I hide in the shadows, afraid of seeing my own reflection. Unsure and scared of my own sense of direction, I wonder aimlessly. Stumbling over possibilities to get better; I like the thrill of a downward spiraling dive. A depressive mess of creativity, I know this isn’t the way it is suppose to be, but I like the darkness that surrounds me. I started living when I learned how to die, and found something inside me I had never seen before. I saw this beast of a creature, this astounding force of nature; I knew then, what all a human could become. What all we can cause to happen, just by a simple action or word; I began to dissect this monster, find it’s weak and strong points, and play them to my own advantage. This is when I found my strength in a so called weakness, and stepping out of my shadow…I became, the monster.

A basketball game is like a well conducted, beautifully written symphony. The tip off, a conductor raises his/her hands to motion the beginning of sound. As fingers reach for the orange ball and slam it in a favored direction, music takes flight and volume rises, the crowd roars as a basket is taken by the home team. Rapid pace movement of the squeaking shoes are multiple violin’s strings and bows at work, consistently changing and controlling the tune. The blare of the brass section, the scream of the fans come together in perfect unison, adding texture to the piece. The slam against the backboard, the bass drum sounds off, the dribble of the ball, a high hat’s tap-ity, tap, tap. Music is created in every pass, jump, shot, foul, score, and aspect of this game…from the smallest move to the loudest upset, from the softest flute to the biggest percussion instrument…music is present here and now

I never planned on growing up,
Now it feels impossible sometimes.
I never planned on smoking,
Now I find it hard to quit.
I never planned on being this far gone,
And I know all too well,
I can’t go back…
I know when I’ve ****** up,
Because it seems to be something
I’m naturally good at.
I’ve never been great at
Doing the “right” thing.
I want to do better,
But better never happens…
And even when things do get better,
It’s only temporary.
I know that anytime I’m happiest,
That I will never stay this happy.
I can’t fall in love anymore,
Without questioning the other persons,
Motives, feelings and reasons for loving me.
Who would love,
Such a broken soul,
As myself?

You sing yourself to sleep each night,
A hushed, whispered lullaby
Of the battles you fight.
Dance around your demons,
Make them wish they weren’t yours.

Made of scars, we are who we are…
Wish all you want on that shooting star,
But you’ll never go anywhere,
Without moving your feet.
You think there’s something wrong with you,
But we all feel that incomplete…

We all know there’s something more,
Weather we inquire,
Or weather we ignore,
Makes all the difference here.

Come to peace with yourself,
Stop beating up and picking on
Your imperfect aspects,
Or else they’ll just keep coming back.
Give yourself some credit.

A pat on the back,
Never killed anyone.
There’s nothing wrong with feeling low,
But know, there’s always a way back up.

We are yin and yang,
Bonded to sin, and rebounded for our own gain.
You don’t need to be “fixed”
There was nothing wrong with you to begin with,
Simply a misunderstanding…

Life has NEVER been easy,
But that’s why FRIENDS exist…
They say
“Bros before Hoes” and
“Chicks before *****”,
but there will come a day
where those sayings
will be HARD to go by,
and still keep EVERYONE you love happy.
In the end,
both matter…
still
“When we grow up
(if we ever do)
and I’m getting married to God knows who…
I want you standing right beside me,
giving me the ‘ok’
to say my ‘I do’.”
Because you were there long before any promise ring,
and you saw me through EVERYTHING!
So this is for all my sisters
and all my brothers,
You mean so much to be,
and you all are everything I wish to be someday.
I love you guys too much.

Fate is rigged and destiny is a fake drug sold on the streets. Life is a rat race we all die to complete. You get somewhere and suddenly you're only just ******* lucky and its just that faint string of luck holding you in place. Look at my face, look in my eyes and tell me im wrong. Life is ****, still we are told "be strong, never be weak, weakness shows lack of power." But what they dont know is in our weakest times we find our strength. We find who we are and fate then, throw to the wind, and destiny will be on its knees kissing my hand beggin for forgiveness, cuz now il be in control, il have total rein. Unlike I had before when all I knew of the world is what pain it could bring to my eyes and heart. Luckly it just so happened with age came a softer view on life, like wine it all began to taste better. And soon the bitterness was gone and the depression a thing in my history books. I was free, and am free and always will fight for my air space till I cant breathe, cause if you dont agree I want to show you what I know, I may still be younger and have room to grow but I can tell you a thing or two you wont hear out of someone my age and range of knowlegde cause I didnt finish college but I know more than those books could ever teach me about real life. And my books run thick the would take years to read, thus why I write and read others stories. And in the end fate is ****** cuz I write my own words.

I’m sorry I’m not like you.
I will NEVER be, like you…
I’m sorry I strive to be my own person,
I’m sorry I don’t mimic every trend,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I’m NOT sorry!!!
Stop making me feel, like being me is a sin!
Stop trying to convince me to cave and give in!
I stand alone, in a crowd of many
Who still don’t seem to see,
All the pressures put on me to be:
“Normal”, pretty in pink, little Miss. perfect,
And conform to societies standards
Which I consistently break…
A person should NOT have to ask permission
To be who they are inside,
It should be a natural reaction to be true
To not fake out what’s in the mirror.
Some people wake up every morning
To a reflection they wish was NOT their own,
Due to society saying they don’t fit in,
That they don’t fit into those size 0 or 1 jeans,
That they don’t fit into society’s elite group of people,
They don’t fit in anywhere, anymore…
Thus outcast…they say afraid and confused…I’m sorry.
I’M SORRY I WAS BORN DIFFERENT,
I’M SORRY I HAVE ODD ABLITIES,
I’m sorry, because I’m NOT going to apologize anymore,
For simply being me!

I am beautiful,
I am beautiful,
I am beautiful,
She writes on the chalkboard
Over and over and over,
Unconvinced of the words she writes.
She hasn’t really ever felt as if
SHE was worth someone’s love.
Finding it hard to see,
There could be beauty.
She thinks back to why she feels so terrible.
Maybe it was the way
She didn’t plan to get involved with him,
Yet she still did.
Not drugged, not seduced,
But she remembers her body going docile,
And feeling as if she wanted to scream “NO”
But couldn’t move her lips.
She wanted for so long to forget,
But somehow,
The thoughts always trace back to that moment
When she began to correct to wrongs
That had happened upon her that day.
She would say,
“This time I’ll love him/her”
“This time will be different”
But it never was.
Only once had it been different,
And that one slipped away,
As she feel back into her pattern
Of wanting something more,
And soon,
Not wanting anyone at all.
And now she stands,
Writing, tears streaming down her face,
I AM BEAUTIFUL
I am beautiful
I…am…beautiful…