is it wrong of me to crave love after being *****? i long for affection in an indescribable way, yet i am petrified of the male species. i know for a fact that i am not lesbian if that is an assumption to conclude, but i want to feel love; romantic love. something to get excited for. something to hold onto when finishing these last two years of high school, but i have no trust nor hope in putting myself in a high school relationship. so why do i crave for one so deeply?
there is a deep hole within me; a fierce wound that i am at a complete loss when it comes to figuring out how to heal it, because i know that it has to be on my own.
maybe god’s love is the answer. i don’t know how to find any compassion from him with all of my constant negative virtues. i feel betrayed. my life now consists of a waiting game to have some flint of hope drop from the universe and splash me in the face like an abrupt rain storm. the kind of storm that is evidently present and aggressive (my pain), yet the sun is still prominently visible (hope). because we all know the contrast of the opposites results in a rainbow, as basic as this sounds, at least it ends it a simplistic answer.
i guess thats another one of my cravings. a simplistic answer. and i cant find that solution within myself so i search for it in others; i am so completely and utterly drained. i no longer want to even search for this hope because i have no energy left in me to do so.
the only simple answer i have been able to find within me is suicide. its my choice. my final decision. and on MY time. not anyone else’s.

you act as if 6 months ago you weren't in the same exact position as i am now. feet planted firmly on your side. irritated with the frustration that i have picked the wrong one. "it wont last"..."its an immature relationship"... well then why are you the hypocrite picking cards of jokers from your deck because this girl is a ******* joke. you wonder why i cant be just friends with you and that's because i will not settle for just a fraction of you. i want all of you. all of it.

to me,
inspiration represents
the brightest illumination,
that shows
brighter than
the dark hue
it is surrounded by.
its shine
overcomes anything
that attempts
to dim their light.

This is what i strive to become.
when people ask me
what i want to be
in my future
my answer will be:

“an inspiration”

and in my Future,
when old classmates
teachers,
mentors,
friends,
etc...
come up to me
and ask
what my occupation is,
i pray that i will respond with:

“inspiring others”.

what if
we all altered our dreams.

what if
we turned our
“i hope”s
into
“i pray”s
?
what if
we all had faith?
or we pretended that we did

they say
“fake it till you make it”
but

what if
we all believed
or pretended to believe
that God is real
and scripture is true
when it tells us that “God is always with you” ?

because this IS  the truth
wherher you believe it or not,
i challenge you to at least
pretend
that it is.
because this is the only
“lie”
you can tell yourself,
the only dream
you can hope for
& the only prayer
you can confess to
that will show you clarity
answers
justification
righteousness
in the purest of forms.

isnt that what we all want?
isn’t that what we’re all
searching for?
what we hope to find in our hidden
chest of treasures?

so
what if
we changed our
“i hope”s
into
“i pray”s?

what do you have to lose;
searching for God
because what i do know
that is true,
is He never leaves you
He is always there.

You just need to change your
hopes
into prayers.

at this point, i have surrendered my ground. my once firm foundation has disintegrated and found new soil. the new roots inside of me sprouted rather quickly and are now embedded so deep in me.
i have become anxiety's *****.
anxiety owns me. it has locked on my new collar with a tag labeled with my new identity. this collar chokes me of my words;no longer capable of speaking for myself, as for my owner, anxiety, grips my leash and controls my path. no freedom to be endeavored. to sniff something new, to attempt to expose myself to new territory, my owner yanks me back prohibiting me to any assortment of semi positive exposure. i am only allowed to **** and **** on this earth, followed by my owner picking up my mess. anxiety never forgets to remind me of the **** he picks up after me. a guilty moment is never just a passing breeze, its a constant wind directly in my face.
i am anxiety's ***** and he loves taking me on walks; it is my leisure time. some longer than others. but every walk has to come to an end, but i know that it is never the end. anxiety takes care of me, believe it or not. he picks up my ****, then feeds me so i am capable of taking another one sooner or later. its a routine. a sick, mind numbing game.

the most enduring sensation;
of a buzz
that i endured
is the passion
and inspiration
i am consumed with
when widely condemed
by the flowers
blossimging
from my every being.
my heart
my mind
my soul
my lips
my scars
my tears...
all through the flowering ink
of my pen
to paper.
it escapes from my
internal being
in a twisted smoke;
it curls around the atmosphere
my physical body
is sustained in,
while my presence is found;
floating in the
current of waves
my words ride
as they leak upon these pages.

i turn my hand writing
into art.
because that is what i desire
my mind to entail.

my sentences
are symbolic
to God’s craft of nature,
because he designed
our world
to personify
beauty.
thus,
our species is to be
mesmerized
& admire
this broken allure.
seek MY MIND
to represent this
enchantment.

i write for the demands
in my mind.
they dance on the pages
as my pen meets paper.
they replenish from my tears that drip from my face
& onto the paper.
the deterioration
of my penmanship
fuels their anguish.
their music gets louder
i can feel it
as my head pulses
to the beat of their war drum
my writing is synchronized
to their tune
which causes my body to
ache and shiver
they create on my brain
that has left scars
my demands are relentless
their music still roaring.
i take a final breath
before i close my notebook
and by the click of my pen
silence is redeemed
and their music has
dissolved.

write for the demands
in my mind.
they dance on the pages
as my pen meets paper.
they replenish from my tears that drip from my face
& onto the paper.
the deterioration
of my penmanship
fuels their anguish.
their music gets louder
i can feel it
as my head pulses
to the beat of their war drum
my writing is synchronized
to their tune
which causes my body to
ache and shiver
they create on my brain
that has left scars
my demands are relentless
their music still roaring.
i take a final breath
before i close my notebook
and by the click of my pen
silence is redeemed
and their music has
dissolved.