I wish to cry,
but I must be numb,
to these emotions,
because they will not aid me,
when they come,
to take me away,
for my trials,
and charge me,
with unproductivity.

Sometimes with watery eyes,
Sometimes with contained sighs,
Sometimes with deceitful what-ifs,

Sometimes in late shifts,
Sometimes in mood swings,
Sometimes in life’s sweet plot-twists,

but always—always—
thinking of you.

I miss the day’s of glory
The day’s I didn’t have so much worry
I miss the day’s of laughter and smiles
The day’s of being a child

I miss the day’s I had a heart
The day’s I didn’t feel I was missing a part
I miss the day’s of being outdoors
The day’s I didn’t crave more

Most of all, I miss the days I could see
The day’s of knowing me
Young and Free