I spent my days
floating
on warm summer breezes,
fluttering
through winter winds,
circling the sacred trees,
and now,
flying
on tattered wings,
I go West,
to die in the shadows
of the setting sun,
free at last.

Before you dream of me tonight
you must first know,
I lost myself.

When I get close to someone,
I lose them.
Which is why I don’t get attached,
anymore.

I’ve learned not to love,
never attach
not even to myself.
In case I unknowingly decide to leave,
too.

Mother never told me
Every person, every item
Every friendship, all the promised words and pinky promises,
are gone.

Mother never told me
If you try to call the dead,
the phone won’t ring;.
They’re gone, and they’re never coming back.

So I’ve learned not to love,
never attach.
They all seem to leave
anyway.

There are plenty of things mother
never told me about, and
these unfamiliar obstacles seem to
pop out at me,
when I least expect it.
Mother never told me how love isn’t always enough
to keep a relationship.

I’m not sure if I want to grow up any more.
I miss the crazed emotions I often felt as I kid.
When I fell asleep on the couch,
but woke up in my bed.
When I didn’t care about what I was wearing.
When my biggest fear was the dark.

I want to be afraid of the monsters hiding under my bed,
not in my head.
Can I be afraid of bugs and cuts?
Not heartbreak.
Not death.
Not growing up.

What’s the point in being afraid,
when every fear we have,
becomes a part of us.

Always remember to
Not be afraid
anymore, your fears are a part of you;
a part of you
that you’ve yet to discover.

The womb of the mind
births a child of fear

The womb of the mind
births a child of fear

I tend to be very hard
on myself
when it comes to
making mistakes
and picking out
flaws
and old scars
because it’s easier
to self-inflict pain
so it doesn’t hurt
as much
when people
that matter
do it, too.

I wish relationships worked like they did when we were younger.
I like you, you like me,
Let’s be together.
No games, no worries, just love.
Obviously, that love we felt back then wasn’t love love.
It wasn’t the kind people write books and make movies about.
Such a simple story would never sell copies or tickets.
But love is still love, no matter what form it’s in.
So let the movies have heartbreaking tales,
Star-crossed lovers doomed to fail from the moment they met.
I want love like a six-year-old,
Where a boy pulls your hair and says you have cooties.
And your mom wipes your tears,
Saying it’s only because he likes you.
And sure enough, the next day you two are married on the playground.
I want love like sixth grade,
Where your friends all giggle about your crush.
But you like him anyway,
Because he thinks you’re pretty despite the frizzy hair and braces.
So you become a couple,
Holding hands at recess and sitting together at lunch.
After that things become complicated.
People play games,
Saying one thing and doing another.
Love is no longer straightforward.
It becomes a roller coaster ride that you’re not even sure you want to be on anymore.