Opportunities arise,
Anxiety is suppressed.
"Just breathe" you say
   as you walk done the street.
Hoping you arent as transparent
  as a blank white sheet.
A sheet used to cover a kid wanting to seem invisible on Halloween.

You walk in.
The office eyes bore holes in you
   as the whispers "new girl"
You gather yourself qnd mumble
"Dont"
As if to talk to your inner self telling it to stop feeling panic
As if to prove that your able to hold yourself together when opportunities arise.
"Dont!" You shout to that inner being
"Dont!" You yell at the top of you imaginary lungs
As you break down inside you seem to hold your outter being together you sit down.
Your now in your office and yet another day of work and panic.

Your poem

Your poem is like my song
Like my breath
Your poem is probably too long
But you add no protest
If you were like your poem youd be weak
You'd be only half the man i see
Your poem makes my heart skip
And my stomach do the dip

It takes a toll
And it makes my eyes roll
But i love it all the same
For more that just one day.
Your poem describes all i can
For what i feel for you today
And forever you will be my man
Your poem is cheesy and lame
But who cares i love you all the same.

Dear us,
The us we know.
The us we feel, breathe, and see.

Its like a summers day, mid july.
We seem so happy
    From the inside looking out
Everyone has us down for the count
Every fight, Every bicker
   The clock is ticking quicker
Bets being made about a date
   We call "Anniversary"
The world is a cold play. But in here,
    In this house we placed,
We've built a theater, a stange for a play,
   A play in which we titles "our relationship"
Its warm. Like a summers day, mid july.

Dear us,
The us they see.
The us the nit-pick
  Down the the last fine grit.
The us the criticize and judge
"She to fat, to ugly" "He's gay and annoying"
Things they say to hurt us, to break us.
"Why?" The ask and question.
     As if they expect an answer
          That doesn't exist.
But it does. The answer is love.

Dear us,
    Never lose love.

I hqve this dream of an art store/school. I want to sell art and supplies to help any artist of any age whether they be 5 or 100. I want the front to be the store and the back to be the school, and i want to teach a lot of forms of art like drawing and diy and crafts and writing and painting, but not a school with grade and anxiety a school with freedom, you just be you and whoever judges you gets kicked out, no wrong because your idea will always be right, thats my dream, now the question is, would you go?

I want to be a girl
I was born with the thought
Born with all the right parts

To doctors in a female
Buy i want more
I want to be a girl
A true girl

I want to be pretty
I want to be edgy
I want in titled to a new look
Good make up
Effortless hair
A real girl

Thats all i want

What the point of caring if its just a mixture of hate.
1 part love and 5 parts anger.
Such an unbalanced combination.
It reacts to itself and bubbles inside you.
Whats the point of loving if it doesnt love back.
Love is just a balancing act for hate. We all need something to classify this butterfly feeling, to box it in.
But whats the honest point. I love but i also do more. More without words.
And that alone is the point.

Im sure you're expecting something deep
You're expecting me to compare myself to a branch of a tree thats barely hanging on in a wind storm or a rock thats nearly disintegrated into tiny pebbles and will soon be washed away by the waves that broke it.
But no, this is just me merely stating how I feel,
I hate myself
I hate my stomach fat and stretch marks
I hate my chubby cheeks and my multiple chins
I hate my legs and my skin
I hate my voice and my laugh and my habits and personality
I hate what into
I hate my art
I hate my hair, my nails, my height, my laziness, my emotions, the little monsters in my head when my boyfriend gets mad at me, I hate that i let my ex hit me and beat me at the age of 15 i hate the way my tears fall and the way i get red when im embarrassed. I hate the way my eyebrows grow. I hate the way i over analyze a joke my friend made about me i hate that i cry over nothing i hate my fears my pain i hate the urge i have to cut or **** myself i hate that i hate breathing,
I hate me
I hate that im considered pretty
I hate that i have no talent
I hate that im loved because it gives me a reason to live
I hate this all..
This long list consists of 30 things i hate about me and i just thought those up,
But the list of things i like about me is very small
I like my eyes
Thats it..
And if i could change this all, i would still hate myself, because id still be me..