really came from?

how i feel chills.
phasing feet click together,
hands in graceful cooperation
keep playing with our hearts
and braiding our hair while
we're not looking [at you.]
things like this are too hard,
i say,
as tiny fingers steal water
from my eyes. [what do you see?]
hoping for a warm pool to wade in
hoping for a warm heart
to have room left for me
and wishing always for arms
that could hold my weight.
i am so small [nothing.]
and hope is the most bitter