My soul yearned, will want, and will seek for a way out.
A freedom and a home it sought.
As my soul yelled for help,
It impatiently waited for my body to go limp.

A polite murderer: I guess that’s just the way my soul is wired.
The need to be understood, seen, and admired.
Makes my soul want to tear it self away.
And blind the whole world with its divine light as people -from its beauty and horror- sway.

I, sometimes wish if my soul was to be contempt with its golden cage:
my body.
But, I yearn to escape this cage the more that age.
I yearn to be more than a nobody.

But how do you become great as your feet are shackled.
As you find yourself wasting on the floor; by reality you were tackled.

In a river of diluted red streaks,
your tears flow never endlessly down your cheeks.
For your soul gave up before your body.
Congratulations: you have become another faceless nobody.

There is a name for this phenomenon.
A phase I wish I could look beyond:
growing up, maturing, entering adulthood.
Why did we have to outgrow childhood? That I never understood.

I keep missing a man I never met.
A person whom my soul grieves every minute of the day.
A happy place to turn to when I’m upset.
Only to remember, that he isn’t here yet.
He never was, and may never be.
Because I need to be capable on my own.

But the thing is, I’m ok alone. I’m doing fine alone. But my heart clenches for another heart to sync my beats.

A soul that speaks my mother language like I do.
I don’t want it to be an unhealthy obsession or to make my life revolve around him or for him to carry the center piece of my heart that is meant for God.

I want an arm to sleep in. Someone to love the lovey pieces of me and someone to love the parts that I hate about myself. Because no matter how many times I’m told to love myself before I want to be loved I can’t help but disagree.

I love the beautiful parts of me. But the old ugly scars, the bald spots, the strawberry skin, the mean, selfish part of me…it’s toxic and unnatural to fall in love with these parts of myself.

But a soulmate, they see the pain those pieces of me cause, they see my clear dislike for them. And for that they love those parts of me: because to him it’s my most sensitive vulnerable naked self hiding a little kid thinking she’s too stupid and worthless for the big adventures in the world. To a lover, my flaws are nothing but a proof that I am not a dream and rather a reality. A soul flush against them, a soul having so much faith love and respect for them that it timidly shows their scars and faults whilst crossing my fingers to be accepted and loved regardless.

My heart aches and calls for the man who will hold me in his big strong arms. A man who will whisper in my ears that it will all be ok. When the morning comes he will help me wake up because heaven knows getting up is the hardest part of my day.

I hate waking up only to face a reality I in all means wish to procrastinate facing it. I do wake up when I’m alone. I do wake up now with no man. And I face reality regardless. But is it so bad to want another soul to help me bear the weight of the average day?

Is it weak of me to wish for a soul that loves me dearly that never picks up every little bad habit I have and reproach me for it?

Is it bad to want more than a parent that blames?
To want more than a friend that wants what’s best for you but can never really truly see your soul?
All of the paradoxal parts of your soul?
Is it so bad to want more than a friend who turns a blind eye to your ugly pieces?
Is it so bad to want someone to believe in my possibly non existent ability to achieve my unrealizable dreams?

I am grateful for thé love i have in my life. For my friends. For my little siblings that have so much expectations for me yet I continue doing exactly what hurt me as a child to them. Yet I continue to disappoint them. Yet I continue to shove my ugly soul down their throat. Only to show them glimpses of the beautiful energy in me. Oh how I hate who I become when my sisters catch me in a bad mood.

How I hate that the antidepressants don’t do **** anymore. How I hate that I feel completely utterly like an ugly mess. Is it so bad to wish for a Prince Charming to make me feel like a beautiful princess that regardless of her apparent weakness and helplessness she has a magic power that no one holds but her?

A magic power that only worked after the appearance of Prince Charming. I can understand the anger of women. Their anger towards men and Disney. Their obsession with doing it all alone. I understand it all. But is it so bad that I haven’t lost hope? That I believe in a soul mate? That I hope and can only hope that our roads will cross?

Don’t tell me to get up on my own. To do all of that on my own. Because I will. I will become better and I will become beautiful on my own. But is to so bad to wish for a man to watch me evolve?

Is it so bad to wish for a masculine energy other than that overly exposed part of me?
Is it so bad that no man has ever lived up to the standards of my soulmate?
Is it so bad that no soul has been able to fluently understand my language?

Whatever fate holds for me. I hope that God would ******* out of strong and beautiful. But God will you please please allow my soul to meet its companion.

For God, I need no one but you. But you know, you know how the journey is much more pretty and less bitter when surrounded by the souls I was intertwined with before they became ripped apart and each was given a temporary house: a body.

But my house will never be a home if there is no one to come back to. God I miss him so much. Don’t tell me he doesn’t exist. He might have died. Heck we might no even exist in the same era.

But he existed I can feel him. In the cries of my soul. In the grieves of my soul. In the longing of my soul. In the back of my head. A distant memory that I can’t remember but that always haunts me. I can feel him in the way I’m so loyal to a person that I don’t remember.

God please have mercy on me and let our souls intertwine again during this life. The want is turning into a dull ache in my chest to violent thudding against my rib cage to a full hollow heart.

When in doubt, choose the route
that guarantees your softness.
The one that thrives in your kindness.
Put as much space as possible,
between yourself and what makes you bitter.
Be wild, carefree and highly improbable.
A surprise box painted with pink glitter.
Filled with pleasant mysteries and treasuries.
Some, for the world to discover.
Some, meant for your lover.
Others, for your friends to cherish.
May love in your life never perish.

As the universe expands. The starry night dims. Stars drift rather away. Dark lonely nights are more common now. But as long as there is that one star that twinkles at me every brightly. I shall keep my fire alive.

I survived in order to live.
But I ended up in an endless circle of survival.
A circle only broken by death’s knocks at the door.
He joined me in my grief of the life I never lived .
For I had no life to give him, and he found nothing to take.

As I contemplate the starry sky.
An angry dragon breathes fire, ready to fly.
As the fire engulfs the earth beneath me,
I am already 10 feet high, the golden flames are all I can see.
We fly away from this mess of land.
The dragon flies lower, my feet touching the cool surface of the sea.
I don’t want this ride to end, I don’t won’t to land.
But every beautiful thing comes to an end.
We have arrived at never land. My heart beats rapidly in excitement of meeting a friend.
I guess all ending are in fact beginnings.

As I regard never land,
I relise that all the tales are true,
Everyone is young with a juvenile hue.
Time ticks incredibly slow.
Worry less Kids are swimming in the lake’s flow.
My heart aches for the youth back home.
The ones whom the lands of stress are all they can roam.

Peter Pan -an old friend who always forgets me- skips my way,
He stops in his path looking at me quizzically “why are you so gray?”
The lost boys walk towards us,
Before I get the chance to discuss
The lost boys begin to chant:

“In never land you are forever free,
With absolutely nothing to rant!
For In these lands you can swim and eat your weight in glee!
We are all young and carefree”
“You might have no wings,” they sing
“But you can forever use the fairy dust.
In these lands there are no sins such as lust.
You can swim the lake or the ocean as you wish,
Be careful from the mermaids but the fish!
O the fish! They’re all your friends.
Speaking of friends, here is a friendly advice : always take with you a magnifying lens,
For this land is full of wonders that are worth to be discovered !
And whatever it is that you have uncovered,
Share it with the lost boys!
We love new things, we love toys!”
Their voices fade as they move away.

I guess I can get used to waking up in this land everyday.
But the youth back home.
It’s almost like they’re kept away by a gnome.
Kept hidden from this beauteous ground.
Left to bleed from their souls wound.

Regardless of how you might be so flawless,
Regardless of how tough,
You will forever be in need for solace.
But when the words are not enough,
When the strokes of a brush can’t explain,
When the hustle ceases to provide you with reverential gain,
When the tender sounds of music can’t calm,
When the turbulences of your soul hold more energy than that of an atomic bomb,
What on earth can possibly make your soul find the alleviation it starved for?
Maybe the realms that are worth to explore,
Are the heavens above, for the answer is non existent on this mortal planet.
Anything else that would make you believe otherwise, is nothing but a spell: an enchantment.

Ignoring the fact that it has no engineman, no plan, no back-up, and it's passengers couldn't keep up.
My life feels like an empty train with no destination.
It's goal is to move away as far as it could with no hesitation .
Maybe I'm supposed to be the one driving.
If I do, then I might as well just forget about arriving.
Actually, can this thing even be on auto-mode? I see no concrete railroad track.
So far, I've been letting it do it's job and fall back.
But lately it's moving so fast, I kind of want to go back.

Just a while ago I was in station twelve, I got distracted and wasn't aware of the train leaving. Ever since, I've been wandering around, grieving.  From time to time I would get glimpses of my train. I would call out for it, but it refused to stop or even slow down. So I chose a town, and settled in. It was called town sixteen. Before I got comfortable, my train came by to fix it's engine. And I was getting sick from my routine. So I decided to get  in, and it was great.
Little did I know that this joy was yet to fade.
I got to see all sorts of  forgotten views: passion, friends, peace, God...
Little did I know that the temporary serenity was a fraud.

As we approached station seventeen, the train was gaining speed. "Slow down!" To the thickheaded machine I plead. I was not keeping firm ground. That before I knew it, I fell to the ground.
Out of the train I was shot.
My face felt hot.
Covered in blood and broken glass.
I have completely ruined someone's freshly cut grass.
I was so embarrassed and miserable, my own train threw me out.
Full of self-doubt
I decided to out run that thickheaded train.
I ran and ran and ran...
but in vain.
After some struggle, I came up with a simple plan:
to follow the most used railroad.
The freshly traced marks on the sand, I followed.
Thus, I arrived to the common land.
Everyone was so busy, going in all different directions at impossible speed. That no one bothered to give me a hand.
Not that I cared anyways.
For I too had my ways…
Ways that I hoped to discover anytime soon.

But to save others, One shall not need to be saved

Looking at myself in the mirror.
I would wonder how can I see the person within clearer.
I have never thought about the thing residing inside as myself.
It always felt like somebody else.

As a matter of fact, I never seriously tried
to study what's inside.
The fear that I would encounter something unpleasant made me want to hide.
"What is inside doesn't exist tell you look inside." I lied.

I liked to think of my soul like Schrodinger's cat.
Both dead and alive at the same time.
Due to this misperception of mine,
my heart and mind were in endless combat.
Every time
I would take a sneak peek at myself I felt like I have committed a grave crime.

The truth is, I was ashamed of who I am.
An average person, with no heroic purpose.

In order to gain ever so little serenity,
to live in minimum concordance with my identity,
to keep my sanity:
I acknowledged the person within.
But not as an equal to me,
but rather as an outsider.
One who in my eyes portrayed society's collective advice.

Yet there was my heart and mind as well.
The old foes.
To this unbalanced couple, my soul became the third wheel.
I think it's fair ​to say that I live in chaos. In constant doubt.

Such a life can be tiring.
But to constantly be on the lookout for contradiction can also be inspiring.
In this mayhem of mine.
I found a home, which I like to call: "myself".

Standing in the middle of an old telephone booth all alone.
Distantly listening to that dialing tone.
Knowing that no one will be on the other side of the phone,
Because they are long gone.

She was the only home I have ever known,
But now she is just flesh and bone.

How could she leave so early?
Her who loved the world so purely?
Her who treated me so fairly.
Her whom I've loved so sincerely.

Tears filling my eyes,
Only to realize,
That what we had was everything but lies.

But now it’s already too late.
For in our last call, I stupidly hurled out hate.

The golden book of Machiavel:
the philosophy that opened the door to hell.
Although it's as shallow as a shell.
It rang in the ears of politicians like a bell.
To put it in a nutshell;
manipulation is the key
to gain all treasures your eyes can see
a dictator you most be.

On the endless freedom of an adult, I dwell.
With gleaming eyes, I yell:
"Can't wait to get older."
Naively neglecting the fact that as I grow older, my body and soul will molder.

"When I'm older, I will change the world!"
Sadly, as I got older, the white flag of surrender unfurled.
looking back, youth was my only chance
to make this world ever so slightly advance.

As a child, I learned the importance of friends.
As a teen, I learned to view the world through the right lens.
As an adult, I learned the importance of a dime.
As an elder, I learned the wisdom that comes with time.

From giggling on the floor with my best friend.
To hours on the desk, I spend.
To watching my friends, one after the other, fall.
Now, I have seen it all.

Drenched in sweat and blood.
Waiting for the loud thud,
I patiently standstill.
Silently praying that our plan doesn't go downhill.

A sudden loud bang breaks the heavy silence.
A wave of relief passes over me. We won. No need for more violence.
Now, for once and all, I Can remove my demilance.
Someone shouted my name. "Don't!" they yelled.
My body compelled,
but only a moment too short.
I could feel my skin tear apart. I was warm then cold. It was happening too fast for me to sort.
For before my eyes, a foolish-looking man had pulled the trigger.
The pool of blood around me only grew bigger.

Feeling peaceful and dazed I stood there,
silently saying my last prayer.
I could hear someone swear.

A flood of people ran over to me.
I wanted to tell them not to worry, that I will finally be set free.
I wanted to say something: to make a sound.
I was facing up as I hit the ground.
The blue sky was too beautiful that I forgot how to speak.
Our flag was standing tall and proud at the mountain peak.
So many lives were lost for that flag to be there, in the pursuit of liberation.
Yet, ironically enough the only ones liberated are those who left this world of indignation.

I couldn't see the sky anymore.
I was back at home.
I and my best friend were childishly giggling on the floor.
Then, in a thick swirl of foam,
the setup changes to that of a car.
I am happily singing my heart out as if I am some rockstar.
Now I'm in my bedroom dancing like a mindless titan with my little sibling.
The scene changes to that of a school, my friend is calmly scribbling.
In another swirl, I can see my mother.
In the distance, my sisters are chasing each other.
It's just a normal sunny day at the shore.
Now I am back at the headquarters, planning the war.

A sudden pain hovers over me.
I can feel my soul flee.
Now I am at the final scene: my grave. A little child points at it and says: "look mommy that grave is growing an olive tree!"
Alas, I have been set free.

I'm getting consumed by this fever.
The vicious flames of a once happy believer.
I have almost forgotten the heaviness that comes with a feverish soul.
Beautiful golden Mercure-like blood dripping from the spirit I tore.

I can see glimpses of a blue sky lingering inside of my mind.
An unconfirmed reality too good for me to hide.
The soft rayons of the sun run softly across my face.
Giving me the courage to face my deepest desires with such grace:

To lead a life amidst death as the divine angel who can save the day.
What a beautiful role to play.
The invincible soldier we all hail.
The living church of those astray.

The mere purpose itself is noble, worthy.
Yet the motive is contradictory.
But please let me be.
I don't want to live as a corpse, a nightmare I don't want to see.

It is the close encounters of death's kisses that make me feel the most alive.
It is against the slow death of modern life that I strive.
It is the suffering with others that makes me feel the most alive.
It is against the slow death of a meaningless life that I strive.
It is the heavy panting, the fractured bones, the silence after a shared battle that makes me feel the most alive.

I can hear the cry to war as gentle as a whisper,
as quiet as the calm before the thunder.
In this world of sweet blood and sweat and rain, I wish to wander

Feeling anxious,
that poetry can be my sanction.
Looking for a distraction,
I put down my pen,
reminiscing back to when
I dared to win
in my internal fights.
Only if I could do it again,
go back to the feast of lights.
Where even on the dreary nights,
it was the best of sites.

I think I should just wait forever.
As time puts my pieces all together.

Slowly and a little akwardly

The soul of the naïve maliciously burns in beautiful orange flames.
But why is being vividly alive to the point of creating art always compared to fire whears feeling dull is compared to ice?
Which naïve person came up with these frames?
Feeling nothing can become another naïve 's paradise.

...The naïve always miscounter the unwise,
they believe their beautiful lies,
let them burn them up with excited gleaming eyes.
Oh, don't I miss being naïve! How naïve indeed!
This whole poem might sound cliche and even worse: absurd. But Oh believe me: This is the mere truth!

I miss summer. I miss running in the hot summer days only worrying about my ice cream melting too fast.
Ironically enough, I've hated the couple last.
I miss the irresponsible summers, just being a kid. Being "uneducated".
I miss not being judged, overlooked, and underestimated.

In no time at all I became an adult.
In no time at all I became the most dull person I know, what a result!
Questioning my existence suddenly is a religious insult.
If I was doomed to let go of my naïve dreams, then how can I exult?

I read somewhere that life is just like a movie.
Funny. My life so far has been similar to the ads before a film.
Can I wait any longer to live truly?
I'm getting older, but this movie refuses to start...The ads are becoming dim.

I'm scared. My flame is burning out. Slowly but surely I'm losing sight of my trait.
Isn't 17 so early to feel so old? So suffocated by fate?
Wait...wait...wait.
Wait till you get older, I tell myself. Wait 5 more years, get a job, and travel. Travel? Travel and your soul will become remote.
How naive?!
How can the way this world works be any worse misperceived?!

Ignoring that, I say: Just concentrate on working on yourself.
Just work out more, learn more, add more books to your bookshelf...
For in 5 years you will be out there all alone. Struggling to figure out what you want to do with your life.
What do I want? I don't want to be alone. I just want to be free, a hero. Someone who stops strife.

Stops strife? What a laugh.

I think I should just wait forever.
As time puts my pieces all together.

Slowly and a little awkwardly.

I miss summer. I miss running in the hot summer days only worrying about my ice cream melting too fast.
Nevertheless, ever since I entered the adult world I've hated the couple last.
I miss the irresponsible summers, just being a kid. Being "uneducated".
I miss not being judged, overlooked, and underestimated.

In no time at all I became an adult.
In no time at all I became the most dull person I know. What a result!
Questioning my existence suddenly is a religious insult.
If I was doomed to let go of my naïve dreams, then how can I exult?

I’m writing this for me as much as I’m writing it for you.

Honey, this poem might be a hit or just loads of *******.

They say it’s best to have loved and lost, than never loved at all. But is that true?
With that said, do you remember your now dead bestie? Of course you do.
Do you remember when you came to school all blue?
Remember when I thought you would make me say adieu?
Thinking it was time for goodbye.
Oh boy didn’t you make me cry.

You keep saying that I don’t get it.
you are so stubborn that of convincing you of the opposite I quit.

Don’t ask me to explain.
All I know is that with every experience you gain, with every pain you go through you seem to drain.
All I know is that people think that your  cries of help are a brat’s way to complain.

You say that you are not special.
And with your own depression you wrestle .
Yet you believe that you are the only one going through this existential crisis.

I don’t want to sound superficial or artificial the thing is everyone is special, thus being special is the ordinary, the initial, the unofficial official.
It’s just a matter of who will find their potential before they become celestial.

....

I am a 16RAM program of a telegram whose programmer programmed to deprogram all pogrom to the last gram by the use of an epigram.

In simpler terms, I am a poet.

But like any other love story, our love did not last.
While earth took us in her arms in the past,
whilst earth lovingly caressed humans otherwise.
In the present, it has harassed us as if we were Pennywise.
The touch of life used to give me butterflies.
But for now, all I hear is earth's cries.

The earth has loved us so purely,
although earth is 22 500 times older than man she has welcomed him so demurely.
And yet, man polluted destructed and poisoned. Oh isn't man such a disgrace?
How can he look earth in the face?

How can simple nonoffensive words hurt so much?
How can the plain question: "who am I?" make my stomach clutch?
Why does the disability to answer make me feel like a bird in a hutch?
I try to look for answers, but I end up too weak straying from my goal looking for a crutch.

Speaking of going astray, here goes my mind once again.
Even I don't know the depths of my thoughts, not the tenth of my brain.
After all, I am just a demo, a soul in a chain.
What if: "What am I?" is saner?
That I can say. I am a human that yet did not drain.
A believer of the old saying "no pain no gain."
Oh no! I am more than that! I am a grain.
And I hold within me the power of a reign.
All I need is to grow, all I need is rain.

Rain... rain ladies and gentlemen is nature's beloved soundtrack.
It is the pitter-patter that makes my heart crack.
Sky, why are you so black?
What is it that you feel you lack?
I promise I won't stand back.
Dear horizon ease your anxiety attack,
for you are more loved than FLACK.

I am a 16RAM program of a telegram whose programmer programmed to deprogram all pogrom to the last gram by the use of an epigram.

In simpler terms, I am a poet.
I love the world when I'm high and when I'm at my lowest.
I believe that I am a poet because poetry is the highest expression of love.
I am a lover of this earth and the heavens above.
Love isn't just a myth,
it does exist.
I could go on like this, naming all that I love with a never-ending list.

I have learned to adore the darkest of times,
I have learned to be fascinated by all lives.
Earth why are you falling apart? Why are you so angry? Why are you committing all of these crimes?
Ease your typhoons your tornadoes pandemics tsunamis and volcanoes. Dear planet no need for more hives.

I can't promise you that we will behave,
for mankind is foolish,
him who once lived in a cave.
I understand your wish for the extinction of all humans.

But like any other love story, our love did not last.
While earth took us in her arms in the past,
whilst earth lovingly caressed humans otherwise.
In the present, it has harassed us as if we were Pennywise.
The touch of life used to give me butterflies.
But for now, all I hear is earth's cries.

The earth has loved us so purely,
although earth is 22 500 times older than man she has welcomed him so demurely.
And yet, man polluted destructed and poisoned. Oh isn't man such a disgrace?
How can he look earth in the face?

Vendredi 18, tu es venue à l'école avec une attitude différente.
Tu es en train de te perdre et d'oublier ton aptitude affriolante.
Tu es tombé d'une altitude qui était autrefois inspirante.
Tu l'as fait quasiment indifférente,
que tu nous as convaincu que ce n'est qu'une exception intermittente,
que ce n'est qu'une soudaine changement d'humeur déprimante.

Friday 18th, you came to school with a different attitude.
You were getting lost, forgetting what you are made of, forgetting your aptitude.
You have fallen from what once was an inspiring altitude.
You did it so calmly, so indifferently, that you have convinced us that it was just a temporary phase.
Just a passing malaise.

A greater cause,
means a better life.
Or atleast so they voice.
But how do you fight for what is right;
when all you dispose of is knife?

I ask myself who is my greatest enemy?
Is it me, myslef, or I?
Mybe all I need is a remedy.
To make all the wrong rectify.

I know that all of what I am capabe of holding is a weapon.
But how do you use such a thing when you can't tell the difference between your foe and your allies?
All I see are demons who seem to have come from the heart of heaven.
But afetr all, isn't that everybodies homeland. Even the devil knows all of its alleys.

But mybe weapons as deadly as they can be,
are the more or less something like you and me.
Mybe they weren't found for the unique cause of killing.
Pedro Reyes made weapon in art fullfilling.

What was war's greatest tool.
Has now become harmony's moor.
What was used in fights caused by sheer unreason.
Has now brought all people even.

All those cries,
all those tries.
And I still can't realize:
what on earth can possibly be my cause.

“So, what’s the case?”
‏                    “Regret, stupid ******* regret.”
“Anger talked in your place?”
                     “Including hate and more hate after being set.”

Finally deciding to show that I am not ok.
Uncovering what I was so good at hiding.
Expressing in the wrong way,
Always had me ended up crying.

I had to say what I was supposed to hear.
The unbearable was mine to bear.
There is nothing between the truth and the lies but thin lines.

Hate ran through my vines,
One that I wasn’t capable of holding.
One thing was for sure; I was terribly hurting.

No one is every the villain of their own story.
Nevertheless I was the villain in mine.
By the time my tears were wiped in the lobby.
I had built an impossible wall to climb.

Sitting on the pavement road all alone.
Distantly listening to that dialing tone.
Knowing that no one will be on the other side of the phone,
Because they are long gone.

She was the only home I have ever known,
A star that brightly shone.
But now she is just flesh and bone.
Blindly, I get up and throw a stone.

How could she leave so early?
Why did she have to leave so abruptly?
Her that looked at the future so hopefully.
Her that looked at people so  apprehensively.

Tears filling my eyes,
Only to realize,
That what we had was everything but lies.
At this point I felt paralyzed.

But now it’s already too late.
The only feeling I have towards myself is hate.
I am in a terrible state.
Desperately in need of her, desperately regretting our separate.

A beautiful dazzle of sunlight wakes me up,
Slowly opening my eyes feeling numb.
Slowly remembering the taste of my own cup.
Karma, that ****** ****.

Splattering blood in the parking lot.
Severely beaten,
All of the memories and regrets are brought;
Left me bleeding.

A silly smile on my face.
Waiting for that fatal coup de grace.
A bludgeoned arm, a fractured leg, a broken nose...
Peacefuly falling in the arms of Azrael, to forever repose.

How search for what we ignored was lost?
How seek what is nearby but never  spot?
How find with the astray lot?
How discover with no logical plot?

Whereas it's the unfound, honest love,
which is forever meant for the heavens above.
or that dreadful void which is caused by absence of art;
It had always been a hollow heart.

Nevertheless, it is no excuse,
to dim the flame of one's soul.
Let your spirit on the loose.
But not to become beyond control.

Get broken,
but never break.
Silence is stronger than the spoken.
Be an ocean, not a lake.

Get hurt,
but never do the hurting.
Life is terribly curt;
live with no regretting.