life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand
life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreaking
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful
every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be
go out there
and change the world, kid
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
i have anxiety
undiagnosed.
sometimes it feels like my head is stuffed with crumpled ***** of paper: the things I never said, the things I should have never said, the things that someone never said to me.
all of these things are written on every piece of paper
there are so many right now that no more would be able to fit
yet i can't stop thinking things, i can't stop saying stupid things, i can't stop wishing things.
i sigh I reach up to my forehead and i grasp my bangs
with my shaky hands and pull
i'm hoping one day when i do this
the top of my head will yank open
all of these crumpled pieces of thoughts
will pour out in a pile
on the floor
i will kneel down
and uncrumple each and every piece
i will read each one
until my head fills up again.
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
God. How am I still not okay?
God. It's been so long.
God. I'm so tired of life right now.
God. What happened to me?
I was such a nice kid.
I was calm all the time.
Mature for my age,
Little but so lively.
I was so helpful.
So loyal.
I always supported my trust.
But I never really spoke my mind.
I was shy.
I was small.
I never stood up for my feelings
I never stood up for myself.
And now I'm older.
I realize I don't need support.
I need myself.
I need confidence.
Speaking your mind is not wrong.
Standing up for your feelings isn't rude.
Standing up for yourself isn't mean.
Saying what you feel doesn't make you imperfect.
No one's perfect. Not even them.
The ones you hate for being so amazing.
Maybe she has anxiety.
Maybe his mom is alcoholic.
No one has a perfect life.
There's not one perfect family in the world.
There is not a person in the world who's perfect.
There's not a person who doesn't have one bit of strife.
But just because you aren't perfect.
Doesn't make you less worth it.
You're amazing.
You're still charming, kind, and strong.
You're just more experienced.
You just understand some more things now.
And maybe, just maybe,
You just aren't as shy anymore.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 7:55 PM UTC
I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
By the evening when it covers the earth softly in a veil of darkness.
As all the colours change, from a bright inviting blue of the heavens,
now softening, losing their glow, as shadows fall beneath the Earth
When the last ray of sunlight has arrived the stars rise in order to claim the sky for themselves, as so does the moon, overshining them.
Vision may shrink due the lack of light, causing many to get anxious if they would have to travel throughout the arrival of the night.
The time to rest has been brought near, but some do choose to stay awake, gazing, observing, watching as the stars above them leave their gentle, slow and most importantly fascinating trail.
Thus for them, the lovers of this declining day, made it their mission to stay awake and admire all the beauty the night serves them.
A time of charming for those who share love, for those who have engaged themselves in the sweet embrace of slumber.
As time goes on I lose myself in this wandering fragnance, until the light of the sun, manages to greet me for a fresh day.
~ Umi
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
Here's an adage to evaluate:
God helps those who help themselves.
Allow me please to start debating,
Speaking first on race relations;
Then you might go on on tax deductions,
And I'll rebut with school age shootings,
And all the *** and moral misconduct;
But the pinnacle's reached
With hedonistic fate,
The Oval Office of those United States.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
At 5 years old
She liked a boy
That told her she was "pretty".
They sat hand in hand
And played pretend
That they were "Oh so ready!"
She told her friends
So they all giggled without an end.
At 10 years old
She liked a boy
That told her she was "gross".
"Too much hair! Look at that fat!
I'd rather like a monkey instead!"
Tears rolled down,
Self esteem has broke.
She told no one,
Because she already knew
What she was...
At 15 years old
She liked a boy
That told her she was "beautiful".
So strong and tall,
She gave no thought
But loved him always more.
"He is no good for you"
"Find someone better"
She let these words fly past.
They stood hand in hand
Against the world
They always stood together.
But something changed...
No longer interested in her
"I can not wait no more!"
He robbed her of her flower once,
And then once more.
Regret and tears,
Nothing more.
She held it all inside too long.
She asked for help.
In need of aid.
But got nothing more
Than blue, purple, and red
All over her.
At 17 years old
She liked no one.
She went nowhere.
She did nothing.
She wanted forgiveness.
She wanted life to simply end.
No words to speak.
Only thoughts filled her now.
The "Why?" and "What?" and "How?"
They almost killed her.
She cried all night.
She sat all day
With nothing else getting in her way.
All alone,
No longer her,
Thinking of the best way,
To finally give in
And say,
Goodbye...
-FreeMind
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 6:14 AM UTC
Amid the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter
A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song a secret moves
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed
Amid the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
People like you and me have grown used to dancing along,
To the raggedy tune of someone else's song.
We are able to dance, and smile, and duck, and roll, and weave,
While still clinging tightly to the things that we believe.
Sometimes we are led to believe we will lose it all; our heart, our soul, our very name,
Afraid they'll take away the us-ness of us; but still we play their game.
I wonder how many others know how to fake their hand?
Who keep the love caged up inside, to appear "normal" and bland?
Perhaps it is just us, perhaps just you, or, again, perhaps just me,
Or perhaps each individual just sees what they want to see.
Perhaps.
Perhaps...
Or perhaps, but...
I had a vision once; all the bad thoughts in the world were mine;
I ****** them in from everyone else, so that all the world felt fine,
And while all other folk were safe at rest, I cried and cried and cried,
And toddled down some empty street, slumped down a wall, and died,
Taking with me all the evil thoughts- the hate, the pain, the strife;
I believe it was the happiest I'd felt in all my life.
I tell you that to tell you this; all people's pain is pain to me,
And I would gladly give you happiness, in exchange for misery.
Don't keep those thoughts locked up inside, and hoard them for your own,
Or both you and I will surely die depressed- afraid- alone.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 6:11 AM UTC