But why would I move the moon
for a person who left me to burn on the sun?

People kept telling her:
"you can't be this, you can't be that"
the girl pretended to listen, their words a blur
she sat there unnoticed, her face flat.

She went to school
receiving an education
she let her parents rule
keeping silent, hiding her creation.

When the nights closed in
and her parents went to sleep
she took out a notebook with a grin;
after all it wasn't theirs to keep.

She bled out words
that had stuck on her skin
outside chirped nice birds
unlike the crows she hid within.

Soon her graduation came
as she held her diploma in hand
she heard her own name
with it came the feared demand.

"You'll become a lawyer like us, right?"
the girl whirled around to see
her mum and dad standing up to their full height
she bit her lip, only wanting to be free.

"No," she told them, "I will not!"
she looked her parents straight in the eye
looking like they'd both been shot
but the girl didn't want to lie.

"I'll become a writer,"
she told them, with a light smile
her parents did not turn brighter
but that hadn't ever been their style.

Don't take your life.
I mean; it's up to you,
but I don't want to lose you.
The pain doesn't go away -
it just finds more people to hold onto.

I believe that there are people out there
who we are meant for.
But by that I don't mean that
everything's perfect or
that we are living happily ever after.

Think of what you're sacrificing.

Imagine fighting with your partner
but you solve it and in the end of the day
you sleep next to each other
and you're happy.

You're not perfect -
but who is?

There is forgiveness -
not from others but ourselves.
If you forgive yourself
then I can forgive you too,
and your mother,
and father,
and sisters can
all forgive you.

It all starts
and ends
with you.

And you need to make a list of
the pros and cons of taking your life
before you toss a coin in the air
and let it decide the life for you.

I believe in you.
Please believe on yourself.

You made me cry today.

You raised your voice at me
as if I wasn't sitting in the seat
right next to you.

You told me I didn't listen -
that I never listened.
And that I didn't understand,
nor even try.

You screamed all this
at the top of your lungs
instead of
being a mature parent
and talk with your daughter
in a civilised tone.

But you don't do civil,
do you, mum?

But then again, you don't see your faults either
but focus on mine and others'.

It's funny how you accuse me of not
listening when in reality
you cut me off when I tried to speak.

You took my voice, mum.
And you refused to give it back.

“I’m not okay.”

There, I said it out loud.
Is that supposed to make me feel better?

You keep telling me to
get over it
or if it’s that bad then why don’t I
just get help?

You make it seem like it’s some kind of
miracle cure
to talk with a therapist once a week
when in reality
the healing takes forever.

And the pain just goes on
and on
like on repeat.

“Therapists are expensive,” you sigh
like my life was cheap??

He was a bad boy
because he didn’t care.
He saw a girl as nothing but a toy
and inhaled cigarette smoke like air.

His cap turned the wrong way
he was ready for battle.
His eyes fastened upon his next prey,
in the dark streets of Seattle.

Swallowing cute lilac pills
he survived the day.
He didn’t pay the bills
but who cares anyway?

The bad boy had after many years
stopped caring about his health.
Once he took one too many beers
lost his money and chose to resort to stealth.

His parents didn’t suspect a thing,
nor did the ones calling themselves friends.
To them, he was still their king
and they let him borrow their pens.

With a pencil in one hand
and ***** in the other.
Hoping someone would understand,
he bled out the thoughts he hadn’t even dared tell his brother.

He is like an arrow before it launches
- calm, yet deadly.