His name was Jack,
He dreamt of a farm
And a boy named Ennis.

Together they would grow old,
Sharing stories of love and happiness.
But destiny had something else in mind.

Love was a motion they couldn't run from,
But the world wasn't prepared for true love
Regardless from where it came.

Sad is to know that even though this story is fiction,
It has happened to so many
JACKS and ENNIS.

I hope to live in a century
That's more accepting of love and compassion.
So Ennis and Jack can be who they want to be.

Let me love who I want,
So I can truly love myself.

It's not a matter of not caring
What other people say,
It's a matter of freedom and respect.

Love yourself;
Love who you want to;
Respect everyone.

Don't say you love me, unless
you have seen me dancing in the rain.
I know you won't mean it, until
you've also seen me struggling through pain.

The nerves of the unknown
Terrifies me,
Controls me.

My heads a million miles away,
Over thinking the billion impossible ways
It can go.

The future's out of my reach,
But my brain refuses to understand that.

I tell myself don't,  
But all I convey is please;

Please:
- let me say the right things at the right time;
- don't let me do weird noises while others are directly speaking to my face;
- listen to everything and don't ask repeated questions;
- control your inner shyness and don't let your awkwardness take over;
- go to sleep after you write this cause all you don't need is enormous eye bags to complete your zombie face.

I want and I need to learn how not to be always in control and be okay with it.
I've to learn how to be kinder to myself.

Thank you for reading another nervous breakout.

Always yours,
Irsorai

Your body is your home.
You wouldn't tell someone their home is too big or too small,
The ceilings too short or too tall
The wallpaper, skin, too old, wrinkled, crumpled and peeling or not the right tone.
The frame and foundation of bones connecting,
Some with clean cut marble perfection, some with broken bits and Floorboard splits.
But you wouldn't tell someone their home is too old or too new.
The value of the pipes, veins, visible in clenched fists.  The arch of an eyebrow or the shape of the roof, a scar or tattoo.  
You take care of your home because your life is here.
Inescapable, a cage within your ribcage.  
You hope and pray that if you take care of it then it will take care of you, Shelter you.
You wouldn't burn your own home.  Cut, scrape or bruise the stars locked On one side of your eyelids, your windows.  Who knows which side?
Your body is your home.  It is the only place you will ever truly be able to call home, the only thing that you will ever truly own.