during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

what is life?
are we actually all living?
we all have this planned life we want to have;
finish school,
have a good job,
get married,
have kids,
grow old,
then die.
Its a routine,
designed for us to live
a "happy life"
how many of us are actually happy
how many people can truthfully say
"I'm happy and I love my life."
not many, I'm sure.
We all say to make the best of things
to live in the present.
you only live once,
take risks and never regret anything you do.
But some people, are just tired
tired of taking risks and it ending badly
having to regret things they have done,
since it changed them drastically.
I say that we should try to live life as much as we can,
we could die any moment,
and as much of us are sad a lot, or say
"I wanna die."
Only some truly mean it.
This isn't living,
its surviving.
-te

you are
outstanding and
unique, a work of

art. You are as
radiant as the sun, your beauty is
enchanting, and you are

lovelier than any
orchid or lily or tulip or rose or
violet, and
even though you might not see yourself as such, you are a
d**iamond, you are beautiful, and you are loved.

Abraham Lincoln,
His hand and pen:
He will be good but
God knows When.

I may not be

I may not be the fastest
I may not be the tallest
     Or the strongest

I may not be the best
Or the brightest

    But one thing I can do better
     Than anyone else...

      That is

        To be me

A silence with you
Is not
a silence

But a moment rich
with peace

If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!