for nobody knows the true reasons,
some things just happen.
i cannot choose my emotions,
for they are chosen for me.
i am incapable of the hate being spoken of,
i will never be capable.

for doing things to me does not cause hate,
it causes disappointment.
i will only hate, if something was done to those i love.

lessons will be taken from this,
i do not have to be the one enforcing it.
because you are hating yourself,
more than i deserved to hate you.
you are punishing yourself,
more than anyone ever would.

so now stop this hate,
stop desiring the hurt.
because i will never give you the hate you want.

give up on trying, because it will never work,
you can try to convince me of the hurt.
i will not take it, i will not budge.
i stick to my guns

*i do not and will not ever hate you

Through the glass I look,
the window that divides.
I see the beauty of the sparkling rivers,
the bright and cheerful flowers,
and the colorful leaves as they fall from the tree.
I hear the notes of the birds
as they tell a story through their graceful song.
The crack in the window brings in the comforting smell of
the fresh, crisp outdoors.
All this divided by a piece of glass,
A glass that lets me see, lets me hear,
but keeps me away.

In all those moments I thought it was over,
I felt happy,
like the family was finally whole again.

I now realize,
it wasn't over at those times.
It was just hidden from me.

It has escalated to the point,
that they are willing for me to hear.
I just sit there confused.

In the thoughest of times,
They will always be there for me,
but not for eachother.

For at once I thought my family was whole,
Though I have come to realize,
There is a hugh hole...

*...and that's not what I wanted.

The sun rises,
The sky gets grey.

The internet runs,
The phone dies.

The music blares,
The dark stays.

The shade stays closed,
The door says shut.

There is a reason,
*for everything

The flower droops,
showing its true colors.
Leaves fall to the floor,
all shriveled and brown.
The little old vase was all that was left,
It's steardy glass held in the water
to keep the flower alive.
Around the rim, cracks began to form.
Nothing was done to fix them,
they were little, they didn't matter.
But today, they grew large.
The vase broke, water spilled everywhere
and the flower was left,
laying on the floor,
*helpless

Right now,
it smells like old, crumbling stories
from the bookshelves out in the hall
there's a Barbie cup on the desk where I sit
cradling pens that for years have gone unnoticed and unused
I'm surrounded by photos
of young people now old and old people now dead,
and across from me is that faulty router
that brought me up here in the first place

Sometimes there is nothing to write beyond the ordinary
no beauty to behold, no story to be told
and all that is left to capture is
life as it is
before it fades a  w   a    y

The thought puzzles me.
At first I thought it would be.
but because of the circumstances,
Would it actually?