The artist adds another stroke
Every night

He hates to see his paint
wasted on such an ugly canvas

He tells himself
Maybe tomorrow I wont waste it

But painting has become such a habit
that it seems like he cant stop

until all his paint
is gone

I long to move away.
From the fighting and the noise,
From the never ending mess,
Of clothes and dishes.
From responsibility and and rules
That restrict my life.

I long to move away.
From the sly stares and the snide comments,
Of the ones who are out to destroy.

I long to move away.
From their skeptical glances
And negative language
Which drives me insane .

I long to move away.
From the mirror;
From the tired eyes that judge me more than any others.
From the stranger that continues to stare back.

I long to move away.

Its sad really
Because the only reason I haven't killed myself yet
Is because I don't want to hurt anyone
But the reason I want to **** myself is because everyone is hurting me

I don’t know how to love someone like you.
You are a waltzing fire, crackling in the moon light as rowdy teenagers throw empty beer cans into your flames.
I am an unopened book, untouched pages that have yet to feel the yearning hands of someone longing to read my story.
You don’t know how to love someone like me.
I am a soft breeze, birthing flowers and gently sweeping down the colors of autumns prime.
You are a tornado, turning a beautiful sky into destruction, tearing down homes and pulling up the roots I worked so hard to plant.
Maybe we don’t belong together.
Maybe I’ll wake up and realize you burned my pages or tore my flowers.
Maybe you’ll fall asleep and realize that my paper will not fuel you forever or that my wind is too weak to carry your debris.
I don’t know how to love someone like you.
You don’t know how to love someone like me.
But I’m willing to try if you are.

to hide
but be seen more often
to give less of myself
but be caring and kind
to be grateful
but not place so much value in things
and to love
but feel less

eyes grow on days like these
the rains sprinkles the drying clothes
emotions shine through eyes
on days like these

you cannot hide on days
where the rain does not wash
troubles away
where dark grey skies refuse to fade or
days the rain refuses to obey

days the sun misplaced his voice
the clouds interject with such poise
the rain infects the ground
as the wind penetrates, escapes and pounds
at the rocks refusing to fall
the mountain does not answer the wind's call
it has fallen silent on days like these

Our creations do not stir
nor answer the lure
they choose to adapt and endure