Heart beats,
Fingers stop,
And fire is about to ignite,
A storm approaches and I stop, wondering,
For this life is going on and on and on,
And I barely have time to really stop.
stop.
And I'm loved so vigorously by people who barely know me,
My face, my eyes, they are not mine.
But my soul eternally is,
and until I can rip out my chest with all the dust and cobwebs and corners that I hide, can I actually let you in.
Until I can actually take my ribcage and separate individual rips apart and show you the dead flowers rotting inside, You know not even the depth of me.
And they all try to know who I am, what color is my favorite and what's going on inside, But I don't let them.
Until I feel some safety. That you would neither judge or hit me could I even begin to start pulling my wrapped casings of me to expose to you.
I can't. I emotionally could never let you in, no matter how pretty you thought I was, how amazing you think my laughter is, how wonderful I can make you feel.
You know not me, How could you ever begin to know me.
For I am a novel and our relationship can only be a short story.

Love. Love isn't a rose, or a poem, or a romance novel. Love is not a kiss or a hug, or chocolate. Love is infinite, adorable, unquenchable, crazy, catastrophic, undeniably reckless.
And yet humans like to name it and control it, they try to hide it, and defend it. Love is beyond a human's understanding, love is a force and we are the bay, being kicked by it over and over again. Being washed again and again by it's beauty. But sometimes love and often love doesn't go our way. We get knocked down by love and crushed by love, and sometimes we find ourselves in love in the wrong situations. Sometimes we take advantage of love and sometimes it takes advantage of us. It's not cute and especially not at all easy, ever.

Love is a struggle, it's a mountain we climb. It's not a magic potion to solve our problems, it most of the times cause our biggest problems. Love is hard and strange. It isn't easy to handle or fun to tame. It's a puzzle, it's a novel, not a picture pic, and it's not candy, it's not flowers or cake. Every one thinks love is a disney movie, and though their classic pieces of artwork and storytelling, barely does it show real love. Love really comes after the happily ever after, when the happiness fades away people stay because of the love. We love, and love and get cracked. And we fall in love some more, because from the very first moment of our existence, we love our mothers, or whoever the hell is there to greet us as we exit our dark palace called the womb.

Love is hard to understand. Love is old, not lovely. It's bad. And painful. But the being loved and being shown love and loving another human being, despite the raw and hard days of being in loved, or not being loved. Something unexplainable happens that is sort of like a self fulfillment. The holes in our soft hearts are filled. A sort of understanding of ourselves that maybe we aren't such weird and horrible people if someone else could fancy us.

So despite the faults of love and people's poor understanding of love, it is still a emotion we cannot control, we cannot withhold our heart from. It's a wide field of dreams, a host of wonders, a deep vacancies of despair. Love is composed of hurt, mixed with a dash of adventure of being another's.
And I'm saying with love you could be a 103 and still not understand the entire entity of love. It cannot always make sense, and it will not always make sense.

So being in love is not a fairy tale, but the majority of the time a graphic novel. Love is lost kisses, lost time, broken hearts, misunderstanding, and pieces of our lives strewn together making up ourselves, pasted together by the people who we love and who love us.

Healing,
is hard, a process, steps of life to take,
it hurts, it aches,
and the break seems to slow life down to several days.
In impatience, ignore and move on, when there is still need to reprimand the hurt.
Whether it be emotional or physical,
it takes awhile before we can walk or run again.
So take a breather,
See a doctor or some medicines,
Drink herbal tea or hot coffee,
Breath,
Sigh,
Cry,
But most important pay attention to what is going on inside.
take the time to attend to the pain
It's all crazy,
This so called messy life,
Can't go on very well if injuries occur.
So heal up, watch old movies, write,
call old friends and try to feel better,
And eventually you will.

I was frightened.
Cold in bone, broken into frigidness,
Oh life how've you've hit me with a car,
And no ambulance came.
They need one for the heart,
Cause I'm trying hard not to step on the shattered glass,
And the winds of time are shaking me and I cannot break out of this twisted cage I've been thrown into.
Emotions come tumbling down like an avalanche.
A pile of rocks, tumbling on top of my head, and I ache into submission.
For what can one do when stepped on like a bug.
Their guts are spewing out from the sides, there done.
And I like that very bug I have been squashed upon.
Dreams and aspirations,
Thoughts and wonderments have been so ripped into and stolen.
I am hollow like a tree in winter, I shed my leaves,
I stand with nothing in my hands to hold,
Torn of my hair, Losing my heart, every atom inside of me screaming. The very mitochondria of my little tiny cells are slowing down. Losing any ambition to continue.
And I stand silent waiting spring comes soon.

I walk alone among my dead departed dreams,
They look like flowers broken among my trees.
How art thou, I asked them,
They reply anon.
Anon, dear flowers, anon,
For they breathe no more,
And I within them, fall, for where is the flows and fancies of this dear life,
Where is the air, where is thy sweet archaic glorious perfume?
Where art thou, Dear friends.
Dear, sweet heart pain, is now my closest companion,
How art thou? It asked, I replied, lost and confused,
Where life have you taken me

Lie to me,
tell me the world has happy endings and Santa Claus does exist.
Cause I cannot take this sick reality.
Of pain and hollow cores,
I just want snowflakes.
In the bitter darkness, I ache, openly. Hoping,
Where now Hope may not exist. And ergo happiness,
For where is life without love,
And love without friends,
For suddenly I dim, Unexpectedly,
Lose all expectedness,
And fall as winter may,
Cold then all at once frozen.

It's ok to not be ok.
What do I mean by that?
I mean it's ok to feel sad or angry or even confused.
It's ok to not feel right.
Yeah, so when you feel bad;
Just let the feelings ride up and down your spine.
Let them mingle with your heart, terrify your brain,
Because it's fine to be stressed and not everything tight and perfect. Be messy. It's what were good at.
Our sticky atoms and our multiples of molecules don't have to be in shape all the time. So cry randomly, break down and flip out,
Cause I'm telling you keeping it in, holding whatever is making you anxious is only killing you. So let it out.