Find joy in the moments that aren't noticed.
They are the ones that contain the most meaning.
The best feeling in the world is to be amongst people who don't think about the downs.
People who don't care what life throws at them.
It is the best type of happiness.

Things are always changing, always shifting.
Nothing will ever be still or certain.
There will be losses and gains, just as there always have been.
There will be love and kindness; hate and resentment.
They will always be there, in interminable existence.
My past is in the palm of my hand, sitting there like a lump of wet clay.
As time ticks past, it melts away.
Leaving me, and all of us, for tomorrow.

Sometimes it's hard to know what you're working towards.
It's difficult to figure out where you want to go.
Sometimes you just need to stop thinking for a moment,
Enjoy your life, and just go with the flow.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.
I will be strong, no matter what happens.
I will not concede to weakness.
Pain will not win. Failure is irrelevant.
It will not exist in this world of mine.
I may fall, but I will get back up every time.
Negativity will not stand in my way.
I will not shed tears, lest with a smile.
Those who give me strength, I will draw them with me.
I will protect them from the harms from which they protect me.
I will not see pain inflicted by my own hand.
I will be a leader of tomorrow. I will bring the world in my wake.
Today is the first. It will be the first of many.
I will be strong and I will be proud.
I will love without fail and remain loyal to those who hold my trust.
I will be honest and thoughtful and as kind as life will allow.
I will never again look behind me.
I will not let my past drag me down.
I accept this challenge, for I have written it.
Thus, I start a new chapter of my life, and it begins with these words:
Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

Some days there will be bumps in the road,
Cracks in the ice,
And mud in your shoes.
I suppose there's not much you can do about it,
Except have fun,
And keep going anyway.

Boredom settles,  silence reigns.
now stubborn heart calls wastrel's name.

He was shorter than us. Scrawny. Freckles around his lumpy, mushroom nose.

He walked to school alone.

We would hide by his fence and pelt him with leftovers from dinner.

By his locker, we jeered. Rained occasional blows on rounded shoulders. Watched as his face slowly turned the color of ripe tomatoes.

One day, he didn’t come. Not to his fence; not to his locker.

The others saw his mother on television. I saw her eyes gaunt with grief.

They saw his father. I, the tears his father shed.

They moved on to new targets.

It’s just me now, standing here, alone.