A tired attempt at rhyme

I

I stand shaky in the middle of a forest of towering oak
but their brood leaves can't seem to protect me as stand naked in the burning sun
They reach down their branches to offer shelter but instead of submitting to protection - I run

I often want to turn around - but into the deep blue sea I jump instead
floating in the open water, nothing and everything can touch me - simtaneously- I am free, yet
completely immersed and all-trusting

I sometimes dream of returning to the direction from once I came - to its offerings of peace and
protection
but like a moth, I am drawn into the direction of the setting sun - and as it sinks, I chase it
as it shines, illuminating the hills that are stacked with houses in the distance
I'm not sure what I'd find there - if I were to return
so I decide not to chance it and stay forward bound - until I reach my way around



Snippets of imperfection

What would you do if I were honest - showed you my soul and welcomed you home?

They say your home is where your heart is - but my heart is shattered - it's pieces rest scattered,
all tattered and sown -
into loose fabric and dry soil which are fragments of someone else's ideas - of a perfection that is not my own

I don't know what to call you - where to put you, or how to behave
so I quietly shut the door in front of me, instead of facing these demons that reluctantly I've raised

I've tried to be rock solid , but I chip too easily at the core
don't juge me too harshly please - as I'm a broken doll with stained lips and a peculiar demeanor
and I find it difficult to penetrate the exterior - so I move quickly - so as not to bore

They say these beginnings are like magic, but they also say that magic fades
and too quickly I find myself jaded
not wanting to be held , by tired arms and a disapproving grace - I slide, I wax sorrowful distress - as I
rest my head on an unfamiliar pillow, in a bed that has never been made