A soft little kiss
That's all it is
And yet it can brighten my day
Or ruin my night

A bright smile
A giggle
Maybe a little red blush
All from that little kiss

A brightened mood
A better day
It makes things different
That soft little kiss

A placebo
Fake, platonic love
That's all it is
That stupid little kiss

A broken heart
A fragile smile
It's so confusing
That little, meaningless kiss

Look at me
Look into my eyes
MY eyes
Look at them
Speak carefully
Speak clearly
Move your mouth
Tell me something true
Unclench your fists
Relax your shoulders
Just don't lie
Don't lie

sadly
it's the broken toys
who were played
to the
core
the broken toys
were overworked
overused
but the toys
did not
know
that they were overused
because they
were loved.

m.g.

Home at last
Dark and dreary
The streets are empty,
and ******.

This is not my home,
cold and careless.
This is lifeless
and lonely.

This place was full of fights
and hatred, just the same.
This is not a place of sanity,
full of pain and suffering.

Different and delusional
I call myself here
I have a hallucination of my friends,
but still my mood boosts.

They aren't how they seem
moody and depressed,
quiet, careful, then gone
What has happened to my home?

No one is here,
just me.
The fighting killed them off,
Just as it seems...

In the hands of authors,
we are characters.
In the hands of illustrators,
we are imperfections to be fixed.
We people

Controlled by rulers,
modeled by peers,
"perfect" behavior by elders
never ourselves
We people

We people
need creativity
need reality
need freedom
need to be ourselves

There is no author
no illustrator
We are real
and free!
We do our will
not theirs
You write your own story

It creeps upon you like a dark, twisted fog
You can’t see through it, others don’t recognize you
You’re suffocating but you tell yourself:
It’s for the best, when all this smoke is cleared,
Everything will be better
So you sit there and wait for the firemen to rescue you
But they never come
The emptiness inside you is pretty
Everything you’ve always wanted to be is pretty
Beauty is on the inside, that’s what you’ve heard
So that’s where you start to destroy yourself
You think you’re making a difference for the onlookers
But really you’re just killing yourself
Hurting the people around you
They don’t think what you’re doing is pretty
Because all they see is the ugly disease
The black smoke starts to fill your lungs
Making it harder to breathe
You try to reach through the haze, but it’s too late
You see blurred outlines of people, muffled sounds of crys
Why don’t you move? Why don’t you tear yourself from the flames?
Because when you’re not good enough, and you’re looking into the mirror
All you want to be is pretty.