Confessions of a 5'1"

I never did quite understand the potato.
Such a silly looking food staple
With an equally silly name.
If I were to be a food--
I'd like to be a thin slice of veal,
a Guiness double chocolate cake,
or even something like sesame soy flank.
Yet in the end
I'm quite just like the potato
who cannot escape its fate:
Plain and tasteless raw
But with potential of such variety
When it comes to being shaped
by a pair of weathered hands;
the chef from either above or below.

Thanks for the offer--for opening a door
One thats never existed until you.
I can smell a different world wafting through
& when I peek in, I can see all the "What Ifs..."
Yes, thanks for the offer--a wonderful one, indeed.
But I'm going to have to decline
For I've got a closet full of skeletons
Who I've got to keep inside

I'm here.
Would it be conceited for me to say
I've never been anywhere else?
I've always been here, though I have to admit
I've been carried, without the permission of our planet,
For Twenty and One lengths of a circumference around that
Flaming body of a so-called star.
Whom still manages to be incapable of enough warmth
during the particular times,
though it has had the credibility of consistence.
I'm not saying I don't want to be
--and not meaning to come off as difficult,
but I wouldn't mind in the least if I could be,
Here, and at the same time
Capable of truthfully adding the two words:
With You

Once again--
Its about that time of hour.
The kind that lasts the length of a childhood,
Subtract the number of clueless teenage years.
To then be left on the empty plate of a University student, such as myself,
who has a proclivity to be quite picky when it comes to what is ingested.
And finally, before stepping across the stage towards what has previously
been etched out by life, be suffocated in a simple, indebted cardboard box.

Can we, please? Just take a moment of silence.
So we can hear the dying breaths of my dream.

"Everything is a pathway: Movement is the goal"

Hey. We're not lost--we're just not there
Yet. Don't fret your little heart
Because. If you take that first step,
Perhaps. As much as tendency loves to lie
Down. Is still a route such like
Up.
Left.
Right.

Nevertheless,
Let me show you how;
We don't have to be ephemeral
--if we take it upon us move.

It seems: "She doesn't know how to say what's bothering her"

They dangled her lips as bait
Oh so perfectly so, just out of reach.
It seems that she had not only lost her say
But she was also no longer the master of her voice.

What she found capable was a sad
--such a sad, sad smile
as the proceedings carried on
To the point the sun which had,
all this time found its lodge
in the middle of her throat,
finally drowned and became
splinters of granite endorsing
the diagnosis of her mute.

Do you know of the vast sky above us?
How it so impends above us and is ever stretching beyond the eye can see.
In all directions, it is his world and element of breath.
Is there nothing freer than the lack of limitations?

Do you know of the broad sea before us?
How responsive and vulnerable as it synchronizes a tempest teeming with fury.
In all directions, it is her cage and fundamentals of living.
Is there no state of power comparable to one deceived to confinement?

As it turns out, He was an angel and She, a mermaid.
They were fated since before creation to be separated
by the horizon forever set between the sea and sky.

It seems some things in life appear indestructible
No matter how grueling, our human hands cannot break them.
Thus, our hands must be destructible
They at least appear to be the cause of destruction certain times.
But y'know. . .
If I don't let go of your hand,
How are you going to be able to hold the hand of someone else?
. . . Someone who truly loves you?