Exit Signs

I've got all these questions.

Some simple.

Some too complex to bring to light.

Too many things swirling like different storms

Coming to the front of the door

Dropping the wind current

Knock me down.

To be surrounded,

I am surrounded,

And they always seem to surround us with their words.

Negative in existence,

The pessimism drips forth like venom on the tongue

Wicked words finding their way to the surface,

And it makes me never want to know any deeper,

Skin deep is enough for me from you.

I can only take so much,

And your skin deep cuts like a razor blade to the chest,

Making patterns as if we were drawing pictures

With our crayons on a cream colored paper

Smearing the color as if it were paint.

You were always a fan of finger painting.

And the chest finds a way to swell with colder air

As the lungs constrict and restrict my words,

And I restrict your words letting you know my ears are full.

My heart is full of your words,

Yet I make you think I did not hear a word,

Because if you knew how deep this cut,

You would know how hard it would be to recover.

Ripping open old wounds with words not well thought out,

Your insensitivity has done you in.

You've been shown the exit sign, and have been left in the dark.

Boats and Birds and Stray Dogs

Itching in the back of my throat
lets me know again the things that have passed are passing again.
With speed and curiosity the changes move
Quickly going without questions
Without warnings,
And I forgot to clean up
And I forgot to prepare
And the sky blackens
New storms arise.
Roots go down deep as they always have
But the changes of color,
I was never ready for it.
I was never ready for the changes.
I am never ready for the changes
And surprise is a face I often wear.
The sky is the limit but it is too cold for ice cream
Too cold for cold
And coats become a thing of today
Fashion becomes irrelevant as the biting jaws gnash their teeth
And the thickest, the layers cover,
And the warmth is something to be captured
And I am captured curling up next to my movements to get blood flowing
To get the heat going.

And I'm still cold.
But warm in heart.
Because it is a new change.
And one I'm not accustomed to.
But fresh hope, fresh things held inside
A greenhouse sits in my soul where it did not sit before
And death has fallen away as the leaves fall away
And as snow makes its way
There are the things hidden in a greenhouse
Things that will grow. Are growing. Have grown.
The sign reads,
"This is a place of life."

There is still surprise at this new revelation founded by the graphic designer getting paid too little to care about what the sign actually says.