I’ll bloom in spring
Alongside the Californian hills.
When the rain paints
The terrain green
With speckled white wildflowers,
I’ll tiptoe on sunlight
to touch the sky.
I’ll be the brightest star
They’ve yet to discover.
Shooting, shining, falling,
And wished upon.
Dry land, crispy and brown
Underneath my feet on
A winter night.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

there are two types of sadness

there’s the kind of sadness
we ignore and
try to get rid of it
by finding new things to do
or we find someone to talk to
by blatantly avoiding any type of conversation
about feeling sad
about having any feelings at all
and then there’s that kind of sadness
that takes over
and it consumes any activity we do
we know it’s there
and there’s no possible way to avoid it
so we feed it exactly what it wants
it craves the sad music
it craves the isolation
it craves the anxiousness
and the sadness comes storming in
it has no manners
here we are calling sadness, an “it”
when all it is
is a feeling
that most people
call home

Isn’t it funny,
The happiness we pretend to have
Is the very thing
Holding us back from living.

I wonder
Was it a spell I was under?
I am awake,
And the world seems duller

It's the emptiness that's eating you inside
Keeping you awake
Staring at the dark

Looking back,
You're stuck here again'
In this blackhole that never ends

Nothing's getting better
Are we stuck here forever?