I'm a person of empty ghosts whose shell only posts
However switch it around and
the shell has many empty posts that only are written by ghosts

My teacher once asked me to

Find what I want to become
To chase my dreams
To study hard to reach them
To work hard to become what I will be next

But what if I just wanted to be me?

I wrote a write to write a wrote but nonetheless a write wrote me

I'm Okay

She was born. I'm okay, said she.

She smiles. I'm okay, says she.

She laughs. I'm okay, says she.

She cries. I'm okay, says she.

She yawns. I'm okay, says she.

She hurts. I'm okay, says she.

She lives. I'm okay, says she.

She drinks. I'm okay, says she.

She fights. I'm okay, says she.

She starves. I'm okay says she.

     Inside

          "I'M NOT OKAY!"

                 screams she.

But

     Outside

         "I'm okay" will say

                                         she

  





                               as



                      she

        

          dies

Grief is

It was she with her knowledge of what she has and the impermanence of life who walked with such joy and confidence in who she was.

However it was he who lacked that wisdom who dove into the depths of lonely solemnity.

Although I do not want to die, proclaimed she, I have accomplished so much and met so many that I am ready to go good bye.

I have yet to do what I must yet alone want, how is it I that must perish first? Can it not be the other who too is lost in the haunt?

The other swivels from under the brush, they too are not ready, but have already accomplished much—however whisper what is the rush?

In truth, no one wants to go, unless it is to protect what is near.
Like a mother with child who falls at a peculiar angle to protect what is here.

The couple that quarrel forgot why they are together—forgot their purpose, forgot their dreams and goals. However, once one goes they are fraught

With grief