sweet morning dew, we've always been the best at licking our wounds.

kick off my shoes and back with you, my silver lining's pure gold and spelling out spring time by the country side - bathing in daisies and the sound of my name along the lips of a jay bird.

the broken record you never wanted to hear in the first place - it's so nice to dream when you'd rather crawl out of your skin.

your golden spoon is melting between your corroding teeth.

when one door closes, another one opens. it just so happens you took my heart with you through the last one.

i'm a time bomb, the ticking of a clock that's aching to stop.

everything's coming up roses.

my calendar's bleeding and i feel the laughter rising in my throat. watch the days fly by, i laugh and weep with the best of them. let's lose our way and remember nothing more than our daily paper, read the comics and burn it for warmth because we'd never bother cozying up. sound like a plan? meet me in egypt; i'd swim the nile if it meant you'd ever consider tossing a bone.

seashore.

ebbing in tease, begging you to chase and rising with laughter at the failed pursuit - it touches your feet not because you are worthy or capable but because it chooses to. it could take you over, it could carry you away, it could swallow you whole and make you vulnerable victim to the few who are strong enough to dwell within. but it chooses to let you float, returning you to the shore at the end of the day and ebbing in farewell, covered by fog. you wish your heart could be in such control, you wish your dreams could fall in to place not because you are worthy or capable but because it chooses to. you wish your natural course was as simple as the teasing sea, but instead you go home and crawl in to your cold sheets for another night achingly aware of how alone you are.

...and not in the form of half-whatever-wins.

I sing with bluebirds, I run with the antelope. I scale mountain walls and dance at the top - I've read all the classics in every written language. I am wanted in forty two countries for wide-scale protests I passionately believed in!


I believe in dreaming, it's all I've really ever known to be my own. People falter and change their mind, but when I close my eyes I'll always be a super hero meant for greater things than you or I would ever be able to dream up - thus the absence of my long-deserved book. Everyone's something of an epic proportion, and I'm finally reaching out for my own lime light. Thoughts and soul and laughter, the greatest things in life are resonating within us.

Anne Morriss, A Starbucks customer from New York City. She describes herself as an “organization builder, restless American citizen, optimist.”

The irony of commitment is that it’s deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.

I am a shadow, my act is that of the follower. I dance in your wake and sing your praises when you're feeling slightly lost. I am a jay bird, I skip across the morning dew and rest outside your window until you're tossing and turning with morning grog. I'm your morning paper - go on, count the newest death toll. I'm the dust beneath your boots and the sound of "your barbaric yawp", I am the hills that you've metaphorically climbed and the worst joke you've heard in the best of company. I'm in everything and I feel like the owner of nothing - I am lacking, I am yearning, I am giving away all the things that leave me feeling incomplete. I'm a wanderer, the hiss in the back of your mind that refuses to let you settle. I'm a pusher, a fighter, an excuse for all the malicious thoughts that cloud your mind when that particular individual passes you. I'm the cracks beneath the pavement that plague your superstitutious tendencies, following you throughout the day after you've stepped across and over and finally on top of me - accidentally. I'm an accident, I'm a beautiful accident with everything to offer and nowhere in mind.

lull; storm.

She pretended it was lace, that she was tracing the letter of an invitation to the greatest party anyone had ever thrown. Jay Gatsby would be put to shame, her imagination mused. In truth, it was the coarse paper of a cheaply constructed funeral invitation. She'd get dressed up nonetheless, burn it later and pretend she'd been worth a better announcement. Here lies all my hopes and dreams, the actual friend disappeared from her mind and was replaced with what her life should've been.