"Unfortunately, in reality, it doesn't really matter how you feel on the inside; it's what you project outwardly that has meaning. No one can look inside you. They cannot see or hear what you do not divulge. You are entirely in control of the way people perceive you.

Speaking and giving off of yourself is the most powerful mechanism you have in your hands. You can get the things you want and control your life simply by adjusting what's on the edifice.

You can be a ****** up wreck on the inside, but as long as you do not let this out, as long as it is not perceivable in your character, no one can know.  

In fact, to the contrary, you can, despite these feelings, build an image of confidence and power. This is what others come to know, and this becomes the shared reality."

When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.

Talking without thought is not talking at all,
And we'd rather keep silent than divulge our darkest secrets.
The darkest words are written on our hearts,
And the lost thoughts are the brightest among the stars.

Soft music playing over dark surroundings,
The scars we bear are proof we're we've strayed.
Like a butterfly in the rain,
We dodge the words that bring us pain.

Will we see another day?
                                                           ­                      Will we see another day?


And we thought we've cried an ocean,
But we've only gone lake deep.
Before, we knew where we started,
Now we don't know how far we've lost.
A step behind, but stepping in time,
We fall short to find the world catches up with us.

The moon guides the waves,
Which washes the words written in the sand away.

Will we find another way?
                                                           ­                   Will we find another way?

We start to find that we thought we were swimming across an ocean,
But it's not nearly that far.

This isn't me anymore.
These limbs, this body, all broken, all useless,
know not of my life nor how I live.
These lungs don't know my breath or the way it sounds to lose it.
I don't want to be reduced to this waste of blood and dust.
The scars across my hips exist to prove myself separate,
If the body bleeds it cannot possibly be mine.

I am goddess, I am infinite,
I exist in the sound of fireworks shooting off long past the 4th of July,
Loud, wild, and constant.
The 4th star from the moon is where my soul lives,
especially on the days that I cannot bear to see this planet's sin.
They forget that I don't belong here.

My teeth are made of sparklers and the fire I speak when angry makes you think me beautiful the way I crackle and glow.
I am cracking, and the dull color of my own demise is stealing the beauty from my skin.
The way they speak to me, like I am eggshell, so white; too pure for this life, leads me to believe that I cannot stay here.

I am fragile and strong all at once; nobody knows which side of me to rely on for fear of being the reason I crumble.
I am crumbling.
I fear that there is no cookie-sweet deliciousness to distract from this decay, yet no one seems to notice me.

I am as trapped as I am free.
Earth the place I can no longer be.
This nonexistent existence is my skeleton key.
Death my locked-door opportunity.