Trying to swim against my stream-of-conscious
Being whipped around by currents and smashed into boulders.
Thrashing.  Struggling to stay afloat.
How easy it would be to place a rock upon my chest,
and softly s i n k into the cool dark water.
My tears would dissipate into my surroundings,
I'd see beautifully muted colors
and hear beautifully muted sounds
And as I'd sink deeper,
I'd feel myself f l o a t away.

She splatters her true colors across a canvas,
In hope that anyone will see them,
And love her anyway.

  I                                                                                       
She moved like a leaf suspended in the air, and the music was the wind.  The classical piano notes pulled and twirled her petite body gracefully around the stage. Her skin-tight leotard revealed every her muscle as it was pushed to it's limits.  It looked effortless, but even as a child, I knew each move was carefully calculated. She had been working her whole life to dance on a stage with hundreds of people watching her every move.  When the music stopped, the crowed exploded into applause and her face finally lit up into glowing smile.

                                 
 II                                                                                                       
She held my wrist and pulled me into the depths of the crowd where we wouldn't be watched, then we danced like the maenads did.   The bass made our spines rattle and the spinning lights disoriented us as we jumped and threw our heads back and our hands up.  The fruity vodka she got from the older boy who was in love with her danced through our veins.  The make-up I watched her toil over was running down her cheeks and the make-up she had gleefully painted onto my face had long since been rubbed off. Her painfully high heels were in her purse and the strap of the dress that matched them was sliding down her shoulder and her already radiant smile was accentuated by the blacklight.  Then we slipped into the bathroom and she carefully painted her make-up back on even though I told her a hundred times she looked beautiful without it.  Then she wiped the smudges from my eyes, put her heels back on and danced cautiously with the older boy who bought us the vodka, before we went home and fell asleep giggling on her living room floor.  


III                                                       
She swung her hips like the pendulum of a clock. She was slowing a speeding time at her whim. The beat of the congas synched with the beat of racing hearts and each wavy pull and strum of the sitar was more beautiful than the last.  The air was laced with different flavors.  Incense, cigarettes, marijuana and candle smoke diffused into the smoke from the roaring bonfire and devoured us.   The bangles on her hips shimmered and chimed with each movement.  She danced a dance that had been performed for thousands of years with utter unpredictability. She beamed through each seemingly impossible bend and twist until a group of teenagers hollered something at her and tried to shove some dollar bills down her top.  She hissed as she startled away and shot a look of disgust,  then moved a few yards away and continued to dance.


IV                                                                                                      
She enthusiastically bounced and dipped to the up-tempo pop tunes.   She wore a glittery bra and a g-string as she strutted across the table settled amidst the poker players. The music was barely audible over the sounds of jeering and slot machines but she seemed to hear it perfectly, at least she danced like she did.  Every now and then she would flip her hair out of her face and flashed a smile at on-lookers.  They cheered at her smile, but not as loud as they cheered when she would seductively bend over.  I left the table, but when I crossed back through the casino a while later I spotted her again, still dancing as energetically as before, like a wind-up toy.

I try to weave my words into a soft blanket to wrap around your shoulders and comfort you.
I try to bend and twist them into a picture, then fill the spaces between them with hopeful colors.
I try to speak with a lilt that echoes the melody of a lullaby you once knew.
But once they leave my lips, my words shrivel and die.  Unable to to penetrate the thick dark melancholy coating your mind, they hang listlessly in the air between us.

More than anything, I wish I could make your pain go away.