no matter how many times i fall,
by my mistake or someone's push,
i will rise again.

i'll rise with blood staining the ground;
with the taste of iron on my lips;
with the knowledge that
you can't fool me twice -

and when i rise...
castles will crumble beneath my fists.
oceans will rush to greet my blood,
for my body and the sea
share the same kind of power.
i'll pour magma onto the cities
and build them anew.

after the fall,
i will be better than before,
and the ones who pushed me down
will be nothing more than
faces in a crowd.

perhaps i should thank them.
without my collapse
i would not have remade
myself or the world.

Your journal is like a sanctuary
Where you can always be you
It is full of little bits
And pieces,
Of you.

No one will ever criticize you in your journal,
No one will read your journal.
Except, for those few people who you can trust
With your whole heart.
Those are the people who you
Will rember your whole life.

Your journal is full
Of odds and ends
Unfinished stories,
Unfinished tales,
Unfinished lives.
You may never finish some of them,
But that is the way a journal is supposed to be,
Full of unfinished things.
Things that my never happen.
It is you in the raw.