I think that
Writing a poem is hard.
Maybe not just
A few words
On a few lines
But a masterpiece
Of your soul
Transformed into words
Called a poem
That transformation is hard
But oh they say
Poetry is easy
Anyone can write a poem
But few can write it in
The ink
That their soul bleeds.

A thousand screams
fill me up inside
I swim upstream
trying not to collide

Make it stop
I'm getting bad again
My hopes I drop
This battle I can't restrain

there was a little mouse he just loved to spray
with his little spray cans he would spray all day
doing his graffiti colorful and bright
bringing joy to people bringing such delight.

spraying in the park and the bulidings too
little works of art for everyone to view
full of lots of colors cheerful and bright
spraying through the day till very late at night.

people came from miles travelled from afar
to see his works of art  mouse he was a star.
he still carries on to this very day
with his little cans he sprays the day away

how charming a taste you leave, my tongue swells
and how magically you wheel me in

I keep you far away yet close
for all the things you'd send, I ignore your nostalgia
I let you overflow till you can no more
and bend my absence over you and
you'll see the world hand me trophies
and through the eyes of great you
you see your dwindling reflection

and like an eagle, I'm ready to clutch
the only prize worth catching

and in the end, it's always you
winter on the heart
rain upon the leaves
you're here
inside

"What's wrong with me?"
I sit down and wonder,  legs propped on my bed.

A million thoughts rush forward and back in my spinning head.
Questions with a deep background, or so other people may think,
I beat around the bush and back, without a second blink.

Should I focus on me, be selfish and vain?
But what about the strife in the world, the ****** and pain?

Living your life in your head is not an easy task,
Live life in the moment just to make it last?
I don't know what to say or to do,
I'm confused about who to listen to.

Who's right, the young or the old?
The books, the stories, the memories that unfold?
My mind, my focus, it's honestly distraught.
I'll do what feels right, and stay away from what's not.

I'm alone, and I'm scared. What matters anymore,
grades and studies, or fun and friends?
The stress that kills me and brings me down,
WHO KNOWS WHEN IT'LL END?

I have goals, no other way to put it.
But why do I bring myself down and simply quit it?
That motivation and drive, it's lost somewhere..
I need it. Grasp it. Keep it. Never let it go.

What do I do, feeling this way?
I don't even know what I need anymore.
I need understanding and relation of heart,
I'm confused and annoyed, where do I start?

I miss the days when lying on the grass
in the backyard was a beautiful time.
Whatever is wrong with me, whatever is faulty,
I am in control of it. I know it. But sometimes I feel it slipping away..

Lists and lists in my mind,
it's always shaking and spinning, on rewind.
So help me God, to help myself.
Breath in and out, you'll make it out.