Goldenrose

We were rising.

With every thread tied together, by those who wanted to catch hold —

Those with knotted breath and clasped hands 

Weaving together a dream, cast out into a sea of stars —

Child, your future is best left unspoiled, so I may be too vague, or not vague enough. Don’t be afraid of  the contents within this letter . . .

If to be a sonnet is to be vain, then to be a sonnet is to be a friend. 

If to be a limerick is to be laughed at, then to be a limerick is to be a child. 

We've built the beautiful places 

through disaster and heartbreak  

and luck and romance. 

From the roots up, we've rocked the rocks,   

and moved the Earth. 

If I could paint the sky in the hues of colors I feel when I look at you,

The sky would no longer be just one color.

If I could write in words how much I love you,

her hands are chapped and raw from anxiously 

peeling away her skin

so she goes through every fidget she can find

and wears them down until they break.

her lips and nose are red and cracked