There are people who cut themselves,
Some of these people are the most sane people I know.

There are people who burn themselves,
They have some of the brightest personality's I have seen.

Some of these people you may tell,
Go **** yourself.
It's all for attention.
Or maybe even,
Cut a little deeper, it's not like anyone cares.

But what you don't see is,
They are all ready battling a pain inside,
It's not something they can just up and hide.

It's almost as if there are demons inside,
Telling them the lies,
That there eyes are to far apart or,
Their thighs are twice their size.

These people were once happy,
They were once beautiful in there own eyes.

But now they have broken,
It's almost like their souls are shattered window panes.

But you don't understand is all they seem to feel is pain.

Pain is becoming like their middle name.

It's all they feel,
All they breath.

It's almost like every breathe they take,
It's almost like breathing acid.

But just remember some of them are,
The most sane.

A poet is the cracked spine of your favorite novel. As you begin to peer inside, words fly out from every direction. Sentences you can't make out and phrases you can't even begin to recognize. His mind is a dusty dictionary of all sorts.

A poet resembles the tide that rises and falls just as your heartbeat does with every syllable he breathes out. Corals scrape your legs and fish nip at your feet yet you linger in the water.

A poet is a pastel picture frame. Amazing how 4 corners can freeze the sparkles in your eyes and the grin on your lips. Feelings do not last forever so we tend to keep anger, sadness, joy & love sealed in glass, sitting on our night stand.

His mind is a factory.
Gears & wheels working late night shifts, making sure all periods and commas are in place.

You see
Poets are
Tear jerkers
Risk takers
Shape shifters
and
Heart breakers

What is genuine happiness and how do I obtain it? I am in dire need of self peace. I want to put my mind at ease without substance abuse. I am tired of being a slave to my habits.

You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hand,
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you.

I who have seen you amid the primal things
Was angry when they spoke your name
IN ordinary places.
I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,
And that the world should dry as a dead leaf,
Or as a dandelion see-pod and be swept away,
So that I might find you again,
Alone.

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

A young woman closing in on independence
Like it is a dreadful thing
Other young women
Excited, mesmerized, elated by the sense of freedom
She can taste the separation like food

Sadness permeates the flesh of youth
Spreads into the arteries of life
Almost a feeling of suffocation ensues
Others happiness caresses the flesh
Spreads into the arteries singing with fire
Unable to contain the elation!

Clouds form all around as separation is coming
A time of exploration and inhibitions weigh heavily
Loneliness, isolation, and unbearable anxiety overwhelm the brain
Happiness, exaltment, and a sense of power explode inside the other

The girl enjoyed life so much until now
Parents are much older than most
Fear encases the once boisterous heart
Everywhere talk of blossoming, answering to no one
Boundaries erased, getting older, wiser, excites

Dark thoughts of being alone fill her with anguish
Parents dying before she begins to live plays on her psyche
Children not knowing their grandparents, No! Turn back time
Please she cries!
The other cares not of these things only to get out
Into the world of money, jobs, romance, parties
Parents being a chore now just having to appease them
Loving them but finally FREEDOM!!!

One leaves home feeling weight of life crushing dreams
The other so happy to get away from meddling, curfews, and eager to carve her own mark.

Which will live the better life?
Who will be happy?
Free?
Love and be loved?
Will despair turn to death or endless fulfillment?
Will elation turn to destruction and loneliness?

Do you know which is a young woman you know?

Written by:  Jennifer Humphrey  10/12/2014 copyright 2014

I close my eyes.
There is a home inside here somewhere.
I remember.
It sinks slightly to the left.
My knees are covered in mud.
The trees have pushed into the living room,
sunflowers are rotting out the woodwork.
I have grown awkwardly into the floorboards.
They remind me that is okay.
I forget.
It keeps me full,
all this emptiness.
The windows are all open.
The hinges let go of every door.
I learn.
Trace the outline of each frame,
hear the echo of hollow footsteps:
"Love more,
love more,
love more."
I have never been here before.
This is what it must be like;
beginning.