Your sadness makes other people uncomfortable,
and so you learn to hide it.
You learn to cope
with humor and ***** and a busy sched.

Your body learns to smile
even when you're crumbling down inside,
to keep walking
even when you wanna fall to the ground in the middle of the road.

You've conditioned yourself to do all this
so well that even when the right people come around
who are willing to take in all your losses
and watch every single tear fall from your eyes,
you don't.

You smile.
You drink.
You keep walking.
But you can only do so for so long... how long

You tell me
You've been doubting
Whether I'm in love with you,
And I'm afraid my answer
Isn't as easy as
"one, two.."

One divided by two
Always equals a half,
Right?
Teachers told us that
"If Sally cuts an orange
In half
She's left
With two equal halves
Of a whole."

But love
Doesn't work
That way-
Comparing love and oranges
Is like comparing
Apples and pears,
if you will.
I bet Sally never tried
To cut a  heart in two?

Another wise teacher
Once told me
That between two people
"One always loves the other more"

But isn't it
odd
How love is never
even?

And the child inside me,
That still sees the good
In the world,
Refuses to believe
That cupid only carries around
Half as many arrows
As there are lovers.

And it's just not fair
That you
Know the value of
x
That I've been trying
to solve
Since my heart
was last broken.
Boy, you could be my answer-
I just haven't figured out the question.

It's all just a numbers game-
messing with my mind-
So for now
I'll just count my blessings
while trying to make things add up:

You see,
You take my love

Add 2000km,
7 months
and a 1000 stories
We'll have to tell each other-

and at the end of the equation,
my love is still the common factor.

"they always leave.
they always leave.
they always leave.
they always leave.
they always leave."

i said to myself over & over again...
so that when you eventually leave, i'm not as hurt.

Sometimes it feels like I’m looking a stranger or maybe even a ghost in my mirror. Dark eyes with no sparkle stare back at me and part of me wonders when I started looking like a corpse. Meals get skipped more often than I actually eat and my body starts feeling like it’s made of glass that people keep breaking while she tries her hardest to put me back together. And when I get sick, because it always happens, it’s like my bones rattle as I shiver and each cough feels like my throat is being torn apart from the inside out and after each fit I try to be surprised that there’s no blood. When I’m asked about medical history I have to tell them I don’t know because I really don’t. I’m so stupidly afraid of getting some preventable but hereditary disease because I never knew it was in my genes. I find myself turning the same words over and over in my head while I lay in bed every night: they didn’t want you and they didn’t love you and it’s your fault. It’s gotten to the point where I believe the lies my anxiety-ridden subconscious tells me. The logical part of me knows the lies aren’t true but how do you console yourself in those lonely hours when you’re alone and no one can hear you cry yourself to sleep? Six nights a week it’s all fitful sleep and when I wake up I’m still so exhausted it takes everything I have just to haul myself out of bed to take the pill that makes it so I can just barely scrape by during school and even then it’s not good enough so I find myself failing and then I realize I just don’t care anymore. There is no in between for me, I can’t just kinda care it’s all or nothing and ninety nine percent of the time it’s nothing so I lose myself in my video games and ignore the screaming in the back of my skull that tells me to get up and do something productive with my life but I just can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to try it’s that I physically cannot make myself care enough to do anything and it’s almost like I can ******* feel my muscles begin to atrophy.

Dreams are meant to be good
Sleeping was better with dreams
But my dream wasn't expected
My father died
I couldn't live without him
He's saved me from killing my self
He's saved me from society
His blood all over me
Dripping with pain
His cries for help
I couldn't bare this anymore
Woke up crying
Asking for help
Yelled for my dad
He ran and told me
"I'm here baby, I'm here."

We can conceal a broken heart,
demoralized faith,
shattered will,
a crushed spirit.

Pierced skin screams pain.
A plaster cast demonstrates healing.

But listen closely.
Some pains whisper softly.

In these streets gather grime and slime,
And an ideological undercurrent
That is by no means benign.
Indeed, this culture is rapacious:
Exploit, take, exploit, consume,
Endlessly, ever endlessly,
With no regards for when it all runs out.

This cancerous mindset
Is now mainstream.
It is default.
It is not only allowed,
But rewarded.
Selfishness and sociopathy
Are synonymous with success.
You are what you own,
And nothing else.
Your little words and little drawings,
With their little meanings
Mean little to anyone.
Pack up the books, the pencils, the paints,
Stow them in the attic,
And instead,
Slave away at something you merely tolerate.
That, my friends, is the American way.

By: Forrest Jorgensen ©