A single tear
is in the corner
of my right eye.

It feels like
it's on repeat.
Been there before.

When exactly
I don't know,
does it matter?

Too often I read
of tragedy and
of things gone wrong.

When I do,
the tear returns
to travel down.

Just the one tear
showing emotion
and heartbreak.

Letting the world
know that something
touched my heart.

Letting people know
that my heart aches
for those hurt.

Letting them know
I feel for them
and I'm there for them.

There's a single tear,
it's in the corner
of my right eye.

It sends a message:
I care, I'll help,
you're not alone...
                ~

I know I need to learn
To push my troubles
To the side and worry less,
But every day they
Line up one by one
In front of me
And state their case
And why they’re going to stay.

I feel helpless as they either
Yell or quietly whisper
“I’m going to take over your life.”
And I seem to lose my voice
And can’t even find a “*******,”
For them.

By the end of the day
There’s a single-file line behind me
And they call themselves
“Regrets.”
But I could take them on
Two by two or
Three by three or
All at once

Because at this point
I’m just trying to get to sleep.

I can never let myself go
completely

because I am afraid
that I will drift apart

like motes of dust on a sunbeam
yet not quite as beautiful

and somewhat more meaningless.

There is a chamber within my body
Beating, beating, forever beating
Until I am gone and then it is silent
For we are but one

Though at times it does not feel it
And, at times, I wish to rip it out
Drag it from broken skin
We are still together, forever

Until one of us falters
And then we both go under.

Dear Love,
Somehow I'm still addicted to you.
Even after,
all the mind games, the heartbreaks, the pain.
I don't know what it is about you,
but the good always seems to outweigh the bad--
no matter how much bad there is.

It's those rare moments,
moments of love,
that we all strive for.
Hoping to catch the slightest glimpse of it,
just to make our day, our week, our year.
We try so hard to grab onto that feeling,
that sometimes we don't know what we want more.
True love? Or just the feeling of it without commitment?
That's what makes it so rare, so special, so hard
to distinguish from infatuation and lust.
Those things are delicate,
but real love is powerful.

It's what holds through death, sickness, and disaster.
It'll be there under all the fights and words of hate,
and times when you want nothing to do with it.
True love is dangerous,
it has the power to ***** you over, crush you, break you.

The rarest form of love
is the kind that no one understands.
Other people don't have to agree with it,
to know it's real.
The fact that it can be there,
without being broadcasted to the world,
is something only true love evokes.
True love means
only the two crazy people in love, get it.
Because honestly,
It's not for anyone else to understand.