a literal metaphor

The last thing a writer should do is coddle herself.
Take care of yourself, certainly, but please don't be indulgent.
If an idea won't work directly, place it on the shelf,
then come back to it when you can say just what you meant.
Don't give up the search for that one inspired word
just because you feel a little tired or simply dull.
Stand up in defense of language, though they label you a nerd,
be precise and evocative, mean every word in full.
Writing is a calling, a talent, a craft, a gift,
a skill to be honed every single day,
so push past the doldrums. Feel your soul uplift
by saying what you mean and meaning what you say.
Don't be complacent and never make a start:
if the muse won't cooperate, inspire your own art.

I am terrified of what the future will hold.
Everybody always tells me to be brave,
but the fact of the matter is I'm growing old
and there's nothing and no one that can save
me from the ending I can see from here:
the end of warmth and love and nearness.
To wit, it's graduation that I fear,
and losing touch with those I hold the dearest.
Oh sure, there's email, Facebook and the phone
and perhaps even the occasional visit,
but after May I'm going to be alone
and from that solitude there's no real respite.
I'll cherish these few months with all my friends
and try not to kill myself when it ends.

They say to write what you know,
so what do I have to write about?
Psychology, grammar, poetic forms, doubt-
ing myself, young adult fantasy, how to show
emotion through my voice, how to survive
a heart broken by friendship or by love,
indie music, fixing computers (sort of),
talking myself down from panic attacks, how to drive
my sisters up a wall, how to give the greatest hug,
queer theory, Star Trek, making jewelry,
organizing events, office work, how to see
the meaning behind a metaphor or a shrug,
and how to read emotion in a face.
Well, that seems like a solid knowledge base.

I'm predisposed to expect the worst.
It's not easy turning yourself into an optimist;
the best I could ever do was be a realist.
I take my fears and write them down as verse.
Pessimism's wearying, and so's depression.
I still think those terrible things at first,
but now my backup plans have been rehearsed.
From worst to slightly better's my progression.
You keep telling me to lighten up,
but if I say "fuck off," that's negative expression.
Your focus on positive thinking is an obsession
that's driving me straight to a bottle and cup.
Look, all I want is to find some peace,
and have these tight-wound worries all release.

Just be quiet. Everything is fine.
Even if now you can't see the light,
hold your tongue, my dear, and toe the line.

Everything you see could be a sign
the path you're treading is the one that's right,
so just be quiet. Everything is fine.

Things all happen according to design.
Don't heed it when you feel the urge to fight,
only hold your tongue and toe the line.

Although now you can't see the sun shine
it doesn't mean the world's no longer bright.
Just be quiet. Everything is fine.

All your troubles soon will turn out fine
if you keep your goal within your sight,
hold your silly tongue, and toe the line.

Honestly, no one wants to hear you whine,
and suffering is best done out of sight.
Just be quiet, everything is fine.
Hold your sobbing tongue, and toe the line.

It's being set on fire.
It's stepping through a door.
It's what makes me perspire.
It's what makes me ask for more.
It's spreading wings and taking flight.
It's opening my eyes.
It's darkness turning into light.
It's what makes me unwise.
It's mint that lingers on my tongue.
It's smoke that billows sweet.
It's the first song I ever sung.
It's my girlfriend's cotton sheets.
It's every chirp of every bird.
It's every star I see.
It's what's behind my every word.
It's creativity.

Standing there in awkwardness, you and I,
With inevitability standing there beside us--
The intention of a kiss lingering behind our lips
And the frazzled shadow of my nerves on the wall
Combining to lead us to the place we can't avoid--
All the awkward shyness and uncertain intent
And darting eyes in silent argument
With the terror and desire clumsily alloyed
As we stand shyly embraced within the hall--
Moments leading up to this:
One finally realized kiss.

And between ourselves there has been time
For messages left silent in the night
For words it took a drunken haze to write
For darkened rooms and movie screens
And subtle shifts to slightly lean
Into each other's arms in the dim light.
Building bit by bit until the truth was plain:
Without that kiss I would have gone insane.

It seems unfair, then, to throw shut that door,
To have that kiss or two, and nothing more--
To say, "I'm not sure this is for the best at all.
This could not work, at all."
It is impossible to say just what I need!

In a hallway there is time
For decisions to be made
That in a hallway are reversed.

.....

I have walked along the pond and seen the swallows flying free.
His voice comes through my headphones, skips with the CD--
I do not think that he will ever sing just to me.

This train of thought has got me in a bind.
You'd think by now that I would have a clue.
If I keep going, I just might lose my mind.

I search and search, but solace I can't find.
Ideas that calm me down are far and few.
This train of thought has got me in a bind.

I've worried so much that my forehead's lined.
I wish that I could find some peace in view.
If I keep going, I just might lose my mind.

These thoughts have turned me deaf and dumb and blind.
I can't describe the trials they put me through.
This train of thought has got me in a bind.

I could relax if people would be kind.
I think a little sympathy is due.
If I keep going, I just might lose my mind.

My certification may as well be signed.
I'm going crazy... so what else is new?
This train of thought has got me in a bind.
If I keep going, I just might lose my mind.

It turns out that I am made of nylon.
I always thought I was made of tin.
I found out when your jagged words caught and snared on
when I thought they'd bounce off and I'd be safe in.
I guess it makes sense now that I think of it
though I'd much rather the reverse had been true:
it'd be nice for my words to make a direct hit
when I have sharp words to be said to you.
But nylon's so useful, in many things it thrives
like tights and rope and colorful kites
and seatbelts that act as savers of lives
and parachutes spiralling from incredible heights.
So maybe the fact that I'm not made of metal
shouldn't be cause for any alarm.
Metal, after all, rusts and gets brittle
but you can sew nylon up after it takes harm.
So what if now I've got runs up and down me
from all the cruel things you saw fit to say?
I've got needle and thread, and scars will look gutsy
and I'll live to save lives another day.