Once we were friendly.
Then we were more than friends.
Now there is nothing.
Must this be how it ends?

a lot can happen in
f i f t e e n  d a y s

you could go on a vacation
you could get married
you could give birth
you could buy a house
you could get a new job
you could make a new friend

there's so much you can do in
f i f t e e n  d a y s

what did I do in those fifteen days?
I tried to take away my next fifteen days
and all of them thereafter.

When I write, my feelings are bare
Showing skin and colors
Stripping naked like the breezy autumn air.

When I write, I'm torn between a lot of things
Just like the innocence of a child being corrupted and tainted by what the world brings.

When I write, I feel like a warrior equipped for war
And the armor I have are pen and paper.

When I write, it feels refreshing
Just like the break of the dawn, full of hope and sun rays gleaming.

When I write, I feel closer to you in every turn
My words are full of passion and never afraid of getting burned.

Across the miles, upon a breeze
beautiful words of love blew,
falling stardust, a midnight moon
whispering words of you.

The night surrounds me
In a swirl of celestial light,
so comforting to my soul
are those sparkling stars of night.

A sense of a loving presence
twirling through my long hair,
a heavenly aura around me
lets me know you are there.

Across the miles, upon a breeze
beautiful words of love blew,
falling stardust, a midnight moon
bring love to the morning dew.

My mother is a rose in a garden of violets
She forgets her beauty because she looks different
I tell her she’s beautiful
But she only hears she needs to lose weight
My mother’s once bright petals are wilting away
And becoming dust getting caught in the wind
Somehow she mistakes skinny for healthy
And fat with ugly
My mother is a dying rose in growing fields
The rain no longer growing her but stopping on her shrinking form
Her beauty is no longer seen outstanding in gardens
And her body no longer full of life
My mother is slowly disappearing to make room for the new generations of self hatred and low self esteem

I am not mentally ill
But I wonder
If I was
How envious I would be
Of all those
Who know
The bliss
Of boredom