Not one to spill
        ***** the cap on more tightly

Not one to share
       Close the books and bind it shut

Not one to show weakness
       A well of positivity must not dry out

Don't show, don't tell, toxic thoughts grow on delicate vines

It's fine. It's fine.

I will be ok. I'm ok.

A roundabout way to comfort myself. but it's the most I can do. as I watch a joyful conversation.

Will I be forgotten?
If I say nothing will I never be noticed?
Am I truly valued among these people?

Stupid, silly, baseless thoughts. I know it's not true. I know that's what they think. but I can't help it.

These thoughts fester and bloom.
Over and over and over again.

I'm quite burnt out
everything is a chore
I usually have no problem blowing up the balloon.
hut it's tiring to keep it blown up now
I want to rest.

I have things I love.
     In forms of all forms of Art I find that I love them
Starry eyed I take to it. Pen to paper. I draw, I sculpt, I write.
      But every time I look up.



Perfection in all angles.
Preformed by creators who far surpass me.
I want to be          good.
Good enough that i'm adequate.

But in the footprints of the greats I'm never adequate.
My hobbies aren't hobbies.

                                             they hurt me.


Because I throw myself into a never ending loop.  

I start, I compare, then despair.

It hurts.  

My hobbies hurt my mind.

And so the Poet dies,
laid to rest on words stained in red.

There were two flowers in the garden
One yet to bloom
the other already.....bloomed

They both bloomed soon enough,
What the other flower did not know was that-

the bloomed flower was already hollow
Eaten long ago on the inside
it had died with neglect,
while the other flower
waited in anticipation
With no water one flower died
The other thrived
Now both flowers have bloomed side by side
Happy together, they look so happy together

But one flower had died
And though crisp on the outside,
It's insides are dried