dont be afraid
count your days of happiness.
dont dwell on the hate of the world.
Please keep your faith.
don't leave in the midst of it all.
stay there.
be there for your friends.
for your lover.
Stay sane, no matter how hard it is.
Remember, child, that i love you.
I care for you.
I want you.
Be careful of the people that want to rob you of happienes.
I wish i could offer you more advise.
But the truth is, no one can be happy forever.
So when you feel happy, make it count.
Lord knows i wish i had.
Because I dont know how else to say
We are all ****** to this world.
And child, be good.
I'll be waiting. watching.
I'll see you soon,
Dad

Little red, little red
Why do you cry?
You should’ve know the wolf lurks in the sky
Little red, little red,
Why do you try?
We all know how the story ends
Invite the evil in
Expect it to plant a seed.
Breathe in the bitter air
And don’t expect life to play fair.
The child walks the thin path
And the wild walk on no path
So look what you hath done.
These problems that you’ve created,
Cannot just disappear
You have to face your own demon
Not play it by ear.
Sometimes the truth hurts, little red
Sometimes life is bigger than fairytales.
Sometimes you have to think the bigger thought
Sometimes you have to learn the lesson that needs taught.
Little red,
Learn from goldilocks.
She learned too quick
That sometimes, it’s so hard to pick.
Life is never three options,
Life doesn’t ask twice
Life can’t give a potion,
And make everything okay.
Wake up now,
On the road to the house,
Because one day,
You’ll be dead as a mouse.
Little red, little red,
Why do you pout?
Little red, little red
Stand up and shout.
There is a world beyond the wolf
Little red, didn’t you see it coming?
Don’t you ask the pigs?
Don’t you ask the bears?
Don’t you ask the storytellers?
So by the time you deliver the package,
You’ll be invited to a lifetime of suffrage.
Welcome home!
Welcome to a never ending story!
Welcome do depression,
Where everyone expects to live a fairytale.
Life’s no fairytale.
Life isn’t a mother at the book
Life isn’t a father who cares,
Life isn’t a family who misses you
Little red, little red,
Please go now
I cannot continue to warn you
About the ***** things around.
Word spreads fast!
You won’t last!
Little woman!
Look at your feet
They’ll take you places far away,
Places that you’re safe to stay.
Little woman!
Walk from the evil
Come to a better place, and end it here.
Little woman!
This is your story,
Why can’t you break the chain?
This is your story,
So make it end in glory!
Little red, little red,
Carry your basket,
Swing it from side to side.
Watch the world ‘round you
Cause the pied piper will play his tune
Sway you from side to side
Until you collide
With reality.
Little red, you are not reality!
Escape.
Go, escape.
This story ends here
The story has to end now.

How to become popular.

If you are reading this, it’s probably an indicator that your life is rotten, and that you really just need a quick guide to get through this curse we call the teenage years. Well, read carefully, because messing up just once can ***** up your chances with that girl you have a crush on in 2nd period, or your chances of getting voted in as president for student counsel, or simply having any hope of getting a homecoming date. If you are reading this, it likely means you want to fit in…and everyone wants to fit in.  First, you have to be able to recognize the social patterns, manipulation by the media, and, most importantly, you have to be able to know yourself. It starts with the man in the mirror. Staring at that man who barely seems to glance back, and deciding to change him…for them. First, open Facebook. This platform, which you just barely are allowed to be on, has etched its way into your everyday routine. Even before you have the day’s outfit on, check Facebook, twitter, Instagram, whatever you got. Because in the end, this is what counts. This is where people decide if you are an acceptable addition to the mainstream society we have all come to know and love. Anyways, on these platforms are your social rating. Social rating you say? Yep. Whether you like it or not, it exists. It’s called different things based on what social sites you use. It could be labeled “followers”, or “friends”, or whatever it is that they decide to call it. This number is key, and the goal is to watch it go up and up and up, until you are on top of the world, known by everyone you see, and get 4000 likes in the first hour of posting a selfie. But, in order to get that kind of power, it starts with what’s in your closet and your dresser. Those clothes that you spent way too much money to own is what is going to get the girl, start new trends, and set you apart from the crowd. Of course, you want everything to be coordinated, every shirt, every pair of pants, every pair of shoes, EVERYTHING must match. One bad outfit could risk your followers, your friends at school, and your overall popularity in general. Instead of being told you look like a snack, people will look at you like a moldy piece of cheese, and that…well that’s social suicide. The moment you let your guard down about your appearance, even if it’s a zit on the side of your face, or a blackhead that decided to say hello to your friends, you risk your social position that you worked so hard for. Once you’ve picked out another flawless outfit, made sure there’s not one wrinkle in sight, made sure that those shoes you bought are spotless, then, and only then, can you step into society’s playground. If you’re old enough to own a car, make sure it’s clean, just in case you wanna show that girl you like your wheels, and maybe offer her a ride sometime. If you’re not old enough, or maybe just don’t have the funds to meet this accommodation, than ask whoever drives you to school to leave early, just so you can avoid everyone at school seeing the 10 year old family vehicle that’s been the taxi, the fun bus, the vehicle of doom, the everything-that-you-don’t-want-people-to-see kind of car. But of course, if you don’t have a car, but mommy and daddy have been fortunate enough to buy a sports car, than show up during the rush of other kids getting to school and ask your guardian to rev the engine extra loud so people know you arrived. It’ll look great, trust me. Once you’re at school, you’ll want friends that will make a big deal about you to greet you as you step out. Make sure they’re loud, and make sure you’re loud about the crazy crap you may or may not have done last night. In the end, it’s all about how they see you. Do this or lose your status.

Marriage
Supposed to be the best day of our life.
Lovers hand in hand
trust stronger than the land
But then things turn
after a year, things get bad.
They hit you, beat you, and taunt you.
The can say they're sorry
but just wait
when everyone stops watching,
things just go back  to the way they where.
That ring you wear show the pain,
and with every "I love you"
flesh rips open.
Those three words,
which should mean exactly as they say,
become an expectation,
you would't dare not say it back.
Counseling is suggested,
but sorry to tell you,
some people don't change
They like to stick to their ways,
never admit wrong,
No, they never listen to the world's sad song
and blame everyone else for their problems.
How sad it must be
to be wishing for death
rather than to face the humiliation of divorce.
God pins you down saying, "You committed!"
God holds you accountable,
you are expected to stay with the "one"
but the "one" is the one who causes you pain.
The pain
people just don't see
Marriage isn't always bad
See, some marriages really are perfect,
life in the Barbie Dream House,
perfect spouse,
perfect kids,
perfect house
perfect job
perfect everything
But,
this poem is not about them.
This poem is about the marriages where abuse
has become a household term.
This is for the people who hide in closets,
neglect coming home,
and for the people who would rather **** themselves
than give the abuser another thought.
Kids expect mommy and daddy to be perfect,
after all
on Disney Channel they are
Its so sad that America has been led by the violent.
Its sad how we are forced to look at statistics,
1 in 4 women will experience domestic abuse in their life time.
Men are victims of nearly 3 million physical assaults in the USA.
These things exists,
right in our own backyard.
Around the corner,
and down the block.
Its almost like a don't ask, don't tell policy,
Its like,
if you've been hit,
its "get over it"
and
"stop being dramatic"
"It could be worse"
But the thing is,
getting abused is not a good feeling.
It affects your body,
your mind,
and your soul
to the point where being broken is an everyday occurrence.
It isn't always physical.
Words hurt too
being told you are worthless,
dumb,
not enough
those sting too.
They make you hurt.
Abuse is abuse,
it doesn't matter what your excuse is.
It is never okay.
Why would someone start it.
Marriage,
traps you in.
Abuse is and has been the entire problem
But, who knew it would all start,
when you gave your word,
you would stay
"Till death do us part"

Have you ever felt alone?
Surrounded by talking people
But you hear nothing
Only see their lips moving.
Your lips are sealed.
You can’t find words to say
The world just shuts you out.
Somehow, being alone gets to be the new normal.
Surrounded by happiness, but you never felt your own, only imagining what it must feel like to be joyful. You crave those emotions like the sun on your skin after a cold winter day.
And in this world that we live in
Expectations consume us
They change us.
They drag us as we hold on to anything, screaming in terror
Because we are noticing that we are becoming what we said we’d never be.
Trying to be more masculine
Maybe more feminine.
More tough?
As for me,
I told myself from day 1 that I’d always be unique
I’d say to my mom
I’ll never change
I’ll always be me.
But I got older,
And the world got faster.
I heard people say
You gotta be a man.
Become a muscular, strong, independent man.
Because with being a man,
You don’t cry
Tears are for the weak.
It’s a sad thing that us men choke on our own tears,
Because men aren’t supposed to show the ocean on our cheeks.
Its painful to not feel pain.
It’s almost like a blade whispers to our heart every time we try to feel something, as we try to sympathize.
We get tangled up like a squirrel in the trap that was always there waiting for it.
But we’d rather take the scars than whisper the need for help.
I feel so dead when I cannot talk about what I need too.
I feel dead when I cannot cry when I need to cry
Because even I would rather drown in my own tears rather than let them show.
These expectations of what makes a man destroy me. .
Because all they do is create ways for people to tell me what I’m not.
They say I’m just not good enough
Not man enough
Not talented enough
As most of you know,
I make music.
According to some people, I’ve become a meme for that.
Which, in all honesty, I understand.
It isn’t everyday that you see someone doing something they’re passionate about.
And through it all,
No matter how much work I put into it,
There is still people that will hate my work.
Still people that will tell me that I’m not a man for what I do.
There are some who say that my music is a direct product to daddy issues
And maybe you’re right.
But what you don’t see
Is that I’m breaking out of my mold
And becoming me.
Rather than take this hate like a man
I decide to speak against it
And tell you why I really make music.

I perform metalcore because it is me.
Because I want you to hear my emotions
Rage,
Happiness
And every emotion between,
But if you would read the lyrics
You’d know what else I write about.
Some even with happiness.
Through music
I want you to see my tears,
I want you to see my fears
I want you to see that I am human,
Not a man.
That I have desires
That I have hope
That I have pain.
That I inspire to be something big.
I look in the mirror
And I see a failure, sure.
We all see failure in ourselves.
But when I look into my own eyes,
I see someone who has seen a lot
And someone who wants to do a lot
On stage and live.
Sort of like this
But obviously,
This is poetry.
But is poetry a manly thing either?
Stereotypically no, but unfortunately, I try not to abide to stereotypes,
That was sarcasm there.
I am a man
No matter how much I say I wont,
I will still try to match what a man should be.
But what I want you to know,
*Is that you should open your mind before your mouth.

Once you find yourself,
you can free yourself

the moon knows me.
the moon has been there for me through sleepless nights,
after hard days,
and terror nights.
i love the moon.
it tells me that you don't need the sun to see light.
and that is just want i need to believe.
Because i know i'm not good enough.
I am seen as an emo.
A strange.
A queer.
But in the end i still stand with the moon in allegiance to fight the sun.
In the end I rise.
I love the moon.
Her face shines every night.
And even when I can't see her, I know she's there.
The moon sends me lust.
I want her more.
Each day.
Each night.
She frees me.
Every **** night.
I owe her my life.
I owe her my gratitude.
She is my hero.
I love the moon.
She is my best friend.
More as a lover.
She gives me a soft place to rest,
and shed my tears.
She does not dry them away,
but lets them stream.
Because she knows
that's what i need.
I kiss the moon goodnight,
before i shut my eyes,
and dream of a world
fueled by the
moon