Life; an opportunity where unexpected possibilities become a reality.
Or at least that is how I like to think about it.

What are you a "Glass half empty or half full" kind of person?  
Well I'll tell you I'm neither, or so I like to think.
I am more about being grateful that I even have a glass to begin with.
I have the opportunity to choose whether I want to perceive my glass as half empty or half full.

That's the great thing about being given the choice,
You are able to go through these unique and overwhelming experiences that mold who you are
Or who you will be in the future.
What more could you ask for, than a simply opportunity to form your own opinion?

I am grateful for the glass
It is life in its self,
Ready to be half full with the memories a person experiences
Or become half empty with the experiences a person will go through

Now tell me what are you pessimistic or optimistic?
Half Full or Half Empty?
There is no right answer just the honesty of how our view of life has molded our perception of a
Vague Question!

So...Life
The opportunity were we can find ourselves.

what can you do when you have nothing left?
when you have been robbed from the fruit that made your innocence
the memories that filled your mind now a mask of reality
those who you loved drifting with your heart in their hands
a broad empty space staring untouched by the prints of the now unknown

what can you do when you have been left?
with those flashbacks of unnerving events
a home with no family; and a heart with no love
when you reach your hands to touch but feel nothing back

what can you do when your life is a fake?
your parents have divorced and your left with all the remorse
no sunlight shining on your life
a dark gloomy ocean the only thing in sight

what can you do when you have hit your worst?
coming home to the sound of humanity leaving through the door
no more room for you except to hit the floor
and becoming weaker with no more support

there is nothing to do when you have nothing left
except break the hands of the past and never look back
to those times that have forbidden you life and prosperity
and build a world where you can be new and reborn.

It's like a written dream
Where you get so lost-
it's hard to tell apart reality from imaginary
The books become a companion
Filling a void that you have in life
They make you laugh when a character has a sense of humor
And bring you to tears when a tragedy has occurred
It get you angry towards the antagonist
And makes you feel loved when surrounded by family.
You can't help but follow the protagonist
through their journey and
Sighting
Laughing
Crying
Smiling
And frowning
along, as if you are the one experiencing it.
The books you read become so much apart of you
It's hard to grasp the concept that it is not your life
When the battle has been won
The last kiss has been given
And the last Farewell has been said,
Your heart clenches
because you feel as you can never be complete without their presence.
Books give you knowledge
They feed you images
But overall they teach you a way of looking-
At the world in a different way,
Give you a unique perception,
And leave you kissed by possibilities of what is in store with Life.

Friends come and go
but the loyal species are hard to find

I'm not good at making new friends
but when I do I try to keep them close

My heart isn't an open book
it stays under lock and key

My shell is hard
while my inside is sensitive

So these friends are sacred to me
and when i part from a good friend
it slowly leaves a vast space in my heart
til it slowly heals on its own

My mouth usually stays closed
but there are those special people who let it free

Friends are those who keep you close
and never let you go

But to find them drift apart
What can you do other than to set them free?

Five foot one and a half,
I go to the doctors and the doctor says,
Little lady you are 155 and for your height you are over weight.

When I was young I was taught to sit up right,
Close my legs when I sit,
Look presentable for family parties,
And most of all put your best foot forward.

Mirrors were my best friend,
it told me the honest truth,
It didn't hesitate to offend...me,
I was always determined to be beautiful
While hiding in some corner stuffing my mouth with food,
Then running to the toilet and chasing my fingers after it.

Make-up became my salvation,
covering up my natural face and replacing it with a decent facade,
a cremation...for who I was.
The door we knocked on until it let us in,
A gilded room full of medical treatment to make us...BEAUTIFUL.

I made sure I hated myself enough,
And payed attention to the comments that floated in the tainted air.
I was fat?!
I won't eat tomorrow.
I have a uni brow?!
I'll make sure to get them waxed.
I'm breaking out?!
I'll double up on foundation.

Because why would I let anyone see me for who I really am?
Not when I have these magical solutions to create a new identity
Not when I can cover up my curves because, **** my genetics!, that my *** is too big or that I grow more hair or even that I have an ugly hair color.
Because we all now I was born to rock Red.

Yet inside there lays a wondering girl
Not sure where she belongs
And to preoccupied trying to find her way to realize she been converted to a drone.

When will this end?
When we start making our babies wear make-up and become materialistic.
When education is no longer a priority but what you wear to class.
Or will there be new inventions on how to create an image of someone you are not.

....How far are you willing to go to please others and lose yourself?

There seems to be great expectations within us all
Yet never enough content
All the lurking eyes look upon us
Waiting for us to go through torment

People put there faith in others,
Waiting to be touched my the arrow of love and devotion
Relying on others to close the empty space in your soul,
And dedicating yourself to bring them happiness,
But what you get is a cold slap to the face,
And the lost of your own self image.

Living while dying,
Or living and trying?
Watching and waiting

Nothing but relying
On the medication that is prying
My body, and slowing disintegrating

The pain spreading
My mother’s eyes don’t stop crying
Witnessing the agony I’m creating

My family huddled around but no one is understanding
That this pain is mine alone
All I can do is lay in bed dreading

The light comes closer and I am debating
I am tired right down to my bones
Should I try or comply

With the wishes that my family is stating  
Asking myself If I will die alone
Or survive with the scars of trying