You ask me why I'm so guarded,
Why I won't let you in,
And why I stayed in bed for three months after my 18th birthday.
Maybe you should be asking why my favorite movie is perks.

We love the things we relate with.

Words can be rotten, indeed,
Tugging you in every step,
Since they released the hold on those hellhounds,
"You're an awful person".
Letters may they only be,
Yet they can still be as sinister,
As a wolf creeping behind a rabbit.
Yet, this being truth,
It is a two-way mirror.
They build us up or break our walls.
They can be your rise,
They can be your downfall.
Words spoken may be all that powerful,
But words can also best them, as well.
See them as their insecurities,
Not yours.
Pity not yourself, not them, not anyone.
Understand that they cannot understand you;
They may have a reason not to?
Please, don't lose yourself,
In the blur of the letters and words they threw.
Let the Demons in you be tamed,
They can be freed for another time.
Letters and words these may all be,
Yet I hope what I want to say, you see.
You are not alone.
**We are not alone.

.

Your ink,
sadly spilling
on fresh tablecloths
with torn lace trim
beyond paper napkins
absorbing the smiles
you should be smiling

Darkened tear drops
drenching emotions,
free flowing sorrows
collected in fractured phrases,
penned stanzas now
erasing happiness
in dull pink smudges

When just outside
the sun sits behind heavy drapes
drawn tightly closed
on panoramic picture windows
waiting to frame the beauty
of spring for your eyes
in nature’s poetry

So open them,
(your eyes and the drapes)
behold the wonder
where small children play
and laughter scents the air
allowing light to enter that ink,
your ink

Sometimes my feelings are like glass shards, sharp and painful, but mostly they're just sea glass: worn and numb.

The thing about glass is that it's fragile and if you break it, you bleed...

Shards
Of paper hearts
Floating away
On winter
Blizzard breezes.

Shards
Of dreamless hopes
Floating away
On glacial
Running rivers.

Shards
Of my life
Slipping through
Trembling
Bleeding hands.

Shards
Becoming
Infinitesimally small
Grains of sand,
Ground up,
Spit out
Until I am nothing.