Top 3 types of people who probably need a therapist

1. Poets

Have you seen the poems here?! Most are about pain, cutting, depression, suicide, ex’s, breakups, feeling too much, and so much more. Most of us probably need a visit to the loony bin!

2. Musicians

Again, y’all feel as much as an elephant weighs, which is a lot! This means you feel lots of sadness, fear, and anger. Also, all good songs are about an artists emotional angst. So, yeah.

3. Artists
No one can beautifully paint, sculpt, and draw naked people stabbing  each other and still be sane. And also, what’s bad for the heart, is good for art. Art is filled with sadness, fear, and anger.

So, my point is, we’re all insane. Including me. See you at the wacky shack!

Why do we look up into a stormy sky
Stare out into the grey because we could not see the light
Hope is a fragile thing, how is it not broken yet?
The walls are closing in, feels like we’re breathing our last breath
What do we do? Who will we save? This land of the free and the brave
Is sinking into fiery waters of all of the lives that we gave
Defeat us not, we won’t despair
We keep on going, we don’t know where
Sacrifice, hope, human resilience
We are pressing on with purpose
That’s our human brilliance
Search on, search on, search on
What is it we will find?
An ember of hope burning
Whose flame will never die.

If enough people yell
And scream and they shout
They get what they want
And acceptance does sprout.

If enough people
Tell a single lie
It will be believed
And the truth will die.

If enough people
Hate a good person
Everyone will
They don’t need a reason.

Is not real
Humans made it up.

Or is it?
Is it a river that flows through the universe?

My human mind
Cannot fathom
The banks
Or the shore
Or the current of it.

My human mind still thinks
Humans made time up.

A triangle block in a square hole.
I manage to fit but there’s still
Something missing.

The uncanny valley of personhood.
I blend in just enough to
Stand out.

I use it as a weapon and so do they.

it feels like locking
the door on your loyal dog
who loved unconditionally
and saved you from your
sorrowful depths,
but you must go and
all things must end, though,
can’t you hear the whining
through the cracks?
can’t you hear the groan
through the cracks in the spine
made from opening what must
always
be shut?

When your heart races,
Rushing out of a dream,
And words leave spaces
And lines in between,
Where your heart heals
To be shattered again,
Like oceans surreal
Once the reverie ends,
Frantically you strain
To let yourself sink,
With a mind soiled, stained,
And brimming with ink.

How far
Would a person go
For money
For power
For fame?

What would
A person do
Just for selfish gain?

Was the human race
Ever innocent and pure
Will we ever know,
Ever know for sure?

Would we all do so?
If we were put through the strain?
Would we all do so
If we were faced by the temptation?
Or would we stay grounded
Rooted in our determination?

Are we all tainted
By that bit of greed?
Or are we all strong enough
To not do the deed?

You walk past me
Catching my eye with your ice blue discs
Time at your control and you stop it
You look me in the eye and
You see right through me
Electrocuting my heart
Burning through me like a lightning bolt
All with a single
Blue-eyed glance.

Everything is fun and games
Until someone gets hurt.

It’s such a shame
That some people
Get their fun and games
From people getting hurt.

Pain
Is not
A game.

Sun, shining so, so bright
A warm light after the night.
Forever bathe me in your rays
And keep me in your steady gaze.

I will always fall
I cannot truthfully say
I am on the right path
I know for sure
I cannot turn around now
I refuse to believe that
There is still hope
If the coyote still howls
I am done for
Only at the world’s end will I believe
That I may be enough at last
Indeed, I think now
I am already past the edge
Indeed, it is untrue that
A kernel of hope can grow in this soil

I am sunshine
I am rain

I am heart
And I am brain

Contradictions are my essence
I can assure you
None of them make sense.

“Thank God that they fight over mites,”
Remarks bourgeoisie’s Big Brother.
Proles’ one tool is each other, but
It’s always night if you’ve short sight.

The shadows
Creep up.

My bed will keep me safe.
I hold the comforter close.

The starlight  
Chases away the shadows.

Thank the stars!

the bone-ache of wind and cold
runs up her legs as she walks through the plain
so she could rest in the earth and finally
sleep, knowing she found
something better than it was
before.

she searched the jungles once
but all she found were choking vines
still, the leaves whispered
𝘱𝘴𝘴𝘵, 𝘱𝘴𝘴𝘵, 𝘱𝘴𝘴𝘵
but the tip of their tongues faded
into static and she thought she found
a parchment’s glass bottle washed
up onto the shore but then the sea
leapt up and stole it again.

she sat on the beach for hours
like a long-lost lover, yearning and
waiting
but one day she vanished—
not to home, there was never
home, but to a place that replaced
her new loss with the ones she’d
met before, old friends with the other half
of the story.

now, she walks with the others’
manifest destinies but hers is a
glory that they’ll never know,
no gold or God or greatness but
an answer…
brushstrokes to give definition
though the edges always bleed,
so she reincarnates to do it all
again.

Everybody seems
Terrified of what will happen
When one person or another
Wins this election
And it matters so much
But not so much that you
Need to scream at others telling
Them what to believe, who to
Vote for.

I want to say, “IT DOESN’T MATTER!”
Because we 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 that they will do nothing.
The president is only a single part
Of a single branch
And no one listens to them anyway.
These people may be dangerous
But they are effectively ineffective
And the greatest danger of all
Is how we choose to treat each other,
And no president can change that—
No president can take away this basic
Human decency.

So let us all
Vote personhood
For president.

Let us all look the
Fearmongers in their eyes
And say: 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥.

Your voices sing their song
This moment feels so right it’s wrong
Or maybe just surprising
I can feel it rising
That emotion:

Feeling that I belong.

Everyone is pretty rare
In their own special way.

You will find NO ONE
exactly like me
And I will find NO ONE
like you either.

Our personalities
cannot be copied
and pasted.
God didn’t make it that way.

Why do some people still try
To be like another?

We all have our faults
No one is perfect
But that does not mean
We must shape ourselves to be like others.

We must shape ourselves to be BETTER
not perfect
not someone else
Just BETTER.

A tree still grows
Without being another tree.
We can be better
Without being someone else.

Because it’s ok
To be a better person
In your own way.

It’s ok to be rare.

black spores on the mildewed walls
peeling over the wood
rot that even the vultures shun
it grows in cracks and in dark places.

the disease sticks its spiny fingers
down your throat, so you can’t
scream…
silence, silence, it wants
silence.
it wants
absence,
no self left to 𝘣𝘦.

outside, it has been night for years
babes born bawling, not knowing
what stars, moon, sky, sun used to
look like, nothing but the concrete
sea.

and yet, though Purity
has her headstone with the
rest, though there are no longer
prayers
to be blessed
there is good,
there is GOD in this
God-forsaken world,
there is GOOD
there is GOD—
you.

You tried to burn me down
I was wood in a fire
I was kindling drowned
In gasoline.

You tried to burn me down
And you did
You burned and burned
Until I was reduced to charcoal and ash.

What you didn’t know was
Charcoal makes art
Charcoal inspires others
Charcoal is art made from ashes.

People think way to much.
If only
We could think like animals
Life would be half as hard.

Animals don’t overthink
Overdo
Overworry
Animals are,
in a way,
A lot more smarter than humans.

Running
Running
Running
Out of Time.

I am losing the marathon
I am falling behind

Running
Running
Running
Suddenly caught
At the end of my line,
Too slow! I’m out of Time!

I just realized
We kind of get stupider
As we grow up.

For example:
5 year old: doesn’t care what mean people say.
10: starts to care
15: is obsessed

But we also kind of get smarter
5: no patience
10: no patience
15: no patience
20: no patience
25: no patience
30: patience
89: a crazy amount of patience

Humans are weird like that

I’m in a soundproof room.
So are you.
I beat the walls
And scream
And cry
But you don’t hear me.
I can feel that
You’re shouting for me too.
I’m sorry I can’t save you.

We got the same heart
Beating the same blood
Into the same veins.

We got the same dreams
The same goals
And the same feelings.

We got the same anger
And the same sadness
All from the same fear.

What’s the difference
Between you and me?
Color of skin?
Sexuality?
What does that mean to you?
It means absolutely nothing to me.

You may
Grow to be taller
Much taller than others.

Don’t look down on them
They might grow taller than you
With time.

Remember when you were
A little tree
And those around you
Towered above you.

Remember how you got there
Pushing yourself up
Not pulling others down.

In the end
You will fall down
Like everyone else.

Make your life
A legend
Not an example
Of what not to do.

The future
Looks back on me
As if
Daring me
To catch up.

I soar from the earth
Into the atmosphere
Flying past the moon
Waving at Mars
Landing on an asteroid.

I marvel at the blackness
And sheer volume of the space
Around me and all the
Stunning planets around me.

I speed past Jupiter
Fly around Saturn’s rings
I go past Uranus and Neptune
Into the Kuiper belt.

In my bones, I am a poet
And every word I trail shows it
Like a fingerprint to trace
Conjures an image of my face.

Any essays, I might write
With golden flourish, thrilling heights
With wide crescendos, rumbling frisson
Soft like silk and smooth like ribbon.

So when my teacher does request
A lab report or written test
I may bring tears to their eyes—
Still, I did not get it right.

Hardship made the lines in her face deeper.
Cries echo as she stares bleakness in the face.
It is strength, but the kind of strength
That was worn down and beaten up.

She is the remains of a forest fire.

She is the mountain cliffside that still stands
Once the stones come crashing down.

There is no hope in the land where she lives.
There is, however, hope in her.

She must go on.

Again and always, she must go on.

My eyes
Flick open
I look through the window
By my bed.

The sun
So many colors
Blinding
Yet so beautiful.

The pinks
And the oranges
The yellows
And the reds.

The shades
Of those colors
Give me hope
Motivate me
To be my own beginning
Like those colors
Beginning  a day.

I think it’s really 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 when we ask, “how are you?”
The answer’s 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 the same.
“I’m good, how are you?”, “I’m fine, how are you?”, “I’m 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆, I’m 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚!”
I think it’s funny, because sometimes it’s a 𝒍𝒊𝒆.
We have made it 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎 to 𝒍𝒊𝒆, to give an 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓 that doesn’t 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓 anything.
We have made it 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎 to 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, because we 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 what they’ll say.

We 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 what they’ll say.
We 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 what 𝒘𝒆’𝒍𝒍 say.

You know what we’ll say?
We won’t say 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
We’ll say 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 because words are not 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 when they’re 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚.

We’ll repeat it, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵-

Can’t you see how 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 this is?

A sigh, an exhalation,
Relief from all of the weight.
I float, just for a moment,
Just for an hour or two or three
Just us, only family
And yes, soon it will be gone,
But for now it is enough:
This feel of a feathery laugh,
That tingling warmth, that upward curve
Of lips and teeth, that playful verve,
This air of placid comfort,
Like a hug, enveloping sweetly.

I don’t dare let it go,
As a child clasps her mother’s hand,
Fearing that it won’t come back,
And truly, I can’t make it stay,
For buds will bloom and then decay,
But this is manna for the soul,
For now, it is enough.

And the weight, it will come back,
The scene fading into black,
The dust will blanket and will bury,
This moment, though it won’t last
Is a pinpoint of light to carry
When I am as the trodden chaff.

Mister Mister over there
You burn holes with that stare
From a smolder to ice cold,
Your eyes are haunting, beautiful, and bold.

Mister Mister come over here
Moth to a fire, painful sear.
I’ve always wanted what I can’t have,
Is it so good if it’s so bad?

Mister Mister seems you have made
A 1000 words I have to say,
What drama may ensue
Ever since I’ve noticed you.

I’ll do it tomorrow.
That’s what I say every day:
“I’ll do it tomorrow, not today.”
I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 it’s a bad idea,
but I can’t stop;
𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱.
Every day, when I wake up,
All I want to do is go back to bed.
I want to 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕 for tomorrow like it’s something that 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 to me.

It’s just something that 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 to me.

𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘮.
They say you should 𝒔𝒆𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚,
But I can’t.

I can’t when it’s just something that 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 to me.

We are all a victim of life passing us by.
Of time passing us by.
Of the universe 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒚.

The universe is so 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕.

But maybe, just 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆, I don’t want to be a victim anymore.

I don’t want 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 to be something that just 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 to me.

On a voyage quite far
I said to he
A solemn and silent elegy
Of times long past
When I was a child
Exulting in small things
Innocent and mild
Alas, but those days
are long gone
My anchor broke
My keel did yawn
As wide as the rack
That chased me so
When I was flung
So far from home
Tread on water, I did,
I swam and sank
A voyage I took
Until I saw seabank
That home that I thought
I knew as my own hand
But the home that I sought
Was no more than the sand
And now I shall sing
A solemn silent elegy
To childhood missing
Lost to a vicious sea.

The past is the past
It is behind me
But I still can’t help
But look back occasionally.

a woman
holding a sign
saying:
please help
need money.

she might be fake
but what if she’s not?
does it really matter?

I’m bad at it.

I look up
At the sky.
The stars
Wink at me.

It grows darker
And more stars appear
Until
The blackness
Blanketing the Earth
Is covered in shining dots.

I wonder
How long it took
For the starlight
To get here?

I need to get ready for the day
Wow the snowflakes are big
Dang it it’s gonna be cold
Dang it I have to wear a dress to church and it’s cold
Ah frick.

I would say,
“Nothing. What about you?”
You would say nothing
Because you don’t know anything
Either.

The most bitter things
Can be sweet

Sickly sweet lies
And bittersweet goodbyes

Sweet, sweet love
Turned bitter by time

The most bitter things
Can be sweet
And so can I.

What meets the eye
Could be anything in disguise
So why obsess over it
When what’s important is within?

Maybe
If I write happy things
It’ll leak onto me...

I’m a run-on sentence
Too much work to be payed attention