The darkest night eclipses the brightest stars
Eons in solitude
Addled by a sky steeped in navy
Ships with no direction
The soul drowns
Sinking deeper by the hour, by the minute, by each passing second
As it is engulfed in the tar of a languid existence,
There is a vision in spirit awash in a burst of light
Luna bathes all who see her, who trust her
As the darkest soul, full of dreams undreamt
Is blinded by light's quintessence
Yet, at once able to see the truth that is now exposed
And with eyes wide open, naught but a glimpse was caught
A glimpse of an angel

I can’t

I accidentally injured myself

I fractured my motivation

At 18 you are not who your parents perceive you to be
At 18 the mistakes you make are yours alone
At 18 you learn life's lessons can be brutal
At 18 you think a broken heart is a mortal wound
At 18 you don't know who you are
At 18 you have dreams

At 18 the world is yours
At 18 you CAN do anything
At 18 you can be who you want to be
At 18 you can make your own choices
At 18 setbacks do not defeat you
At 18 you are free

At 18 there is always time

Floating
Hoping to catch an eye
Even the eye of a storm
Waiting
For someone else to do
Wishing
To be noticed
Not wanting to be judged
Longing
To have some course of action
Non-action is an action of choice
Looking
For someone else to see
To see importance in what has been left
Floating in mid air

they say a watched *** never boils
but my mind certainly does
and i watch it all the time
it's never out of my sight
yet it's constantly spilling its contents
in a roiled turmoil
all over my consciousness

the result is a reduction
of my state of mind
of my perspective
either a concentrated awareness
or a flavorless sludge of grey matter
it all depends on the heat applied
it all depends on evaporation

a proper chef would be attentive
a saucier of good stock
choosing quality ingredients
maintaining a simmer
avoiding a seethe
controlling condensation
distilling even pabulum to perfection

on the crowded quai of inception
   gilded minutes ornately revolve
time is measured in tranches of soul
   transporting moments of his essence

never versed in the outside world
   an innocent daughter of imagination
boarding a train of transfixed reverie
   her departure held fast in sistine release

such a private exhibition on public display
   their affection left open to interpretation
a tearfully expressive and inspired farewell
   within a shrine devoted to the art of the muse

Five years ago
I knew an 8th grader
who felt ashamed for who he was
who felt constantly out of place
who tossed and turned at night
     with deep enough despairs
     with ideas of throwing it all away
     with plans for those actions
     with no dreams, and only one long nightmare

Three years ago
I knew a sophomore
who finally just started to accept it
who reached out and tried
who thought everyone felt the same
     with only blank stares for replies
     with only confused "friends"
     with no family backing
     with no true "inner circle"

Last year
I knew a senior
who carried the burden alone
who perfected his mask
who finally learned how to hide
     with perceived success
     with sarcasm and quick jokes
     with pushing everyone away
     with justified fear of opening up

This year
I know a college freshmen
who is struggling for acceptance of himself
who brags of the physical scars
who is afraid to reveal the deeper ones
     with walls as big as he could muster
     with iron bars to conceal what is beneath
     with pandora's box within
     with that same scared kid locked inside.