A Carousel World

Step inside.
There is such a world to call your own
Indeed a place exists

Trinkets from your childhood
only the best kind collected
The ones that made your eyes
gleam
and your insides shriek
with pure joy

Diaries from your past
written of the unimaginable places
you once dreamt up
when you were just a girl
Who’d have ever thought
They’d come alive

The merry-go-round spins,
Your hair flies
in all directions,
Your body sways
with the movement,
Going forward
But in circles,
Never stopping.
You throw your head back
Laughing,
Crying,
Screaming.

Your heart,
It’s beating
out of your chest,
Your eyes
watering,
darting side to side
The lights,
The spinning,
The music,
So much to see,
So much to take in

You search for answers
You plead for chugging
But your seat is not inside
a caboose,
You’ve chosen to ride
a carousel
atop a glass horse
with memories and
an innocence
that is to be adored
or disgraced.

Here is
the world
to call
your own.

– J.R.L.

I’m not perfect.

I’m the most mentally frantic person 
you will ever have the pleasure of getting to know 
It's not easy to spot at first... 
So seamlessly formed and smoothly wrapped up 
like an egg 
once cracked, 
the yolk spills out instantaneously and uncontrollably 
immediately losing it’s composure
as the delicate shell was it’s sole protection 
there’s no way to repair it to it’s original form 
just as when glass breaks 
shards large, medium, small, and tiny scatter 
across the ground into sharp spikes 
and rigid miscellaneously constructed pieces. 
It’s broken and there’s nothing you can do 
to fix it.
Even after several sweepings
there will always be a piece left unswept. 
I’m broken and that’s ok. 
But you can also say 
there will always be a piece of me left everywhere I’ve fallen, 
everywhere I’ve left myself unraveled and free
I’m not perfect 
I am me.

– J.R.L.