I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry you’ve made me out
To be the menacing creature
Lurking under your bed.

I’m sorry that my truth
Spread like poison in your veins
Too quick for you to be saved.

I’m sorry that my happiness
Has left a cavern in your heart
Only to be filled with hatred and revenge.

I’m sorry that in order for you
To be the damsel in distress
I had to be your dragon.

Promises, like words
Are thrown about carelessly
Like the grains of rice thrown at newlyweds.

Promises these days
Must be chained by contracts
Stained in ink, etched in stone
To hold any value at all.

I miss the days where all it took
Was a smile and Trust
Wrapping your fingers together
Whispering “pinkie promise” to each other.

I miss the days when
Making a promise to someone
Meant more than that promise
Only suiting yourself.

I miss the days when
“I promise you”
Wasn’t a door that lead to
“I may disappoint you”.

The hardest part of being happy
Is keeping up the charade.

Behind each smile is a sore lip
Bruised with anxious bites
Each time someone looks away.

Behind each laugh is a broken sob
Muffled into silence,
Hidden and saved for a rainy day.

Behind each kind word is a crack
In an already shattered heart,
Taped together with the words
“I’m fine”.

Behind each “I love you” is a desperate cry,
Screaming “Please don’t leave me”
Until their voice is gone.

The hardest thing about being happy
Is you can only play this game
For so long.

I’m eager for the day
When someone looks at me
Like I’m the only person here.

Like I am the brilliant florid orange
That paints the morning sky.

Like I am the billions of stars
That dance in the sky like
Dreams in the wind.

Like I am the sweet scent of wild flowers
Lingering in the fresh spring air.

Like I am someone who isn’t
So easily forgotten.

People always equate jealousy to
A little green monster who rides
Piggyback throughout your life.
They’re wrong though.

Jealousy is a tiny, beautiful, parasitic seed.
It plants itself in the newly formed
Fissures of your self worth.

It fights its way through your aching veins
Before finally laying roots in your broken heart.

As it grows, you’re veins are slowly replaced
by brilliant green foliage.  

Your heart begins to bloom
The petals so breathtaking that it lures in
Every inch of your soul until
The only thing left is an empty shell
Of who you once were.

Jealousy isn’t a monster.
It’s irresistible flora
That feeds on your inadequacy
In order to feed its opulence.

When I close my eyes I can feel it.

Spotlights of sunshine highlighting
the air as minuscule specks of dust
waltz in the warmth.

The smell of fresh coffee in a warm kitchen
where love is baked into every
delicious morsel of food.

The book cases in the parlor that are filled
with books well worn from generations
of love and emotion.

The laughter of children ringing like
church bells as they run through the garden, their happiness and innocence shining like a beacon.  

When I close my eyes I can feel it.
The home I always wanted but
was never fortunate to have.

Why am I never enough?

The ones who are older than I always say I’m trying to hard to grow up.
They say I’m good at pretending to be an adult, good at pretending to be successful, good at pretending to have my **** together.
They also say that it’s all fake.

They say I’m just a child wearing adult shoes, they tell me I’m not cut out for the responsibilities that I’ve taken on.
They tell me that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

But I would rather choke on my dreams than nibble on their idea of success.

Everyone younger than I am
thinks that I’m wise.
They come to me with advice, they unburden themselves of their problems, only to lay them on my shoulders.

They have taken my extended hand and tied anchors too it.
They don’t understand that the biggest anchor is already tied to my throat, pulling me down deeper than any of theirs could.
They don’t realize that I have my own baggage, and that sometimes I can’t handle everyone else’s too.

Today is one of those days.
My elders are filling me with doubt while the younger ones are angry that I’m too far underwater to carry their weight.

Why am I never enough?