That familiar burning is back again.
The moment when my tears come when not wanted,
but I can't stop.

A few small words hurt me again,
but isn't that all it takes?

I wonder often why I'm still here--
why I haven't thrown myself away...

I guess I'm scared...
but not of death,
just of people being disappointed in me.
But I guess they always are anyway.

A little love...
A little positive encouragement...
A little care and effort from the people I actually want it from.
Is that so hard?

I guess it is...
Sorry for being selfish.
If I could give up so easily, I would,
but I can't,
so I just scream and cry
in hopes to be heard and understood,
but that's crazy, huh?

At least I tried.

I used to be a master of masks, but now I can't even properly feign disinterest.

The moment I started giving a ****, I lost any semblance of clarity I had in my mind.

I used to know what I wanted, but now, I'm just not sure anymore.

Hush child,
don't you know?
You're in your youth,
so you can't complain.
You can't be tired,
you shouldn't be sad.
Because there are those
who are worse off then you.
So that makes your problems VOID.

Stop whining.

...

Now my side.
I am turning 21 in a month's time.
I'm considered anything from
a child...
a teen...
a young adult...
whatever suits your tone at the time,
since I don't control my own life.
I scrape my knee,
or cut my wrist.
I stay up late,
or work too much.
I buy too much,
or I'm never out with friends.
What would you have me do?
Please tell me,
because what is "free"?

I'm tired,
I'm sore,
but if I complain in your confidence,
you just look bored.
Sorry that I trusted you.
I'm sorry to complain.
I'm so sorry that I saw you as an equal,
while you failed to do the same.

This "poem" won't always rhyme.
Mine never do.
But maybe that's just not good enough for you?

But I'm NOT sorry to say...
that it's NOT your place,
it's MINE.
It's my life, and my sadness, and my pain,
or my happiness, and my wealth,
and SOME DAY I won't let you push me around.
I'll stop treating you nicely
and you'll be offended,
because I'll defend myself,
because you AREN'T my equal,
because you never look at me that same as I look at you.

I'm not a child and I'm not a teen.
I'm not an adult.
I'm just me.
But I'm not you.
And you aren't me.
So when I choose to trust you and open my heart
and share my pains,
just nod my way and say
"I understand."

Because once upon a time, you were my age,
and you looked at the world like it would never love you
or accept you.
Like you were
a child...
a teen...
a young adult...
but never you.
Just whoever they wanted you to be at the time.

So PLEASE,
UNDERSTAND.

I'm not complaining to offend you,
I just want to share our struggles,
and meet an accord,
so we can be equals.
I don't want to fight anymore.
I'm not a child.
And you aren't an adult.
We're humans, and at some time in your life,
you were the same as me.

4 years pass and I still find myself dreaming of you.
Your eyes are the sky and your chocolate brown hair is soft as the clouds.
You left me for her, a girl with mirth and shiny blonde hair.
She became your sun, her warmth something you craved to hold.
And I, the earth below, like my hazel eyes and red-brown hair.

Isn't it ironic? The earth looks up, reaching for the sky, while the sky reaches further away for the sun's warmth.

But my relationship with my sky is still connected,
as even while he reaches for the sun,
I catch his raining tears and hold them dearly,
letting his feelings wash over me.
I give him the air and colorful world to look down upon,
to cheer him up and dry his tears.

It hurts when the sky then reaches again for the sun,
seen again as his clouds move from his face,
and blesses her with pleasantries of drying his tears with her warmth.
And the earth watches sadly in vain,
catching the sun's lingering rays in hopes to borrow her warmth
and reach the sky she so dearly loves.

But when the sun sets, resting till morn,
The sky and the earth converse in a dark chatter,
Cooling and calming together.

This time we have,
a time I cherish.
The sun is gone, and I the earth, can feel the sky hug me in return, and in wait.
And even though at certain hours, the sun returns and showers her warmth,
the earth will always be below, lying in wait,
and sending the moon to light the darkness,
the hopeful friendship of a wilting flower refusing to die,
watered by the tears of a lover lost to the sun.

Time will pass and the earth will never stop hoping
for the roles to reverse,
for the sun to reach it's warmth to the sky,
while the sky reaches its expanse of blue and cool, shady clouds
back to the earth that forever loves him,
causing beautiful meadows to bloom in the process.

You can tell me I'm okay
as much as you want,
but that won't
make it true.

Life is hard
I'm not even sure how I got this far
Do you know? How you made it so far?

Every year, we get another birthday. The people who feel the most obligated will throw a party 'celebrating your birth'.
No one really believes that though, right?
In the end it's just about crazing attention and closeness, and also about receiving gifts and things to try to make you happy...
Make them happy.

'Cause ya'see... we're all born with this VOID inside of us.
That void pulls in everything nearby, pulling us to try out new things.
And like a greedy child the void whispers in our ear... asking us to get closer to some people or further from others...
to like one thing, but dislike the other.
For your happiness, and their's.

But... what IS a void exactly?
A space with nothing in it.
It doesn't hold the capability to hold anything really, like a  black hole.
Whatever goes in... we're not sure where it goes, but it's very greedy in it's own way.

By the time we die, some will feel lucky enough and happy enough with the life they've lived, and die without regrets.
...
I don't think I'll ever be able to say that... just... to feel that way.
It doesn't sit right.
Like giving myself this... holy title, saying "I did it, I've reached a perfection in my life and I'm happy. There's nothing wrong."
"I've fulfilled my purpose."

I find that so vain.
Is that strange?
I just... feel like I'm never going to truly be happy.
Not forever, and not even until death.

But what does sadness even achieve? Or anger? Jealousy?
Why, if that'd only make you less happy?
More attempts in vain to fill the growing void.

In the end, that void is filled with darkness.
The darkness of death
Whether it be from a natural death from old age, or an accident,
or even from successful suicide.

A dark void gets plugged up with more darkness, and there's no light.
We have no way of knowing what's there...
after we die, and all.

And isn't that scary?
Such a dark uncertainty.
So while we age and push ourselves through life.
No matter what, at some point, we'll all think or say...
Life is hard.

Like fireflies against a black curtain,
The stars dance around the snowy-white moon.
Glowing brightly, like a lunar wild fire,
The full moon shines down on a field of purity.
Heavenly white blooms shimmering silver,
Like teardrops, they sparkle and shine.
A small gust blows and gentle chimes are heard;
The sweet melody of the majestic flowers.
Bittersweet thorns and melancholy leaves
Sway as if dancing in the striking moonlight.
'Tis the song heard in the field of the Twilight Rose.

If you're trying to keep me safe,
why do I feel like I'm dying??