Purple is often misunderstood 

People confuse it with pink or blue 

They cannot comprehend change

The synthesis of something new

Purple has been picked to pieces

Analyzed with Pantone paint chip cards

The public is vexed, this defiance of ***

Twirled around by color guards

They say that violet delights have violent ends
That from this “choice,” there’s no return

But they’re the ones who set us aflame

And we, in their triumph, burn

Do you ever think of me too?

I wonder; are you a warm,
Nightly summer breeze -
Or chilly and full of colors
Like the autumn leaves?

What are you going through?

Do you tell a tale of tidal
Waves, brave in the face
Of roaring seas - naught
But shipwrecks to chase?

I can’t wait to meet you.

I know not if our love will
Be easy or instant, or if
We’re two broken puzzle
Pieces that’ll somehow fit.

All I know is this -
It’ll have been worth it.

Everyone talks about depression as if they know it.  

But what they don’t know is that depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway,

it’s feeling the blood dripping down your skin and having the sick thought of  “Oh, look how beautiful the red is” (they always say red is my color).

Depression is lying on your bed for hours on end, salt tracks lining your face like the scars on your ankles, staring at your ceiling tracing patterns in the paint and accepting death in life with this hole in your chest because death is a reward, an escape from this pain you deserve to feel.

Depression is writing sick poetry on skin and publishing it with scars, cutting on ankles, not wrists because you’re scared you’ll get in trouble but you so desperately need to be seen, and never are.

Depression is writing the word “alone” and seeing the word “home”, accepting the pain like a gift because you deserve it.

Depression is admitting suicidal thoughts to paper and not to people, and loving the broken things, hoping to tie them together, thinking maybe things will get better, but knowing that’s just wishful thinking.

Depression is hearing your mother call you monster and disgusting through the too-thin walls of your door when she thinks you can’t hear, and then telling you to your face that you have no right to cry, as if sadness is a privilege and you’re so pathetic that you don’t deserve it.

Depression is shutting yourself up in your room and hearing your family laughing downstairs because you feel like you can’t be a part of them and learning at a young age to love family always but that family isn’t always love

Depression is wanting to take love and your heart and break them into tiny little pieces and throw them into waves, to throw them away

Depression is a foot when the shoe hasn’t been broken in yet, is you when you haven’t broken life in, is seeing happy people and thinking they all look the same, like the front covers of magazines with smiles reaching their eyes when yours can’t.

Depression is wishing you could package your smiles into tiny little piles and hand them to people more deserving of them because you know you’re wasting them with half-assed lines of “I’m fine”

Depression is having to view your past as if it wasn’t yours, because to accept it as reality is to accept finality of your life through suicide.

Depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway and when you close the door out of fear it keeps pounding, possessive, ******, and when you open the door out of anger you shout, “I’M SCARED” to thin air but your voice comes out as a whisper.

Then it hit me:
You're my hiraeth
You never held home in your heart
Only smelled like it when you held me in your arms
You've got wanderer written inside your bones
You could never be my home
I only thought you were
Because I wanted you to be
I wanted to belong with you, inside four walls, forever
But we were meant to explode and burn
There's no caution to our love
We can't be each other's security
Our love is made of fire and stars, combusting and combusting until there's nothing left behind
But I'll let you be my hiraeth
Because you hold adventure in your eyes
Begging me with just a look "one more ride?"
And I know you've got a string tied around my heart
As i run along side

Then it hit me:
You're my ephemeral
You were never meant to last
Only held too much wisdom in your past
You're going to die before you're old
For only so long can your veins pump gold
I only thought you would last
Because I wanted you to
I wanted you to be forever, to lay here forever with me, at home
But you were meant to burn out
Live fast, love hard, and die before your time
You can't be my forever
We are made of matches and candles and rushed kisses and goodbyes
But I'll let you be my ephemeral
Because you hold knowledge in your eyes
And when I beg you "just one last ride?"
You smile as if you know it will be
Because every moment is your last

to give and keep on giving
all that you are,
forgotten in the gift of yourself