The Way Light Rose This Morning

If I could have held your hand and been strong enough not to let go we'd have lost so many more earthly angels and I'd be a murderer. That's not ethical.

But neither was letting go. 

Swaddled in So Much Blue

I guess congratulations are in order,

considering your little bundle of joy

has just arrived,


but even the things I mean honestly

without the spit or spite come out

far too wrong.


And I suppose I should be happy for you

especially since I was the first to move on

but we're young,


the two of you always seemed so smart,

and no one ever pegged you for such a

doomed little family.


Perhaps I should stick to the facts

and keep my big mouth shut like

you always said,


but this just feels so far from reality

that I don't know what to do other than

to congratulate you.


So congratulations on your brilliant

little baby girl, I hope she has your eyes

and her smile...

The Last Page

There's a locked box sitting in my closet.

It's decorated with pictures of us

and all the people we've ever

wanted to be. Written in scratchy

letters and tear stained ink

are your very best quotes.


As much as I love that box itself

I think you should know what

is dying inside the belly of

that beautiful beast. All the

nicknames unwhispered

between the protection of

night and warm sheets

gone unsaid -


unheard


for so long.


The promises unkept

and shattered dreams.

Scenarios and lyrics

you recited in my dreams

as comfort are lingering -

caught in silky

spider webs.


Guitar picks and letters, pencil drawings and

a colorful ring. And at the very bottom

of that sad, lonely box, folded sweetly,

tucked safely beneath everything

else my soul weeps. Withering

away as it promises to


be better


in its next life.

Ragged Hands of Winter

You are beautiful

do not give that away to

age, change, or harsh words.

Be happy

if you can

while you can -

or you will parish alone,

.....unknown,

.        .       .forgotten...

Strange Beauty

Snow angels sing songs

of hope and love, memories

and holidays that won't be

the same now

Time Has Finally Caught up to Us

Thank you for all of your love, support, dedication and readership here over the years, but it is time for me to share some news with you. I will no longer be updating this blog, posts that have been scheduled for future dates will post as intended at one point or another, but I will not be writing anything new for this home. For new works please give me some love on www.patreon.com/Learningtofly and for more news, merchandise and access to the collections I have completed over the years please visit my brand new website (With a blog!) at www,sincerelybluejay.com Once again I love you for being here with me, and I hope that you are able to continue reading my work elsewhere.

Love Always
Madison Rene'

Time for a New Pillow

Changing just one piece of your routine or adding an extra dash of color is all you really need to fall in love with yourself all over again. 

Sleeplessly

It's not that we needed another


sunrise -


simply that we were waiting

on Dawn


for all the wrong reasons.

Remembering one August

"How do you always do that?" I asked out of the blue one night.

"What?" you asked in pure confusion. "Make me laugh when I

don't even want to breathe." I explained simply.


"That's easy," you smiled, "All you do is care for someone

with all your heart." Your face went completely blank for a moment

and both of our worlds were silent in the stillness

unlike ever before.


I sighed playfully, "Be careful. If you keep talking like that

people will think you're in love." You laughed quietly

as if only to yourself, "I am," you answered.

Again there was silence.


"Lucky person," I whispered, trying not to show my pain.

"Yes," you smiled, "Yes, you are."


But I hate that there were so many miles between us at that moment,

because if you had been with me I would have hugged you and

let those words I swore I'd never say flood from my lips until both of us

were laughing so much that we lay there crying in each others arms

while grinning from ear-to-ear. If only you had been closer I would have

kissed you and been perfectly fine with the stillness as it attempted

to swallow us whole thinking that the world would carry on just fine

without us for a while. Even now, all this time later, I still

believe that is the most beautiful thing you have ever said:


"It's easy. All you do is care about someone with all your heart"
    

Avarice

Our adventure started in 2011

with paper, pen, and an open mind

there were so many possibilities

and we started over again and again.


We had the world at our fingers

and anything we'd ever be able

to need. So we set off playing with

color that aroused too much emotion

and lines too bold to fade along

side stories too deep to write.


Time went by swiftly each draft

improving just a touch and the

ink blurred perfectly with the skin

and bloodied sweat that created

our prize winning formula.


Somehow we ended up here,

three years and a million pages

later with a work of Avarice as

the only thing we could proudly

display for the world to see.


So if these words find their way

to you, I just want you to know

that the beauty we became, the

artistry we created, and the way

we moved at every little bump in

the road shaped us. Molded us.


Resurrected us.


In a loving


ink drawing.

Forgotten Gods

When we met you were a poet

therefore I am immortal.


You etched me out

in stanzas and poured

the starlight from

my smile into your lines. My

laughter got recorded in the

blank spaces between words

while the love I had for you

inspired your own raw

recollections of our

beautifully fragmented

conversations.


Now you've journeyed off

to another land where

my eyes pierce through

the icicles of your heart

and you've buried your

emotions alive

in an endless

field of

bluebells.


You may not

be here anymore,

your footprints were

swept away by ocean tides

and sand crabs but

we both know

you were.

And that's

enough for

me.


I am immortal

because I was

loved by a poet.


I guess you

are too

even if you

have been

forgotten

here.

Ranting to Polaris

Someday the world will know our names

in ways you've never imagined and your story

will be written on me the way my portrait has

been painted atop of your perfect chest in

magenta lipstick. There will come a day

when you are just as important as

Jackson Pollack or Micheal Jackson.


(In your own line of work that is.)


I promise you my ghost will leave you alone

just as soon as you remember to call when you

say you will. Because really I've never met

anyone who makes a better you than you ,

so that means that by default the next century

cannot possibly pass without all the world

saying your name at least once in their lifetimes

as they honor your greatest work of all time


(me)


the way they've already done with mine


(you). P.S. I am leaving tonight

and I will see you as soon

as humanly possible -


so long as you're still

up for leading my way. 

The Importance of Complete Knowledge

To know you like

your eyes know color

and a tongue knows

the taste of your

favorite foods.


To understand you

the way you understand

reading or the way

your mind understands

language at all. To be


your brightest star and

your fondest memory.

That's all I could ever want

and if that makes me selfish


than it could be the only

word on my tombstone

and I'd still be


perfectly


content.

Eternally Brave and Loving

Darling, I will always believe in you.

Which is exactly why you should remember that you are so much stronger than this. 

Song Title Conversations

I know you can't hear me -

no one ever can.


That's why I scatter my thoughts,

comments, and ideas all over my world

for the few people who actually care

to find at their own leisure. I know you -

you are genuinely curious, that's why you

have found my every physical hiding place

and mental cottages and libraries

holding the only known dictionaries of

my own special languages. I know you -

you have already realized that most of this

is meant for a specific little group of people

who don't even try to understand

what I am doing. Not the way you do at least.


I know you can't hear me -

no one ever can.


That's why this will wait here for years

and years, looked at by hundreds -

maybe even thousands of people none of whom

will quite get it and then you will go scrolling through

trying to catch up on what you missed

when you refused to care because it just hurt you -

I like to say I know you, but the sad truth is

I only ever knew you and that has long since ended.


I know you can't hear me -

no one ever can.

Night's Regret

Intangible pens don't speak, Darling,

you should know - I mean after all these years


of back pocket notebooks and

borrowing pens from shopkeepers

ideas are not housed from the rain

if they do not have flesh to protect first.


Sunshine is a funny thing,

and so are artists - but I guess I'm not one


to talk considering I've been called both

countless times since birth. Intangible pens

like mute songbirds , nightingales with insomnia

and a cukoo that doesn't know to nest.


Darling, that's all your works are

if you can't remember to keep a pen with you as well.
    

Totally off-beat

Listen

while the rhythm you

casually see


displays

a reflection of wonder

from me.

The Catanese Tails

When I was a kid, I knew
this crazy old woman -

she had pet geese and
used sharpie for eyeliner,
she taught speech classes
and saw potential in me.

It wasn't just me though,
she had faith in every single
one of us in her class.

When I was a kid, I knew
the most pessimistic opptimist ever -

she started every afternoon off
by asking us what we'd laughed
because of and who made us
feel like we belonged (or at
the very least were loved).

And I miss her like crazy. 

Return to Sender

Return to Sender:


I'd love to pull a pen from my drawer

and use these veins as paper for you.


I read your letter, but I


just can't bring myself


to hold on to it longer than

you needed me to. Darling,


I'm sending this back to you

without a reply, but here it is


anyway, cause I've gotta get it

off my chest and out of my heart.


This time around I am not going to


respond with all the love in my heart,


but I suppose after all this time

you do deserve a free fall drop

as if you were one of these tears

welling in my shattered crystal eyes.


Did you know I write to you

in every piece I've ever etched?

That there's something about the way

sun shines and streets flood that both

bring me back to your house all over again?

That I was more at home in your bed

filled with books and anger than

at home with my own joyful family?

That you are a tree in my garden

with a trunk etched in initials and stories

surrounded by roses soiled in memories

watered in your unspoken names?


A response such as:


I


I need you to know that

I fashioned your latest letter

into a lullaby I'll sing myself

only when there's no one else

to hear for miles. (love like ours

is meant to kill not sting).


II.


You carry enough weight

in the ink you bleed for

the both of us, only you

forgot how to pen my name

the way I forgot your address

when you moved closer.


III.


Sometimes I want to write back

so I can let you see the pain

you've caused, but to give you

a type of healing I was never offered.

To paint your face from memory

and replay your voice from starsong

are two of my greatest dreams...


and fears.


IV.


Please, return to sender.

Without a response letter
 

Sparkling Little Drops of Hope

Baby, you do not have to be alone - ever.

You choose your loneliness.