i.


there are days
when my stars
align just for me.


my inner cosmos
telling me to write
about the pain.


my inner cosmos
telling me to expand
the universe within.


ii.


there are days
when my stars
collapse.


i am made of pure
darkness.


i am made of pure
anxiety—


terrified of not seeing
the sun again.


iii.


there are days
when my stars
rise—


like the infinite suns
that they are.


illuminating my being.

I haven’t a gun.
I’ve hit no one.
A failure of great proportions,
Emotional extortions,
And mental abortions.

This world is more cold than not.
How is my heart not to willow and rot?
Every word I hear
Each one that passes through my ear,
I can’t help but not to feel fear.

Fear for all of that which I do not have.
The only option is to halve
My soul into two.
Even then it would have been too few.
Oh God, what do I do?

I must find the answer!
And relieve myself of this growing cancer.
“Who are you?” you may ask,
I’ll say nothing, all the talking will be done by my mask.

Crushed flowers are beautiful,
dried, pressed
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round

but for now i remain a daisy
nothing special
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.

In this life
you will meet those
who hold on to your pain
like it’s gold.
They will
treasure your failures
and silently smile
when you fall to the ground.
It is their nature
to be so heartless and cold
because they don’t see
the love
they hold in their own soul.
The suffering
they see in others
gives them the illusion
of an enlightened mind.
When really
all they have
is a heavy soul
weighed down
from an egotistical point of view.
These are the souls
that will flap their wings
forever
without ever
lifting off the ground.
Then
there are the old souls.
The ones
that give their all
to living a life
that’s pure as gold.
They come from
the roughest cut of stone
carrying the heaviest baggage
under brittle broken bones.
Yet still
they smile
as they pass by
the young souls
desperately flapping
to get off the ground
unaware
of what the old souls discovered long ago
they must
sacrifice their wings
and be willing
to take the stairs
with all their baggage
with eyes full of tears
because that’s the only way
they will ever
get out of here.

Hello.
I am the trending poem.                                                            ­            
         you see me and I make you feel alive
                                             so you like me and re-post me
                                                              ­    then you leave me alone to die.
Hello,
I am your forgotten lines.
             you created me with a careful love
                                                          an­d decisive rhymes
                                      and then to the bottom of your page I'm shoved.
Hello
I am forgotten, alone and unloved
                           a faded smile a broken dove
                                               I once was beautiful, touching.
                                                       ­   now, I've been replaced, I'm nothing.