El mundo es falso, y las sonrisas son falsas.
Todos los días en que vivimos es simplemente pintado,
Nadie lo quiere decir más.
A todos nos causan nuestros propios problemas.
En algún lugar de su inicio, hacia atrás y hacia atrás y hacia atrás-
Una palabra desagradable, un retorcido pensamiento-
Y ahora es el caos.

Si, de alguna manera, yo podría dispersar las sombras del mundo
Y soportar todo el peso para usted, lo haría.
Me harìa llevar todo el sufrimiento del mundo en mis hombros
Para la humanidad. Ahora lo sé eso.
No puedo creer que alguna vez fui tan egoísta
Para derramar una sola lágrima por mí mismo.
Yo podía soportarlo. Yo podría tomar en el mundo
Si eso significa que ninguno de ustedes tenía que sentir que el dolor por más tiempo.

Se amo incondicionalmente.

Most of what I write, no one will ever read.
That's because most of what I write
Is complete and total *******.

I often find myself lost in my own words.
I have to describe everything just right.
The night must be something-
It's gotta be shadowy or lonely or starry,
It can't just be night.

But why not? Why as poets do we let ourselves do this?
We're supposed to be different.
We're supposed to challenge the world we're faced with
From day one. We're supposed to break all the rules.
That's why they made the rules in the first place.

So let go of your descriptions. The night is the night,
Whatever that happens to mean to the reader,
Let it mean just that. My writing is *******
And so is yours. Let the night be the night
And you'll find yourself much better off.
Unless a word is absolutely necessary
And a simpler one will not suffice
Don't use it. Your writing will sour with too much description.

I thought I would have more time than this.
But hey, life is short. Life is short and goes by too fast.
Recently, things have been rough.
The world's been rushing past us and it hasn't been kind.
In the background, memory is playing its bittersweet music.
There are too many times I didn't love you when I could have.
I thought I would have more time than this
To spend with you, to tell you I love you
That's all I ever wanted, you know - to love
And love and love and it didn't matter what anyone thought
Because everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone.
No matter what **** you've been through,
No matter what you've done, you need to be loved.

For everyone out there who's feeling the ache,
Who's spent too many nights alone and awake,
I swear to the stars and I speak the truth
When I say that I will always love you.

My soul is small some days -
A pebble, a seashell, a speck on the horizon -
I don’t know who I am and I don’t know
Where I want to be.

Some days, my soul encloses the universe-
I am the light of a star, a thousand worlds yet unseen,
The eternal sky, the phantasmal deep;
I know who I am, I know where to go.

This uncertainty is bad for me, apparently
I was not designed to doubt, but to have faith
And I do! I have the faith of the mustard seed
That grows into the giant tree.

But for today, my soul remains that mustard seed
Though it has begun to sprout and grow, I am
Still tiny, trembling, afraid that I don’t know
Who I am or where to go.

I believe in a God so great, so indescribable
With love infinitely vaster than my soul
On the days it ‘most could touch the edges of eternity.
I know I will not be here forever, so I’ve got to make it count.
There is no room for fear; there is no time for doubt.

woe to those who live
without passion,
who their whole lives have walked
inside the lines
who live in one, straightforward
black and white world;
who, even in their rejoicing,
wear monotones on their breath;
who have never wandered
and have not found their way;
who have never fought -
they must not have anything worth fighting for.

I climb to the top of the mountain; it takes my breath away.
The pain in my lungs in my throat in my legs, it's all worth it
For that one sunrise or sunset or view or just sky and sky and sky,
Stretching up and up, farther than the eye can see, farther than the soul can reach.
The thorns in my feet from the desert trees are beautiful.
They let me know the sun has not won, there is still something stronger.
A red umbrella on a city street. Architecture, the wonderful kind,
The kind you can smell and taste and touch, endless interlocking triangles,
Windows that reflect and multiply and kaleidoscope the clouds.

Today, however, someone tells me that beauty is something different.
I am supposed to find it in photographs, in one immobile two-dimensional perspective.
Yes, the girl with the ruby lips has perfect proportions and smooth skin.
Yes, the waterfall is tall and the spray makes a thousand rainbows.
Yes, the black lines on the white page contrast perfectly, dramatically.
Beauty is a three-dimensional thing, an experience.
I am supposed to find it in photographs?

I love your laugh because it is imperfect;
Because your skin is freckled, your body less than impressive,
Your face disproportionately skewed when you smile,
Because you exist outside and beyond three dimensions,
You are beautiful.
So many things can be erased in photographs, like context
And subtext and imperfections. To take a photograph and make it perfect
Is to lie. I don't want to lie to you. I don't want you to lie to me.
Stop living life through a camera lens. Take off your rose-colored glasses and just see.

In my house
It smells like burning nachos
Like pico de gallo left to rot
And beans too long on the stove.

I stand in the doorway
Keys in one hand, doorknob in the other.
It's snowing outside, and I'd forgotten
That I'd asked you over that afternoon,
Just to talk.
Maybe watch TV.

For three and a half years now, we've been best friends.
But there was a different time,
When we didn't talk to each other,
When we let teenage angst and hatred seethe
Between us like some dark and twisted monster.

There are different kinds of anger.
I was mad at you because in the summer
Between seventh and eighth grade, you flaked on me
For those other girls, the ones who wore bikinis
And whose dads had speedboats and sports cars,
Whose boyfriends were in high school,
Who wore black eyeliner and gossiped all the time.
I was mad because you changed yourself for them.
I thought that that was why you were avoiding me.

Today you told me
You were mad at me
Because we liked the same boy.
You said you thought I resented you for it.

I laughed.
This is why we have these talks -
So that, looking back on our junior high selves,
We can make fun of what idiots we are.