What is it like
to wear feelings like garments,
so boldly projecting the colours
in your mind
with no fear of respite

to wear your heart on your sleeves
like cotton,
instead of a millstone round your neck.

Sometimes in life
I've taken all I that could get
And at other times
I've given all that I am
And then ultimately
I was empty of everything
And full of nothing
But at least I've lived
And lived hard at that

                                By Phil Roberts

Lemons (and a lemon squeezer)
sticky notes
a family that I can talk to
a life I'd like to live
a world I'd actually like to live in
to love, so I don't have any time left to hate
to stop enduring for things I shouldn't have to
to be different, but also myself
to stop crying, get up off my ***, and actually do something about it.

I can't really think anymore.
My words won't ever be enough anyways,
so this is really just for my own sanity.
I understand, even when others don't.
I understand, even when it is not always right to think a certain way.
But I just wish I wouldn't have to be so miserable because of the fact that I'm an understanding, compassionate person.
I just wish that people could have the strength to think past their values, their beliefs.
I just wish that everyone could be united through goodness, not by their thoughts on what goodness is.
I just wish that people who talk too much, listen for once.
I just wish that people who are uprightly moral and enduring and strong
have the ability to see those traits in people who aren't the same as them,
in people who will always be different.
I just wish that I could love whoever I want by who they are on the inside and how they treat me,
not by how other people perceive them,
not by what other people think of them,
not for how they see it as for my own good.
I just wish that people could escape from the words that hurt too much,
rather than taking their anger out on the little ones,
who lack everything in the world.
I just wish I could stop crying
because of other people who cry and think their tears are for me and my own good
but who really cry because I can't reach to where they expect me to be,
who really cry because I can't believe in
what they believe to be the truth.
I just wish
I wasn't so sincere, and humble, and cowardly, after all.

Excuse me,
hello-- is there anyone there?

I think that person-- the one with the blue goggles
swimming there in the furthest lane,
I think that person needs help,

It seems like that person is crying
every time the face resurfaces
to gasp for air, like a fish on land
I get a glimpse,
contorted and puffy,

Is it normal to kick that much
for a freestyle stroke?
or any stroke in general?
and the arms are clenching the water,
and thrashing?

The goggles remain sealed and on,
even during short breaks.
the teeth seems to be clenched,

I don't wanna sound strange or anything,
but I know all too well
how someone looks like,
how someone feels like,
when they're crying

and I'm sure,
that person is crying,
that person needs help,

and the tears
are mingling with the water
in the swimming pool,
the water that people swallow
and cough out,

Well?
is anyone going to help?

I wish to hear once again
the wind's gentleness, rustling
the leaves of the trees,

laughter as the sound
of somebody's delight,

a kiss carried across
the endless deserts, oceans,
valleys, skies,

I wish to see again
a stream of warm sunlight,
dancing from my windowsill

the bright and humble beauty
of a blooming, soft petaled flower,

the person's eyes
of whom I can't recall
but I know was the beautiful sun
in the darkness of my life,

I wish to feel again
someone's small, then strong, then earnest,
then old and faded hand, in my hand,

the tears of gratitude
and acknowledgement,
strolling down our cheeks

the love of strangers
who smiled at me,
and somehow knew
who I was inside,

the simple weight
of a single, slim pen
in my hand,

and all I could see
in the end,
was a young person
who could live freely again,
dancing,
in a shimmering light.

Sometimes
when I descend into
this world of black and white
filled with words bursting of colors,

I see things,
a different light, maybe a different darkness,
a vision of the world, evolving
re-shaping a soft and muddled mess,
like given a chance to
blur out sharp, unyielding thorns
and re-focus on a soft rose,

I hear things,
wind chimes swaying softly
in the warm, night breeze
the sound of pure bliss
in someone's laughter,
a kindness found in
all expressions throughout,

yet there are still
the beautiful soft words, of
a young soul, drawing inspiration
from heartache
and a very quiet pain,

I feel things,
a softness in the corner
of my mind,
a sort of reminder
to express a stroke a color
on the blank canvas of all hearts,
to let my sadness, and overwhelming
despair retreat,

to find a hand,
to hold dearly
to gently wrap my hand
around a heart,

for it is true,
it is.

love,
is an answer.

okay, so i was the other woman.

okay, so i can’t call it that. so we were never a thing, never a label, never announced. so she was the pretty one and i was the *******. so i was never your first choice but i was, for a minute, your second.

okay, so maybe it started as cheap entertainment on the nights beer and phone calls weren’t enough and distance got the best of you. maybe i loved you then but i think i hate you now.

okay, so maybe i don’t hate you. maybe i’m just trying to pretend we never happened because maybe if it was all in my head i’d be over it by now. maybe i’m just tired, okay? of being the back-up girl. of being the one who stays, who breaks, who sits in the basement of a burning house just to feel the carpet one more time.
i just don’t want to burn anymore.