This is a letter to everyone who said,
“You can’t.” or “You're not good enough.”
To all the dream-crushers and the life-suckers,
this is to you:

When I was six, I was happy.
The world was my oyster and the other kids were just,
playing around, harmless and innocent.
They didn’t mean anything.

Then I was ten;
starting to realize that those words weren’t jokes and games.
And although the light of hope was still burning, those words,
those blatant lies and stories that you spun purely to mess with my mind-
I was ten.

By twelve, I had gotten good at lying.
“Surely,” I thought,
“one friend doesn’t mean you’re lonely.”
“books are more fun than people anyway!”
“they just don’t have the time, it’s not that they hate you.”
“it’s not that bad, they’ll be back.”
“everything is fine.”
“no friends doesn’t mean you’re lonely.”
“next year will be a clean slate.”

Fourteen.
My mind was filled with Hate and Love and Death.
Love,
for the girl once best friend, now girlfriend.
Hate,
rarely for those who hurt me and exclusively for myself.
I blamed myself for those words they had spoken.
Death.
I was tired of the hate and the pain.
I just wanted to sleep.
To rest.

15
My mind is still plagued by shadows, but the is filled with light once more.
The Hate and Death still haunt like pale unwelcome specters,
but hope and home and love shine them out.
Love,
grown even stronger for the girl who has been there for me for hard day,
who I still sometimes cannot believe I am fortunate enough to call my girlfriend.
Home,
for the new friends with pasts like my own that care and support.
Hope.
Because even though this battle is won, the fight isn’t over.
There’s still going to be days when summoning the will to get out of bed is a victory.
There are still going to be days when people say,
“You can’t.” or “You’re not good enough.”
But that doesn’t mean there won’t be days
when a smile and laughter are true, and not just a mask for the pain.
When there are days I am filled with such happiness that I could

Live.

If there is one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s that
life is a series of hills.
For every up, there might be a down,
but there is always going to be another hill.

So, this is a letter to everyone who said,
“You can’t.” or “You're not good enough.”
To all the dream-crushers and the life-suckers;
this is to you:

This is my story, and its only the beginning.

I linger for the touch of your soft skin
The naked beauty from within
The natural aroma of you
Sends me euphoric to sky's of blue
Heaven you are from where I stand
The hell beneath me I can't withstand
Waiting in day of angelic wings
Take me away from devilish things

This separation is only short lived.
Reunite we will, in another time.
Maybe this life, or the one next.
Different bodies but same souls.
Maybe as lovers. Or as friends.

You've filled me though,
with a lifetime of memories.
To carry me through,
This life onto the next.

We've reached the destination.
Our journey ends right here.
Till we meet again, so long my love!
Sooo long.. My love!

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
    Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
    And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
    So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
    And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
    With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
    Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads
    Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
    And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,
    And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
    A faery's song.

I made a garland for her head,
    And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
    And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
    And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
    I love thee true.

She took me to her elfin grot,
    And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes--
    So kiss'd to sleep.

And there we slumber'd on the moss,
    And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
    On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
    Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
    Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
    With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
    On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here
    Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
    And no birds sing.

Do not shed a tear...be it anyone dear
Because  in this world........
                     there is no value for tears
The world clings on to you in your high
then  the tide ebbs  and all you hear is your own sigh.
Do  not cry in this world even if  you
falter
for in this  materialistic  world, your
         tear is just a drop of salty water.