1+1 equals 2

pa + pa equals:






papa

My heart feels like
it's about to shut down
from all the truths
that only I know

People view me
as kind
selfless
heartfelt
with empathy

Yet once they witness
my darker side
this inner demon
that is always
a few steps behind me

Once they see
the ashes and smeared blood
tainted within my mind and heart

I am once again alone
alone to pick up the pieces 
of a love that never was

To   D
         E
           S
             T
               R
                O
                  Y
                          Is to C
                                   R
                                   E
                                   A
                                   T
                                   E

I’m dancing out of the dark
I’m jumping in the light

My joy becomes a weapon
And I begin to fight

Let this mark
A new beginning

A war against demons
Is fought with joy

the way mental health is treated really bothers me,
you shouldn’t want to be
depressed
or anxious
because you think its trendy or fun.
disorders are not adjectives you can just spew out at your leisure,
they are real things that hurt people and ruin lives.

you shouldn’t fear telling your friends,
your parents,
your lover,
that you might have a serious problem,
that you are worried about yourself.

you’re not sick or broken,
you might need help but that doesn’t make you a bad person,
right?

you shouldn’t be scared to see a doctor,
to see someone that can help you,
simply because you don’t want to be characterized as:
"they just couldn’t handle the pressure",
"why are you doing this to us?",
"you just want attention",
the walking freak show.

with all your faults,
character flaws,
every cell and every misconnected neuron,
you are still a human being.

"How are you?"
Depressed
Useless
Ugly
Sad
Pointless
Tired
Worthless
Stress­ed
Shattered
Annoyed
Empty
Angry
Guilty
Dead
"Fine."

The wind whispered

wake up

Unto the song birds.

The song birds sing

wake up

To the city

The city clashes to it's people  

Wake Up

Miserable the people get up.

But at least the trees are happy.

a bitter blade's first cut
will never be its last
a self-fulfilling prophecy
an echo of the past

its song still makes me sing
a whisper hardly missed
remembering the harmonies
retaining my clenched fists

there are too many broken strings
to play another song
still the music swells inside my walls
it's not a question to play along

I'd be more afraid if the music stopped
what if I forget all the words?
memories deafened through roaring silence
unsure of melodies I'd misheard

I still hear its hum inside my head
as hard as I try to forget
a question of whether it's now or forever
undoubted, hard-earned regret