I hate that thing

I that my mind is so focused on that, THAT. That of which I could end up horribly from

But I can't think of it being anything else but that

I don't see any other option then that, I just believe that, it's my key to happiness is to that.

What's your THAT

Mine is, well. Truth be told, it's just, THAT.

I know what
he likes to be called.
But instead I call him
by what he is and though
he doesn't know it,
it's the truth in
my words that he loves.

I listened to the rain
Whisper back all
The secrets I've ever told it

I saw it cry in streams
And fall into puddles
As I have

I've felt the rain become
As cold as I once let myself be
And as harsh as I could have been

I probably should have spent
More time reflecting on myself, been more like rain.

Been more see through,
helped others grow more. I don't know maybe life would have been more colorful

I used to write
My secrets in the sand,
Knowing they would never stay
Long enough to be told.

I used to just swim,
pulled my hair up and never
Really tasted the salt that foamed
After the crash.

I've ran in the sand,
Sure, but never have I
Ever let it smooth my
Skin into what it could be.

Before today, I've never
Let the current take me
Under and feel what it's like
To always come back to something.

I’m slow when I walk now.
My eyes are getting rheumy.
I get crabby sometimes.
I know it. So sue me.
I only hope, when it’s time
That you remember this song;
That you have the fun I’ve had,
That you should live this long.

Being young wasn’t always
The basket of puppies was it?
Remember the growing pains
And all the things that cause it?
It requires that we persevere
And face things less than fun.
It starts right away in life
Well before the age of one.

Every age has it’s roadblocks
And sometimes its outrages.
Some politely refer to them all
As life in all of its stages.
There’s getting back on the bike
After we tumble and fall.
Rollerskating and sports, too.
We manage to learn from them all.

Age makes treasures of memories
And gold of the brass we once had.
The thing is to celebrate age too.
Applaud this stage and be glad.
Slow down when the old must walk
And have some good words to say.
And then walk behind them and smile
Because they are showing you the way.

There's no reasonable explanation
As to how this all went down
When the world woke up one morning
All made up as clowns

Not a single person across the land
Did this phenomenon not claim
With big red buttons on their chests 
Spelling out new funny names

There was Patches and Petunia
Floppy and Cupcake
Winky and Bumper the Clown
Were just a few that they displayed

Everyone went about their business 
Only now they all carpooled
You could see clowns piling out of cars everywhere
From businesses to stores to schools

Crime it did die down
Because all the guns that people have
Instead of shooting bullets
Shoot out brightly colored Big Bang Flags

Of course the circus lost its glamour
With an audience made up of clowns
It's hard to tell who's there enjoying 
And who's entertaining all the crowds

People stopped taking each other seriously 
Over anything they had to say
Pointing at each other and laughing
As they go about their day

Who knew a thing like this would happen
When the world went to bed last night
That the very next morning
They'd wake up clowns for life

Oh, I almost forgot the Politicians
Were the only ones to stay the same
It's already a simple known fact
When you're already a clown you don't need to change

I suffer from generalized anxiety
and I just want people to understand it
but mental illnes is frowned upon by society
Some days I'm fine but I must admit
I'm always just teetering at the edge of sobrietry

I know it's never going to go away
But I can try my best to forget the pain
Always trying to keep it at bay
But always in vain

walking around in a circle
trying to learn from my mistakes
at the pace of a turtle
at night my thougts still keep me awake

I'm really not depressed
but I'm not happy either
I have this anxiety pressing at my chest
And sometimes i just need a breather

I'm constantly told to get it together
to pick up some courage and do things
But that's like telling someone not to be cold in freezing weather
And more anxiety is all that it brings

in my fairytale that appears when the sky loses the sun,
the cursive words written were with a silver quill dipped in moondust.
the accounts of my journey to righteous freedom
were engraved amongst the stars on a dark night where obscurity
lingered even in places where flames were lit.
set in the cosmos where children slept in trees
and adults smelt like the salty sea;
where pretty boys could grasp the light found between snowflakes
and flashes from girls were because of bombs chewed in their mouths;
where monsters kissed the sinless lips of innocence,
fairies were created from a single emotion of a human,
and everyone loved the first prince who lightly held their waist.

I live here,
I always have.
and I think that
for evermore will become my blood as I lay among
the wild grassy plains just beyond the barrier of the forest.

in my fairytale found in between the alignment of planets,
the phrases stains the sky when perused and
the waters reflect a fantasy that shows
sleepy children who ruffle green leaves the illustrations of my life.
you will see all that is past.
adventures trapped in a memory.
catch a glimpse of my youth clinging onto my skin.
look into daring eyes that flicker with uncertainty.
listen to songs honeyed with sweetness.
witches may snicker at my innocent self
and creatures of the northern winds could howl at my ignorance
but I will remain timeless in rocky streams, pools of puddles,
wide empty lakes, and the vast ocean that takes the horizon.

they hold
my story,
my words,
my life.
they hold me by sealing my soul's existence in those rough waters.

but if my life was a blissful fairytale,
why are the shades of my tale only in darkness and not light?
if I gaze into the sky during a time when the sun shines,
the body of the sky is made of the brilliance of blue,
or perhaps a stormy gray,
and sometimes, completely clouded in white.
before my story, when the sun begins to fall from its place,
I see the vivid colors of
purple, orange and yellow
painting the waters
before becoming a shadowy hue of blue? of me?
why am I not made of a beauty like that?
why am I made from darkness?
I wonder,
what were the stories written before me in the sky?
how is my story told by those in trees?
why is it that my story darkens the world?

although I have overcome obstacles to my dream,
fought my demons who caused so much pain
and finally lived my perfect happy ending...
perhaps,
I am not the fairytale that I was told.