And on the days like this 
I think about the moon 
and if she's ever felt amiss
Maybe she's been here, too
Has she ever been oblivious
to her bright nights of full
until the waning turns her listless
and destroys her uncommon mood

Little girl wanders through the woods -
lost, shrunken, and barefoot
She leaves small holes in her wake,
Hansel and Gretel-ing a path of lost and unfound 

Little girl is searching for something
she buried and abandoned long ago
A pirate searching for hidden treasure
with no map and waning hope

Her heart
She knows it must be here
The one in her chest is wrong
It's too cold
and beats to a tune she's never heard
It reminds her of ravens
and their slow, melancholy flight
Far too unlike the sparrow's flutter
she was once so familiar with

Little girl has become frightened;
convinced this new heart will **** her
The honey in her veins has been replaced
with arsenic and vinegar and spite

Little girl needs her sparrow heart back,
feeling like a different person without it
She has no love or passion now
and mistrusts any kindness in others

Like an abused dog
The helping hand that cares
is a curled fist waiting to happen
and though she knows the saying,
she cannot help but to bite
Anyone who comes too close says,
"She's a good girl, but be careful
That one comes with a sharp wit
and a sharper bite"

Little girl grows more tired every day
She can't take much more of this;
of the endless search for something
that's too far gone to return

Little girl stands at the edge of the woods,
having admitted to herself a hard truth
She'll never get her old heart back, 
but this new one has potential if she let's it grow

On the edge,
with darkness behind and light ahead,
she's split on what to do
She looks ahead and knows
all she needs is water and sunlight
to help this new self bloom
She looks behind and knows
all she wants is a little more time
to remember who she was before
Moving forward is painful, but right
Going back is useless, but safe
Old heart or new?
All she needs to do is choose

My heart is full of ghosts of people not yet dead,
loves I never had,
and places I'll never stop calling home.
My heart is the ghost,
walking the same path, day in and day out,
passing through the walls I have long since put up around myself.
My heart calls to me, late at night,
like an abandoned dog tied to a tree,
and begging for home.
It says to me, "I am not a peach pit!
I could still love if you'd let me!"
My heart is naive, so I force-feed it sour memories,
water it in an ocean of tears I've saved
from letting people in and watching them walk away.
I watch, with bittersweet satisfaction, 
as my hound dog heart remembers the pain we've endured;
the way it crumples in on itself in agony.
I say to it, "No, you are not a peach pit, but
neither of us are strong enough to let you be anything less."

Plagiarism is the seventh deadly sin of writing
Not only does it hurt the owner, but it also hurts you in time
Why do you need another's words to be noticed and set apart?
Those little red hearts aren't worth **** if it's not your art

Don't you feel incomplete?
Isn't it bitter without the sweet?
Can you not use your own voice?
Do you not feel guilt or remorse?
Don't you have things to say?
Or is likes all you seek in this day?
If that's true,
then I've got news
This won't make you happy
Happy comes from within
(or with some therapy)

But you will not find accolades
in claiming words you didn't say!
If writing is a passion you wish to pursue,
then, by all means, continue
With some practice, you might just be
as good as you lie to make us believe

No one talks about how hard it is to leave
Being the one who walks away
can break a heart just as thoroughly as being left
I should know
I have played both parts of this story

I should not have to feel guilty for choosing me
when you chose yourself long before
This was not selfishness
This was self-preservation 
I won't let myself regret learning how to swim

...

Sometimes I regret not drowning with you;
I wonder what it's like sleeping in a bed of seaweed,
but this is a bad train of thought
and I will not go down this path again
I'm still actively picking me

Some might say I should have taught you to swim as well
or pulled you back to safety,
but we both know I tried
I fought like hell trying to pull you out of that self-made current
Maybe I just wasn't strong enough

I don't know what I'm trying to say
I'm sorry?
I'm not sorry?
The effects of our friendship still have me spluttering on the shore,
coughing up saltwater and unspoken apologies

Some days are bad
Some days I don't believe in me
Some days I can't see a happy ending
not in this life
not in this reality
Some days I have to imagine myself
in an alternate world
just to make it through a day in this one

Some days are better
Some days I have faith in me
Some days I can hear laughter miles ahead
this is my life
this is my reality
Some days I do exactly what I should
to create my ideal world
and those days are easier than this one

Some days are easy,
but other days
I'm chasing memories 
of a different me