Buy the cheapest train ticket to a town you’ve never heard of.
Get off at the fourth stop and go to the nearest bar.
Flirt with the unattainable and fight the unbeatable.
Once you’re kicked out, head to the nearest gas station.
Stock up on Skittles, Starbucks frappuccino, powdered donuts and sour gummy worms.
Talk to the guy behind the register about how much you love your friends, tolerate your mom but definitely not about how much you hate yourself.
On your way out buy a cheap Polaroid camera and head to the local park.
Ask people to take pictures of you in front of the fountain, weird trees, sitting on benches or laying in the grass.
Look through the photos and smile, because this is you at your finest.
Go to the movies and throw popcorn at every love scene.
Visit a cathedral, sit in the last pew and just look up.
I can guarantee the most breathtaking paintings will be up there, so drink it all in.
Mail yourself a letter back home about all the little things that make you happy.
Call your first love from a payphone and pour your heart out, even if it goes to voicemail.
Go to a playground and swing until your feet touch the sky.
Buy a homeless man a Happy Meal and listen to his life story.
Invite the girl you met at the bar to a picnic under the stars.
Ask her about forgotten dreams and do not go home with her.
Visit the local library and write uplifting lyrics on Post-It Notes and stick them in your favorite books.
Go find a lake or a river, a creek or whatever and look at your reflection.
This is you, beautiful, talented, confident, one-of-a-kind you.
Do as you please now.
Swim, cry, or skip rocks.
Then go home and forget everything you did, but remember everything you felt.

He lived a rock and roll lifestyle
with one foot in the grave,
a true American boy from the land
of Levi’s jeans and apple pie
until he became a wounded veteran
sitting at the bar yearning for the bombs to flash,
the guns to sound and the music of the mountains
to drown out the pounding in his ears.
The glass bottle would collect his tears,
trading its liquid love for his aching soul,
and the bar could erupt into a fight or explode,
taking every shrapnel of him with it,
but all he would see in his glassy red eyes
is the image of a wailing baby of whom
he never saw take her first breath
but knew would see his dying one.

I once had a friend who had a simple dream:
She wanted to be as beautiful as the girl in the magazine.

So she shattered every mirror, threw every plate,
until she became as empty as the food she never ate.

She grew deaf and blind to all she didn’t want to know,
how her beautiful soul had lost its radiant glow.

I would wrap my arms around her and just couldn’t take
how with such little pressure, her fragile bones could break.

I once had a friend who had a simple dream:
to rid herself of the nightmares of girls in magazines.

I confess that I curse the sunlight
because the rays of the moon warm me
more than the sun ever could.
I dream of dancing with skeletons,
and sinking to the bottom of the Dead Sea.
I want to streak naked and
sing from the mountaintops
because the Earth down below
will never be enough.
I need to run to a place where
the sidewalk begins and I can end.
I will destroy all clocks so time is but a myth,
and I will plant seeds of hope so my dreams can grow.

My home is a pretty little country girl
with absolutely no fears in the world.
Home is how she plays the harp softly at night,
her angelic fingers nimbly moving in the moonlight.
You know how ballerinas have poised vulnerability,
well that is how she always acts around me.
Home is her tight embrace and radiant face,
and my darling was born to compromise,
but I don’t want that, doesn’t she realize?
I want her spirit flowing through my veins,
and her charm to capture my soul in chains.
I want my voice to echo off her stone walls
as I find her beauty in the crumbling downfall.
Home is how my pen will never run out of praise
for the girl who chased all my demons away.
Home is the roses blooming from her fingertips,
as breathtaking as the dress that matches her lips.
Although cool to the touch, she is a fire,
glowing in the darkest corners of desire.
My home is a pretty little country girl
with nothing but love for me in this world.