It rains and rains.
Day after day.
Night after night.
Water falling from the sky.
Soaking the floor below.
Washing up the dirt.
Confining people to their shelters,
Giving them time to think.
Are there thoughts meaningful or not?
They are in fact theirs to own,
But do they bore themselves?
And the rain suggests this meditation.
As the sky leaks,
Covering the plants,
Giving them life,
While the birds bathe,
And the mushrooms flourish.
Yet, people still think only of themselves.
They dont wonder abnout the birds,
Or the mushrooms.
They worry about vanity.
They worry about relationships,
Retirement, family, health, sports.
They do nothing but worry.
But few can appreciate the rain
Few can let their mind at ease
Listen to the droplets,
And not worry.

That familiar feeling
furious elation flows through your veins
with a hint of regret
and a touch of sadness
who am i to judge
who's anyone to care

i will give you little paper hearts
and hope they'll make you feel better
a million of them
dropping from the sky
little love bombs
that float
like ash

i will give you hand grenades
of happiness
so you can throw them at the people around you
and make the life you live with them
better

i will give you a special one
for you to pull the pin
but stand there and hold it
until it releases
in an explosion
of peace

i will give you heart-felt bullets
to shoot into your vital organs
and anyone else's
you see fit
in order to penetrate
their crusty
bent
rusted
shells
and make them
feel
again

i will give you
and endless supply
of tasers
to wake us all
up
to love

i will give you
bombs
lots of them
but you must promise
to set them off

there will always be people
who think better than you
who sing better
write better poems
why does this make me want to erase everything
and not simply
get better
or why not even
just be satisfied
and appreciate
that which i don't have
i am
selfish

At seventeen I am almost grown.
Almost old enough to own a home of my own.
Yet, i remain viewed as young, naive.
Told I am too young to know what i believe.
At seventeen the world drowns me in a sea of questions it doesn't want the answers to.
At seventeen everyone thinks they know whats best for me,
"....grow up, be a part of your society."
Don't worry about happiness that's a selfish priority.
"...grow up."
But at seventeen its hard to differentiate between hopes and reality.
It's sad you can do anything you believe,
but i fear it's a lie, we've all been teased.
The proof?
On the streets.
An endless stream of people who've had their dreams seized.
I dread the thought of this stream consuming me.
Me?
Me?
At seventeen I don't know if I am me.
Or just everything that's ever been crammed down my throat into a part of my brain I cant pronounce.
At seventeen I've fallen down a rabbit hole.
The queen of hearts pounding me with every cliche ideal every adult has told me to believe.
The white rabbit screaming to me the time.
17..18..19
I just want to leave.
I am only seventeen.
But if not this rabbit hole where?
Just a new nightmare?
Filled with symbolism I should get.
Things I should know.
Seventeen is plenty of time to grow...
grow up.
But I am only seventeen.
I am only seventeen.
Am only seventeen.
Only seventeen.
Seventeen.
I am seventeen.
At seventeen the world says I am almost grown.
At seventeen I am scared to have a home of my own.
At seventeen I question everything I ever knew.
But remain unchanged.
Remain floating through life without a clue.

Stories make us who we are
Have to share every instance
That can give someone the slightest hint
Of who you are
God forbid, your words aren't heard
You swore to yourself
That you'd leaving feeling
Strong in your word
With an image to match
But like this little match
That can't light damp heavy wood
Your burning all your energy
To be understood and brought to life
In bright bursts  of fire
But the jobs too big
And the efforts go unnoticed
To all except for the pile of
Matches at the bottom of this pit
Swing and a miss

The meaning of life is not to "give life meaning" as tumblr and other social media suggest. contrary to popular belief, there is no true meaning of life. This a violently controversial topic that is oh so misunderstood. There's no reason for anything, no purpose for anyone. Instead of trying to apply meaning to life you must take a step back and accept the unavoidable truth. That we are cosmic dust, sitting on a slightly largest spec of cosmic dust. the very foundations of our existence are based upon this lie of purpose, and an unwillingness to accept there is no purpose to anything. Life is to be appreciated, not questioned, so we should just sit back and explore the endless possibilities of the gift of life that some higher power has lent to us.