I keep my beautiful memories
encased in clear glass jars.
They glow so warmly,
Isn't it lovely to look at the past?
We can look, but we can't touch.
I can only hope the museum
doesn't catch fire in the night.

Can someone please tell me
what it is like to be a first choice?
To be wanted?
To feel approval?
To have some one look at you,
like you're worth something?

It's one of those days
where stay in bed
and hide under the covers
because the world is
too cold to face today.

It's one of those days
where you hand pick
your play list to be
all the sad songs you own.

It's one of those days
where all you eat is
a cup of tea and a carrot,
because you'll throw up
if you eat anything else.

It's one of those days
where you can't listen
to the silence but
you aren't actually listening.

It's just one of those days.

I once wanted to be a doctor.
A surgeon, to be exact.
Blood never bothered me,
and I wanted to save people.
But, you see, I couldn't be that.
Surgery requires precision,
And my hands shake
when I need them to be still.

I wanted to save lives,
To heal the sick,
To revive the dying.
I thought I could be
that godlike figure,
Defying death and
Stealing its victims.

But I cannot,
Simply because my hands shake
With the weight of the past.