In the quiet space of friendship,
is a place in which we fly
Not lovers, but friends under the same
stars in the same big, old sky.

Our bond, like a tapestry, threaded
and woven with care.
A sweet, pure friendship with such beautiful flair—

No need for the moon to whisper into our ear,
for there's  laughter, stories, and music we hear.

It's in this friendship dance that we do.
We both seem like mirrors,
reflecting each other.
A bond that's pure, almost
like sister and brother.

So here's to something that
will live on like space—
this friendship with you,
time cannot erase.

For in the end, you and I wll always be
such wonderful friends.

What’s the dill pickle?
Why are you so green?
Where do you come from?
Why do people think you’re mean?

You always taste so yummy,
Making my tummy very glad.
When I can’t have pickles, I
Get very sad.

Those green delicious spears such a delightful treat.
Some like them sour, and some weird ones like them sweet.

Pickles are the best snack in a lunch to pack,
Take them on a picnic, or eat them straight off the rack.

The best pickles are the ones straight from the cold.
Don’t forget the baby pickles; those things are so bold.

So when you hear, “What’s the dill pickle?”
Don’t think someone is asking you what’s up.
It’s them showing how much they love this snack.
This little snack you love to crunch.

Orbit

Put a satellite into orbit;
The galaxy will watch it with the stars.

The ones set in place for all to see
Tell us stories of who you are.

The influence of this earthly planet,
The way the gravitational force occurs.

In astronauts’ celestial explorations,
This space full of stars is yours.

The way the Earth orbits the biggest and brightest star.
Is the way this satellite orbits among the moon.

Never stopping to settle down,
But knowing this satellite is orbiting around.

Always moving,
I’ll never stop waiting.

The satellite will be coming back around again for me.

I remember beautiful daisies
from when I was just a child.

The world around me seemed
to be so big and wild.

When I was young,
I would always pick the
biggest daisy I could find.

Id walk along the concrete
to see who would be mine.

“He loves me, he loves me not.”

Is what I would say,
as I pulled each perfect petal
from its beautiful display.

Not to harm it, but to cherish
it's wish for me that day.
That’s why I still grab a daisy
every time I see one when I pass by.

Once this  beautiful daisy has  
bloomed. It has a special magic trick
that it likes to do so it doesn’t die.

It’s also been given the name “day’s eye.”

When night comes,
it closes its petals over
the “eye” of the day past.

Then morning  comes and the daisy
opens its petals like a ray,
and the “eye” is ready for its new day at last.

As I’ve gotten older,
I don’t see many daisies around.

If I do, I grab one and
pull it from the ground.

This pretty little daisy,
hidden in the weeds,

Does it really answer
who truly loves me?

I often wish, as I did
when I was a little child,

That life would be just that innocent,
filled with cheerfulness and joy,
like this symbolic flower
does today in the wild.

Im way to critical of myself,
It’s always something in my heart,I never feel I’m rested.

My brain gets too invested.

It’s like im a ticking time bomb, But not one that explodes.

But one who never knows when,Her emotions start to show.

Sometimes there’s  not a reason for All this silly pain.

It’s all seems pretty trivial,Seems to make me feel insane.

I hate to see my reflection  in the mirror On the wall.

Maybe that could be the problem.It’s just looking at all my flaws.

I never have liked what I see, i’ve always known why.

Can’t I just be pretty, to everyone else’s eyes?

I know looks don’t matter, It’s all just what inside your heart.

When critical of yourself, It’s when these feelings start.

I know I have my issues and probably drive people crazy.

I can’t help I get excited, I’m such a silly daisy.

I know I always ramble about nonsense all the time.

But see if im talking to someone then I’m keeping them occupied.

They won’t be so quick to judge me by how I come across.

Im really not trying to be anybody boss.

I always feel like when I turn my back.

Im the topic of discussion , on all the things I lack.

Will I ever be normal and not so in my head?

It’s starts in the morning and never settles till I’m in bed.

I guess im not the only one with this struggle everyday.

“Take a breath”, “Calm down”, “You’re going to be okay”.  

See, it’s never that easy; it’s not just the flip of a switch.

For if it were I wouldn’t feel like sometimes  I’m  such a *****.

I never mean to come off angry,  or even cut people off.

It’s just another product of one of my many flaws.

So, if you feel like me and are hypercritical, too.

Just know that there’s someone out there who knows exactly what you’re going through.

you can buy my love
I am selling it for a song
make it one I know
I want to sing along
is it strange
that my brain
wants to make love
to another brain
or my soul with another soul
on the astral plane
I feel as if I am the only one
who thinks this way
I have searched for a partner
but only found memories
I have searched for a high
that led myself to the floor beneath me
I am constantly reaching
for something, anything
and now I am believing
that I just want someone to want me
for the man I have grown to be