I will not be another rose
picked for my beauty
Then left to die.

No i will be a spectacular wildflower,
The kind you would never bring to a wedding,
Difficult to find,
impossible to forget.

Or i will set myself on fire,
And burn,
And pray to become  ash,
The kind that float
like fresh snow
So that i can join the soil,
And other wildflowers can
grow through me.
The ones no one will pick
Or put in a vase.
So that you could not display them at my funeral

When Adam ate the forbidden fruit what did it taste like?  
All the good things life has to offer?
All the bad?
Did it taste like sunbeams?
Like a childs rithmic gigles?
Like The sick, upside-down, im-going-to-***-myself rolicoster feeling?
Like tight hugs?
Did it taste as good as fields of flowers feel?
Like rain?
Like farness?
Like the saltyness of sweat-or tears?
Like silence?
Like long open nights?
Like unanswered texts?
Like lunches alone?
Like the sting of liquor?  
Like raisors
Or did it taste like blood?

There are nights just like tonight were i can't  read, or draw, or sleep, or even breath. I cant do anything and i feel like I'm going to die. I try to do  anything to go to sleep but it's no use because  i physically cant do it. But then on those nights without fault there well be bright stars, cool air, and this amazing feeling of openness.
Once when i couldn't take that feeling anymore i looked out the window and saw the front yard.; the street lights were reflecting  the wet lawn. I walked out and you asked me why, i told you because  its beautiful, and you didn't understand  so you followed me out and as i layed down in the street you asked me what was so beautiful because  again you didn't understand and i told you that it was the dizzy feeling you get when you stare at endlessnes. But you didn't hear me because  you were telling me to get to bed. When i got up i saw you looking at the ground while walking back. Kicking a rock.
Maybe in a world with so much saddness it it better not to ask questions,
Maybe it is better not to look up.

My life is not my own, I gave that to God.

My thoughts are not my own, I took them from people i admire.

My looks, good or bad, are not my own, society owns them.

My happyness is not my own, it belong to the person who caused it.

My talents are not my own, they are from the people that spent hours teaching them to me.


It seems in a world obsesed over power through possession, i am left with being my own queen over my own suffering, because in the end no one will take credit for what really matters.

You knocked quietly, yelled loudly. Sometimes I can't tell the difference. You come in with fangs out ready to pounce. Little do you ever come for a plesent conversation. But Usually just to mark my walls with your claws again. Your voice is growling and your laugh is a long snarl, one that I can not unhear. The roof shakes at the vibrations of your foot steps. Thump, clatter. Thump, shake. Thump whimper. You circle me with your words, like pray, making me trip and stumble. That is how you win, isn't in? Make your opponent smaller then you feel inside?  
You're a slob , you say.
Good for nothing, you yell.
Why are you always alone? You ask.
Why ask when you know? Why make the memory of your words and the feeling of your fists brighter and deeper in my mind? Oh that's write this isn't pleasant talk. You are here to win. To mark me with a stamp saying that I am nothing.
But as I stood up surrounded by nothingness and darkness, I had to remind myself that i am a human. Flesh and bone. A real person. One with a destiny, thoughts and feelings. Not one less important then the other.
I am not little red riding hood who hid under hoods while being consumed by ugly things disguised as familiar.
I am not Bell who did something she swore she would never do; she settled for someone she did not love.
I am the lady of the lake.
I am the tree that fell in the forest and dared to make a noise.
I well not be locked in towers by men afraid of fire.
I well not stay away from the sea and sun and fly in the same air I have always breathed.
I am more, and I am bigger on the inside then you feel on the outside

Ever sense i was a spark in her womb you've been faning the flames.
You've held me tight between you both, carful that i don't blow out
You've given me the nutrients i needed to bun high
But then when i grow one way you fanned me the other way.
Away from things you see as wrong,
Unfit.
Rude.
A waist of time.
While holding me tight you somwere along the way frogot to let go.
Do you not understand i can not grow under this pressure?
do u not see me being smuthered?
So now it is to late.
I am dying.
While my light is bright it is small and will not last.
You Can not go back and fan any spark into me now.
Now i pray for death.
That cold darkness.
Then you will let go.
Then you will forget my glow.
I would pray to be ash.
The kind that looks like ***** snow,
Floting.
So that i can join the soil, right under your feet.
So that wildflowers could grow through me.
The ones no one will pick
Or put in a vase.
So that you could not display them at my funeral

He wasn't strong compared to the Others,
He wasn't beautiful like the models she dreams of at night,
He studered every time he ordered lunch,
He never got his work in on time,
And he was rude,

But what caught her attention was when he ran back into the building,
past the fire fighters that were to scared to go back in.
She notice when he didn't look back.
She noticed the way he was unable stop himself,
She stayed silent slowly following love with his courage.

The truth was that while he ran into the flames he could only think of her face.
When he found the child, her thankful smile reminded him of her.
And when the roof fell in on him it sounded just like his heart did every time she never noticed him.