Deep dark days led me to believe
that I couldn’t speak
but shout and scream.

I floated in a starless sky
with the rejects
but absent was the moon.

I shout and scream in a solar void,
this constellation-
-less grave of mine.

I’m buried with tenebrosity
not in a stellar
tomb but in screams.

The elysian darkness outside is
unparalleled by
the darkness inside.

To put my thought to words is not an easy task.
Grueling, struggling and pacing up and down the mind and make myself constantly ask
what do I want to write.
Random thoughts rushing in to make a vivid, written sight.
Some single unheralded thought jostles out through the mind.
It’s my own unique point of view. Hopefully, one of a kind.

Healing is never a singular process.
People are there to help you.
It never follows a singular, linear line.
Your thoughts are all over the place,
not singularly spread out.
So, do what is right for you.
Heal the way using your own route.

It’s so difficult to make sense of a mind.
If there were lesser people of our own kind,
just 5 humans all-alike.
It would be bad, and no differing psych.

Diversity is messy and large.
That is the way to like it.

To have to say goodbye
when you really want to speak your point.
when you really hit it off with a boy.
when you really want to spend more time.
when you really have to stay and cry.
Oh boy, goodbyes are plenty.
What matters is how you pull yourself back up
and return if that’s what is to be done.

The old mud covered traffic cone
is standing there in its orange, triangular entirety
A little boy in his fifth year is walking with a kitty.
He trips down on the cone.

He calls for help as he sees his blood.
The mother comes rushing in.
He is hurt by the acidic grass and mud.
She too, falls down because of nearby the metal bin.

They both lay there,
in the grass, mud and trashcan dirt.
The mother called her husband first.
He came running in to help his wife and son.

The kid would cry (oh that imp),
complaining that the metal bin
and the traffic cone hurt his mother and his chin.
The mother dusted herself off and walked with a limp.

A frog hops over the rock.
The rock shouts out,
“You’re taking the wrong route.
This isn’t the way to the dock.”

The frog continued to hop,
and croaked-
“You haven’t ever walked,
you’re just a rock.”