I'm living in a permanent funeral.

Each of us wages a private battle each day between the grand fantasies we have for ourselves and what actually happens.

she was the girl who read the Bible,
the girl who put her hope in his word
the girl who still prayed even without answers

she was the girl who had a simple heart
the girl who loved God above all things
the girl who forgave without receive an apology

she was the girl who believed, who was patient
who didn’t give up and in the end, she was the girl
who was always disappointed and remained unhappy.

I need direction. I just don't know anymore. I don't understand where I am going in life and I feel confused. Lord give me strength for I am lost. Let there be light at the end of this tunnel. I trust and know you got this. I won't feel like this for long. I'm down and out but I know you have a plan and you are up to something good in store for me.

Not happy, not sad just present.

A girl with broken dreams like a guitar with broken strings.

They say wounds heal with time but why does it feel like I want to die?

I want to be with someone who makes me feel like a poem.

Maybe dawn is not in the sunlight every morning, maybe it is in the middle of the night when you hold yourself against the darkness. you are sitting quietly and feeling yourself break apart yet knowing this hour, this very hour, you are finding yourself. maybe this is your dawn. maybe for you, the first light appears in the middle of the darkness, when pain clings to your throat. sometimes dawn visits you at night.

Fact is I will never be happy. Fact is depression is my destiny. Fact is I am drowning in my own tears. Fact is I wish I could die at 18.

I am losing. What?Myself.

Searching for refuge in this world of uncertainty. My soul is slipping away. I can feel the energy shift. It's not a good one.

"See I'll not have *** even if baby I'm at risk of being your ex for I know that my love I will get from the next by faith he my man will be heaven sent."

“Today I held a gun to my mouth and it dissolved as quickly as I thought about you.
I laughed and laughed
and felt the moon pulling my skin away from my bones.
the silent forever of a halfway heart.
Sometimes I sew threads of your hair into the sleeves of my jacket
but when I say your name out loud; it burns.
The angels tell me this is poets breath.
And gravity falls past me; I call your ghost and say “this is where my body feels heavy.” And you tell me that it hurts to forget.”
— But the moon doesn’t have its own light and I guess I don’t either.

"If it feels like suicide again today, I give up."

This is how it happens:
first comes the shock. the ache has had no time to settle itself into your bones or braid itself into your hair. it doesn’t cross your mind as often as it should because you still can’t quite comprehend what’s going on.
then comes the worst wave of depression. the equivalent of a broken-hearted-tv-and-ice-cream-binge. you’ll use a few boxes of tissues and everything outside of your blankets will feel wrong for a while. you’ll cry until you run out of tears and then you’ll just feel numb and hollow like someone carved out your insides with a spoon.
third comes denial. you try to pretend like everything is still okay and your life is exactly how it has always been. you keep expecting a letter or good news because you slipped up again and
next is the doubt.
i guess the last step has to be acceptance - what else could it be? you have to turn your light on again and throw out your tissues and actually wake up in the morning.
i think that’s how it happens.

I can’t understand why emptiness is the heaviest feeling of all.

"Some cry with tears, others with their thoughts"

Every fibre of my being is tired of everything.

Girl, you know you're lost. Lost in it all.

this is how it happens:
first comes the shock. the ache has had no time to settle itself into your bones or braid itself into your hair. it doesn’t cross your mind as often as it should because you still can’t quite comprehend what’s going on.
then comes the worst wave of depression. the equivalent of a broken-hearted-tv-and-ice-cream-binge. you’ll use a few boxes of tissues and everything outside of your blankets will feel wrong for a while. you’ll cry until you run out of tears and then you’ll just feel numb and hollow like someone carved out your insides with a spoon.
third comes denial. you try to pretend like everything is still okay and your life is exactly how it has always been. you keep expecting a visit or letter because you slipped up again and forgot that the number you never deleted from your phone was disconnected last month and the birthday cards won’t come anymore.
next is the doubt. you can’t decide whether you should love what they loved in reverence or hate it because it’s just pouring salt in a wound that is desperately trying to heal. you wonder who’s next and why it can’t be your turn yet.
i guess the last step has to be acceptance - what else could it be? you have to turn your light on again and throw out your tissues and actually wake up in the morning. you no longer have an excuse to miss class or ignore another phone call. someone isn’t coming back into your life and now you have to be okay with that.
i think that’s how it happens.

I fashion my poetry after you–
not in a way words are
clothed in starlight
that pops at the first sign
of darkness but rather, elegance
you’d notice in simple things,
of everyday occurrences
that makes mundane instances
more beautiful after
the second look
these verses are a cotton dress
where you’re most stunning
against the summer sun
the glare in which blinds; yet eyes
were caught,refuse to change focus
and notes to remember in memory.
I could not ask for a better
model to reflect
how my words should appear
when it walks a busy street
full of strangers willing to read.

Having conversations with walls is so much more interesting 'cause who else do I talk to?I need to deal with my inner being. I am a mess hey.

All I need to do today is get up and survive another day.

I run out of words to say but any touch, a simple taste, any dose of you really... and the book of poetry starts to turn its own pages.