Its been a while,
since i finally accepted
the end.
But my heart still aches,
everytime i think
of how we ended.

And if i could go back,
I wish i could tell you:
I stayed for so long not ,
not because i was weak.
But because i believed
in the good person in you.

I left, not because you
stopped wanting me,
but because i no longer
loved myself by loving you.

I'm scared of the tears

that I don't cry

The days like this

that I don't die

I'm scared of the pain

that slips my mind

It comes back harder

than what I left behind

©

Songs don't write themselves.
Food doesn't grow itself.
Paintings don't paint themselves.
Music doesn't play itself.

It all comes from us.
Humans.

We are capable of so many things.
We can laugh and cry.
We can dance and fall.
We can do so many amazing things, yet we choose to worry.

We choose to be negative.
We choose to see the bad over the good.
We choose to prioritize our appearances.

What happened to living our lives?
Doing what we wanted.
Eating ice cream with friends
Going to the lake.
Building snowmen with our families.
What happened?

When did we start sitting at desks for hours a day?
When did we start checking on our phones more than on our mothers or fathers?
When did we lose our ability to perceive happiness as an emotion and not the amount of money in our pockets or makeup in out bathrooms?

It's time to be spontaneous.
It's time to be strong and brave.
It's time to sing songs in public.
It's time to buy a dozen balloons for the people we love.
It's time to eat cake when we want regardless of calories.
It's time to take that painted smile off our faces and replace it with a real one.
It's time to be happy again.

We are amazing creatures.
We are human.

you keep on saying
you'll get back
to the way things were
when i'm finally done with you

and even though
i still want nothing but to take those
midnight phone calls that lasted til
the early morning hours back

i finally,

finally

can
let you go
now

because i know
that this time
it's better than
holding onto something
that would only end up
*       r                         i  
b                a       k            
           e                                 g
                                     n*  
                                      

and

f
   a
      l
         l
      i
  n
        g
in the end

i've drained out
all the hope
that was left

*when you
left

When the moon is full
A shiny silver disc
I'd steal it and roll it along
Like a hoop with a stick
All the way to your door
And give it you as a gift

Then I'd reach up to the sky
And grab the brightest stars
I'd gather them together
And place them in a jar
So you could let them loose
When the night is dark

And when the weather's bad
And the sky is dark with rain
I'd fill my lungs with air
And blow those clouds away
Then I'd push the sun over you
So you'd come out to play

I'd knock on your front door
And greet you with grace and style
Then I'd sing and dance foolishly
Just to make you smile
In fact, I would do anything
To make you happy for a while

                                                By Phil Roberts

Every storm has an eye
But this certain storm
is in her eyes
Dark clouds fogged up her vision
a rain of tears flooded the lid
a sudden streak of light—
the lightning, perhaps,
flaunted; illuminating the abyss within
and there emerged her piercing scream
weaving through the gorging dusk—
which is a thunder of her own

And she spread her arms
as the night breeze kissed her face
she jumped; she fly
only to realize that
she's not an angel
nor a bird
nor a butterfly
and so she fell
yet amidst the free fall,
she unraveled her tangled knots
from there, she lost her pain
but she fell on the ground
like a fine drop of rain.

And the storm has ended.

The heart wanders at night
searching, searching, searching,
for what remains
or for what has been romanticized,
but was never really there to begin with.

Combing through the debris of failure
with such regularity
that it resonates like an owls talons on cement-
- down a dark hallway.

Yet sometimes in the starlight
the heart finds something that makes everything
brand new once more.

I couldn't decide if the light attached to her
or if she swallowed it whole,
or was engulfed by it,
but there it was, in her hair -
diaphanous strands living in the ether
a little closer to the Gods than I was.

She burned extravagantly in those soft hues,
pining for the garish light of day.

The light plays tricks on you sometimes,
and the heart finds its way out of the woods
remembering sailors tales and old
Aristophanes.