A prayer is like a Melody
without it there's no harmony. . .
you can go sharp or flat
and lose something you once had. . .

Let notes of GOD be your choice
and make music instead of noise. . .
Through this melody you can speak
and he will listen without a peek. . .

It can be done in many ways
like singing in to praise
Or chanting with eyes that glaze
because spirit and soul engage. . .

Please hold on my friend
all our problems will soon end. . .
Don't fill your heart with worry
for the hand that hold us, is HOLY.

How am I suppose to live.
If I don't know what to give?

How am I suppose to believe?
If I cannot achieve.

How am I suppose to try?
If all I do is cry.

How am I suppose to go?
If I don't even know.

How am I suppose to be glad?
If all I am is sad.

Im looking in the mirror.
An unknown person stare back at me.
She looks sad.
Nobody says she is pretty.
They all judge, but no one will listen and understand.
She is not good enough.
Not skinny enough, so she starves her self.
Not pretty enough so she drown her face in makeup till her face looks like a mask.
It's not good enough to be herself.
So she looks in the mirror, and see the tears come. But she keeps it on the inside.

Because she has at least to pretend to be happy enough.

Every day she lies
To herself and the world around her
She puts on makeup too dark for her bright eyes
She keeps her mouth closed for when it opens
Its a web of lies
You could say she's so good she's convinced herself
Every morning she wakes in a disguise
She's the kind of sick you can't ever fix
She's a bundle of lies
She's dead inside

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose—
But were always a rose.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.