My sky comes with Crayola-colored options.

"We can, we will, change the world with love."
It's all you need...Right? A ballad that could wake up the revolutions and bring it all back home.
But when Love gets bored and finds a lesser, yet more entertaining cause, and eternity and all it holds is put back on the shelf. Anger is more then apathy, and it sticks around longer then this love.

Anger at the hospitals, doctors, needles, pills and blood that can't save broken hearts. They fix the physical, sometimes the mental, but leave the souls for dead.

The false alarms and falser hopes that lead the Hurting to believe in something, but to be ultimately found with no room in their lungs for anything other then keeping their breath.

At those who see the Hoodlums instead of seeing the History Makers and the Generation Shakers. Those who would stand on the edge of the Earth and sing, but who are tied to the ground with "Not going to happen"s.

Angry at how the sky is blue when their day is gray

For the girl who cries in the bathroom because as soon as she walks out the door her performance takes up again. All the world's a stage, but the universe is her cinema screen. She knows she's been given the responsibility to play her Happy well. A gift given to her by all of those who are dominated more by fear then fury.

Angry at these words, because they are just words! Power lies in action and my words are simple sleep. I am average. Not a graceful person nor a graceful writer. A naive little girl who aspires to change the world, but who is left only with indignation for it.

My anger can't change the color of their sky.

And a symbolic Mary Poppins could somehow make it real.

Today I woke up and hated my bathroom. In its entirety, not just the mirror, but the white of the walls and how it made the day seem pale, and the burned out bulbs a reminder of how I was far too lazy to fetch replacements. But, of course, the big, unbiased reflector was my constant foe.

I think it's finally sinking in that it doesn't have to be. That it doesn't have to be more then the simple object it is, and that its sole purpose isn't to destroy and deprecate. Or maybe I could make it more then it is. Harness its powers for good, instead of the evil it was currently channeling.

I want to take every mirror I find and turn them into carousel horses.

And the ride would be more then satisfying. With the speed fast enough to be exhilarating without being terrifying. The music would be sweet enough to smile for, but not to make you feel overwhelmed by the pressure to.
And it would be beautiful.

So, glancing at your reflection, thrown out from a horses curly mane; maybe you'll see a stark, charming happiness. The kind you remember from being the first to open the new box of cereal.

Because I know it still exists. But, whenever I feel it, only others get to see it. I never time it correctly, and I miss it by a fraction of a moment. I'm greedy and jealous for it.
Maybe, if I witness it in my own face, it will be easier to remember its entity during the times I don't feel like sweet music.

The carousel would share with me.