The boy with the gray backpack
And the girl with a tan leather jacket
Completely different
But somehow the same
Tied together
By the strings of fate
Destined for despair
But created by hope
These two may be different,
But they're bound by the same rope.
Is it love and affection,
That is bound by fate?
Or maybe instead,
We are ******* by hate.

Normally I don't speak of love, because in my family it happens to be scarce, but I thought this to be an appropriate title.
a never ending shower                                                                    
of water and salt                                                                

                                                    of my
                                             to the ground
                                        swallowed by the grass
                                                  and the green.
                                                one with the unseen
You said
the pills would make me better
and I guess they really did
because I can't seem to cry at all
but I cannot seem to live
the pills took a piece of me
something I just might want back
the pills took a piece of me
that something I now lack

I have been made sane,
but the pill is all to blame
I let you go,
Just thought you might want to know,
I'll stay here all alone

Cause' I've decided to let you go
I've seen how happy you are
When I'm not around

So I'm ready
I'm prepared to face it on my own
And I love you still, I know,

but that won't stop me from letting go
It's my fault after all,
That you lost your dreams

So I'll step back,
So you can move forward.
and though I'd hate to say goodbye,
I know that leaving you is right.
an older poem of mine
My mother is like a lightbulb,
She makes her mistakes
She burns and she brightens
And then she breaks.
My mother is like a lightbulb
She brightens the room
But make no mistake,
She can darken one too,
My mother is like a lightbulb
She blunders and cries
But don't think she's harmless
It's a well crafted disguise
But regardless of it all
Someone gets hurt
Palms are cut open
And fingers are burnt
And yet,
my mother is unlike a lightbulb,
Because broken lightbulbs
are replaced.
I wish she was different,
but I try not to regret
so I guess,
I'll take what I can get.
I think the wind
Stole the stars from your eyes
Because your smile is a
Distant memory,

And now all I am is lonely.
Writers block,
One of my poem drafts.
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