I can't grieve,
not for things I don't understand
not for things that haven't happened to me.
I can't offer you support or share your grief,
it's not my own and therefore, any emotions I feel or display,
is partially false.

   I don't tell you this to be rude. I tell you because it's the truth.
It's a truth I feel I should expose. Don't ask me to grieve with you,
I cannot.
Don't ask me to feel and understand your pain always,
because I may not be able to.
Don't judge me for not being able to relate,
Sometimes it's just not possible.
In return I won't judge or ask of you anything I cannot do myself.

The truth is…I feel many things, deeply.
I feel pain, sorrow, anger, remorse, regret, happiness and nervousness.
I can feel them all but sometimes there are somethings I shut out.
Grieving, and experiences I myself have no idea how to handle or deal with. I shut them out, because sometimes there isn't room for more.
    Truth, I think of myself as a cup.
I'm always filled to the brim with feelings to deal with.
If there's any room I'll share in yours. But trust me to decide if there's room.
  The truth is I love too deeply, and care too much to feel much else. All I want is someone to understand that silence, repressed emotions, and anger are the only way I know to deal with it. I want someone to understand, I'm not being mean.
I'm surviving.

There's a box, a relatively old and beaten down piece of cardboard.
It's been rained on, ****** on, thrown up in.
This box is weak around the edges, it's barely holding up.
This box is one reality is threatening to crush.
It's the one people put you in,
so that in the next minute they can write you off.

I know this person they want to fit in that worn old box,
it's the same box I fit in.
They're not different.
I tore up my box,
I realized I wanted several things,
and the box, with it's weakening walls and ideals,
wanted to shame me for it.

I stomped and tore up that box,
because it said things I didn't agree with.
It complicated simple delights, like love, pain, hurt, anger and regret.
It hurt my soul and entire being.
When being in the box, is
more harmful than helpful,
crush that **** up.
Lay it flat,
and wall all over it's weak walls.
Feel it compress and bend to your will.
Free yourself of the **** and *****.
It's the only way to live,
Outside the box.

Give me the sorrow, pain, fear, and anger.
Give me the things that people hate and I’ll smooth out the ruffles.
They’ll make me stronger.
They’ll help me love you.

I see a paragon of virtue in the flaws.
Give me the weakness, and I’ll find its use.
I want the castoffs.
I know their value.

I sit,
Cross-legged by the fire.
The box meant to contain imperfections.
I linger over each, loathing, pity, regret, fear,
My fingers curl over each piece.
My mind caresses the memory.

I change them,
I rewrite the weak,
Strengthen the lesser.
Broken pieces can solidify beautifully.

I swallow the pain, and anger,
Completely neutral outside.
I give a cleanliness to the soul,
At the risk of my own.

If you were to ask…
I’d give honesty.
The fractured pieces demand to be heard.
They scream from their container.
They poke and **** but I swallow it down.
If you ask…

It’s beautifully colored glass,
Broken, healed and broken again.
I can break, but I’ll be whole again.
Colors, defects, knowing and using them
that’s what makes me,
Flawless.

I wish I didn't see.
That hollowed tangible emotion emanating from them.
the missing link that we're all feeling.
I wish I could un-see what I've seen.
I want to destroy what I know,
remember, and can't forget.
My mind replays the images.
my whole being drives me towards anger.

I wish I could let it go.

It'll hurt, to forget.
Forgetting feels like an omission of truth.
I'm an all of nothing kind of girl.
all or nothing…
So I won't forget, and I can't forget it.
It hurts, but it's the sweet bearable pain of truth.
It's the cross borne by those with eyes wide open.
My eyes are…..wide…open.
I can't stop seeing, and feeling that hurt, pain, and suffering.

I wish I could pretend it wasn't there better.
I can't
My eyes are too open.
I can't un-see it. I can't get rid of it.
I can't release.
Dear god…If only I could believe in something else.
If only I could believe in the good as much as I know and trust the bad.
I don't.
I won't forget because the bad things are more real and raw. Their truth tangible and cutting to the quick.
and I just have to see it all with eyes wide open.

You can't fix people.
No matter how much you want to.
No matter how hard you try.
People don't want to be fixed.

You can't keep trying.
You can't keep getting in between them.
Listen and don't speak.

You can't fix them.
They have to want to fix themselves.
If they don't, then let them go.
If you can't….then try.
Try to accept that you can't change people.
Try not to hate them for not changing.

I loved thousands of loves once,
I loved the sun,
the sky,
the rain,
the clouds.
I loved my family.
I loved my pets.
    I loved the old couple still in love after fifty years,
    I loved the angry driver on the highway who nearly clipped me.
   I loved the man on the street asking for help.
   I loved everyone and everything,
  Until the world told me it was wrong.
   Until they told me it was improper and not right,
    I had thousands of loves,  
    and lived without one fight.
   The world broke me down,
the people I loved, (Rightly), shot down my love.
Made it smaller and less like an infinite piece of me.
   Everyday I look not for careers, or jobs, or work,
I look for my thousands of loves, and hope one day I'll feel whole again.

Sticks and Stones
break up my bones.
And Words have always hurt me.
Words formed by imperfect lips
spoken by a flawed voice
and given life by a corrupt individual.
Sticks and stones
break and bleed me
right to the bone
and Words are always gonna hurt me.

I was angry once.
Oh, I was…so ******* mad.
I didn't shout all the time.
I didn't stomp my feet and rage.
No, I took that anger, that frustration and
I let it build.
I cooked it, slowly over a fire,
let it boil over until I couldn't take the pain anymore.

   When it came out, it was soiled and *****.
Dark and thick from sitting so long over that fire.
I felt hot all over all the time.
Tense as my fists clenched over and over
I grew harder to manage.
I needed a release. I wanted to scream.
Oh but that wrath, felt safe.
That dark inky mess kept people at bay.

     I was quiet, until I couldn't be anymore.
I let that anger build, and spill out whenever.
I didn't recognize myself.
But I couldn't bring me head up over that boiling liquid.
It needed to evaporate. It needed to disappear.
It took me, a whole year to expel the wrath from my blood.

  It isn't gone. Don't make that mistake.
Most will tell you it has. But it's all lies.
The wrath doesn't leave. The boiling water, didn't just evaporate.
My problems weren't just magically healed.
I'd doused the fire, but the coals still flickered to life.
When the water began to boil again. I took the pain.
I learned to **** the pain inward. To redirect that anger.
My wrath turned against me.
  It didn't go away…..
Instead of hating everyone, and getting angry. I just hated myself.

I heard the rain hit hard against the concrete.
It pounded, while the thunder raged.
The sky was dark, and the stars were visible.
The moon shone brightly,
Yet still the heavens poured out their frustrations.
Yelling and crying, striking their warning with lightening.
I felt the roar reverberate in my chest and looked forlornly at the sky.
Will the storm never ease?

In the park,
under the willow,
birds soar high in the sky,
the lake water runs gently,
the geese all walk along the grass,
around it.

  I remember wishing to sit under it for shelter.
It was beautiful.
I burned for it as if somehow, it was supposed to be mine.
I didn't own it, not really.
It was oddly beautiful despite it's difference from regular trees.
It's branches were limp, it's leaves giving more cover and almost touching the ground.
  It was odd.
I imagined that under the willow,
odd things were possible.
It made me believe in impossible things.
I learned to dream, by just
imaging what was under the willow tree.

I can unravel my secrets
flaunt my inner mystery
still my racing heart
and just let it all be.

I can grow out of my sorrow
shed the old skin of my former self.
taken in my burning rage
and let myself be happy.

I could sow joy and peace,
reflect back only good intentions.
Live life full and without worry.
and be whole.

I could go as far as I wish.
Travel and never be missed.
Happily blending in with the crowd
and be utterly lost in the world's sea
      I can and could be good or bad.
     Do right and wrong.  
     Lose my way
     and then move on.
But,
C'est la vie.

I saw the sun,
Just over the forest trees,
reflected off the murky green lake water.
I saw it's light escaping briefly through the gaps in the branches.
I felt it's heat from a distance burn me up.

The gentle lake water rocked me back and forth.
The heat remained constant.
My heart beat steadied.
I breathed in the fresh air,
inhaling the day.
Eyes closed for a minute and felt the sting of light on my eyelids.
I drank it all in.
Tilting into the cool water for a moment.
The sand beneath my feet strangely soft.

I saw the day as it was, perfect.
Laughter jilted my frame, a smile broke across my face.
It felt easier to breathe that day,
and it was because I saw everything that day.

I'm not skinny.
     I own that.
I'm not outgoing.
       I know that.
I'm not always right.
      I can see that.
I don't always say what I mean.
         I'm sorry.
I apologize for everything. If I could I'd apologize for the world itself.
      Someone has to right?
People always see me differently than how I truly am.
      That's mostly my fault, I don't want you to see my scars, my hideous thoughts or behaviors.

I'm never taken seriously.
   I like being under estimated.
I feel more pain, than I'll ever let anyone see.
    I don't believe in sharing pain. At least not really.
I'm afraid to let people close.
     Who isn't.

I don't always wear pretty clothing.
      I like being comfortable.
I rarely use makeup.
    I don't need it. Truly.

I like the quiet.
     I'm a reader and a writer. I don't say much. But I love listening.
'Fake it till you make it' is and always had been what I live by.
      I usually come out better equipped to handle things by doing that.
I'll probably only ever love one man.
    I'm not picky, I just know what I like, and how I am.
My love is like my loyalty, friendship, and trust, it's binding.
      Break it, and I'll never forget or forgive.
I love truly and fully for as long as I can.
    I wish I could tell someone everything.
             I...

I see the falling of the world around me.
Like rain ashes of what once was
spread charcoal grey across my line of sight.

I try and I try, to find what's right.
As the pieces fall
my feet are rooted to the ground.
It's as if i'm bound.
My body is stiff, my heart is steady.
I watch it all fall
but move not at all.

I wait and pine,
for the world that was once mine.
I watched it all fall apart.
It **** near broke my heart.
Yet there I stood in the middle of chaos and destruction.
Grounded.

We Call it, true love.
It lifts you up.
It blooms  bright crimson on innocent faces,
lightens the complexion of many to a satisfying glow.
It sears into your brain a feeling of safety, comfort, and
covers yours eyes from the glaring reality with secure rose colored
lens.
   True love. It eats away your fears, caution, and reserve.
Tears down the adult and returns you to a state of childlike wonder,
trust and utter devotion. Once you return to that state it's almost impossible to climb back down from that incredibly heightened state.
To regress back to an adult. True love doesn't make you forget reality.
It provides a pleasant distraction from it.
  We'll remember all too well what realities we've face before it, and what we'll return to it after. Like children we wish to hold on to the hope of lasting love, lasting…true..love.
    It sounds bettering saying it slowly. Savoring the words 'true' and 'love' together. The word 'Lasting' being the icing on the cake. Yet, it becomes darker.
   Not everyone is worthy of love, and not everyone needs love or at least thinks they do. We call it, being realistic. Realistic thinking is a true love killer. In our hearts we should harbor a secret wish, one never said allowed but understood. "We want true love," that should be in the breast of every man and woman in the world.
    I wish it were. We are feeling creatures, and that's because we're human. Humanity is all about feelings, experiencing, hurting, burning and yearning. Companionship, friendship, lovers, lusts, affairs, divorce, it's all describing the complexities of one simple word, we call it, Love.

Come with me,
please.
Come.
Into the night,
let it wrap us up.
It will smother us in kisses,
tells us all the wonderful, lies of love, life, and happiness.

Be trapped with me,
please.
Let us embrace the dark,
the right natural world, and live.
Shed you mortal chains,
and come into the illuminating dark.
please.

Escape with me,
please.
Into the far reaches of the shadows,
discover with me, lost vitality, love, and life.
Forsake the light for the dark,
let the judgments and shame be forsaken.

Receive with me,
please.
The kisses of darkness,
the illumination of all that is natural and right in the night.
Realize all that the light has rejected.
breathe the free air of the darkness.
Kiss and embrace new life,
reborn free of shame, regret, and worry.

Share with me,
please.
the immortal dark light.

It use to follow me.
High in the sky,
just far enough so I could see.

I wondered why,
then wished I could fly,
Just so I could ask,
Why is it you follow me?

I'd been driving,
just as the moon came arriving.
it followed me, through various trees and branches.
It followed me home, and wouldn't leave.

As a little girl I'd thought it was only for me.
That the moon was something only I could see.
I shooed it away,
and promised I'd allow it to come back another day.
Still it never went away.
   I began to think of the moon,
as a passenger in my life.
It was always present, and reassuring in times of chaos and strife.
Only natural that I allowed it to become my friend.
My persistent passenger.

I'd forgotten about it now
older and more jaded.
I wonder why I'd forgotten.
Why I could only vaguely remember my simple wishes to fly.

I felt it.
I felt my heart banging against my rib cage.
I felt my knees shake, and my nerves jumping around inside me.
I heard it.
I heard them arguing over whether i should do it.
I needed it.
I needed to jump.
I closed my eyes.
I launched myself off the jagged edge cliff.
For a moment I felt myself fly.
Then I dropped.
I didn't hit when I thought.
I fell and was still falling when I peeked.
My heart was in my throat.
Crack, I land and nothings broken.
The smack of the water against my skin jolts my nervous system.
I breathe. I'm alive.

They tell you when you fall that it's hard to get back up.
They tell you falling is hard.
I thought in that moment falling off that cliff was the easiest thing to do.
To fall is to realize your own flawed humanity.
Falling makes you realize you're alive, imperfect and afraid of things like everyone else.
When I fell…I realized it was something I'd never actually allowed myself to do
When I fell, I realized what it truly meant to fall.

It was like a dream,
only it wasn't.
It was a reality,
all wrapped up in fantasy.
It was a fantastic exploration,
of what if.
It was a fearsome adventure,
only it didn't last.

There was a terrible storm,
then silence.
there were people everywhere,
yet no one felt close to me.
there was a strange frustration, and anger inside me,
yet on the outside I felt as calm as could be.
there were thick strings attached, holding me,
yet I felt too free.

When there should have been happiness,
I was sad.
When joy and fulfillment came,
I was empty and longing.
When God answered my prays,
I wondered why the others were left unanswered.
When I closed my eyes to sleep,
I wondered if the tears would ever stop.
When I breathed,
I wondered if each pull and push of air was worth suffering life.

Then I tried faith,
But it wouldn't stick
Then it was hardwork, and reclusiveness,
it was empty and heartbreaking.
Then I tried reason and logic,
and it broke my spirit.
Then I tried to love myself, but it hurt,
because love always hurts.

I woke up from my dream that wasn't a dream,
from the reality wrapped up in fantasy.
I was slapped with the world,
because it tried to fit in me,
as did all the people
i love.
When i woke i realized,
I couldn't take them, the world, and me.
There was only room for two.
One had to be me.
The other.....
was a tough choice.

I chose the world,
It hurt...