This Beautiful Broken World

In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination,
The reality I try to escape.
Its hard to say why,
All I really know is that I’m broken,
Somehow wrong.
By no fault,
For no reason,
I was born different.
How many times have I dreamed?
How many times have I wandered?
Those many worlds born from stories,
My own dreams,
My breaking heart of glass.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination.
A forest of books,
A place full of glass stars hung by red string,
That entangles me and leaves me wondering.
Why did I create this place?
This place that’s already fragile and broken.
This place where I created,
Where I dreamed.
Of desert ruins, of footprints on a distant shore.
Of everchanging worlds, of broken dreams,
Of rusted gears and distant stars,
Of burning flames and falling snow.
The stories of a wanderer, a dancer, a robot, a monster,
All the nameless faces that forever change,
The other me.
Of a broken self,
A broken heart.
That did not yet fully understand the world,
The words it heard and spoke,
The world it loved and soon hated.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination,
The reality I try to escape.
With the wings of a bird,
With kind hopeful words,
With fairy tale endings,
With stories ruined by reality.
I have tried so many times,
To let myself forget,
To numb the pain I was once blind too.
For long was I unconsciously, unknowingly,
Oblivious and blindly becoming,
Becoming someone else?
Or did I merely wake up,
From the dreams of a child.
The glass stars hung with red string,
The thread that entangles me,
The red color of fate.
Is it even real?
Yet I know my heart is glass,
A burning star,
That is so fragile.
So fragile that even my own thoughts,
My own cruel words.
My inner self, the monster in me,
Easily breaks and traps me.
In those thoughts,
Those emotions that slowly drown me,
That slowly try to snuff out my light.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Lies the world of my imagination,
The reality I try to escape.
Its hard to say why.
All I really know is that I’m broken,
Somehow wrong.
By no fault,
For no reason,
I was born different.
To be strange,
To be unique.
A fragile being,
A scared child,
Afraid of change,
Yet a want for one.
How many years,
How long will it take?
How can it all change yet,
Also stay the same.
In my little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
Where my inner self,
Is still entangled by the thread,
That hold the glass stars,
The glass stars that are lit with my light,
The place I fight reality to keep.
This little corner of the world,
This tiny fragment,
I wish to see,
I wish to live in,
This beautiful broken world;

The Birds That Fly in Different Directions

“At the edge of this lonely place,”
“At this crossroads of twilight.”
“I still stay, I’m still here,”
“Waiting for the day,”
“Awaiting the moment, I can fly again;”
In this place, I awake in a daze.
Still between dreams and reality,
I’m close to falling asleep.
So close to the birds,
The birds that fly in different directions,
To the sky’s edge.
Everything has changed,
Everything will never truly stay the same.
It aches to watch,
It hurts to lose it all,
All those places full of stories,
Our stories.
It’s when I remember,
It’s when I think,
That I always go back there.
To the edge of this lonely place,
At this crossroads of twilight.
Where I can see that other place,
That place full of glass stars,
My heart made of glass stars.
I always come, 
The place where I still stay,
Waiting for the day,
Awaiting the moment, I can fly again.
Still between dreams and reality,
I’m close to falling asleep.
So close to the birds,
The birds that fly in different directions,
To the sky’s edge.
The birds that I can only watch from here.
Yet it’s always the stars I see first,
Its always the stars that remind me.
That life is a gift.
One that I know someday ends.
One thought I try to bury deep within.
Don’t remind me,
I already know.
I’m already caught in the tangled string of red,
That other me is still there.
At the edge of this lonely place,
At this crossroads of twilight.
So close to the birds,
The birds that fly in different directions,
To the sky’s edge,
To that place full of glass stars,
The place where you are.
I knew I could never follow you,
I knew my broken form,
These wings made of paper and dreams,
Wouldn’t be able to truly fly.
Though…
I still stay, I’m still here,
Waiting for the day,
Awaiting the moment, I can fly again.
Waiting again and again,
Hoping as I watch,
As I lose the places we once shared together,
As I lose myself to the escape of dreams.
To the place of my creation,
My sanctuary,
My cage,
My glass heart.
At the edge of this lonely place,
At this crossroads of twilight.
So close to the birds,
The birds that fly in different directions.
I still stay, I’m still here,
Till the moment I fly like a bird,
To the sky’s edge,
To that other place;
“I remain lost among a forest of books,”
“Entangled by red string,”
“As I hold and watch the flickering lights,”
“Held by glass stars,”
“I’m still here, I’m still here till…”
“Till someday;”