perhaps it is the weather
a prolonged absence of the sun
or presence of the winter cold
or just a temporary fashion

the media as well as many webbéd sites
simply abound with dreary blather
     of lovers lost and death so cold
     the lonesomeness of every single soul
     and how s/he suffers when s/he writes
spelled out at length with no discretion

we know that people suffer from depression
or unquenchable anger at the world
and how through proper treatments
you can considerably relieve the pain

fix them in words is one of them
    but may not be enough
sometimes a mix of pills and pen
may do the trick and help you
    write yourself through your misty prison walls
    discover unlocked doors hidden in plain sight
    step out into the sunshine
        from the darkest night

you are the sun
    whose radiance illuminates the world
    lends brilliance to your life
    sheds light on everything you’ve done

and soon you’ll notice
even the weather is getting bether …

I want the world in my hands,
But it's too dak outside for conquering,
I want to touch the stars,
But it's too cold outside for flying,
I need to feel the air,
But the wind will mess up my hair,
I need to hear the birds,
But I'm too afraid of getting hurt,
I want the grass under my feet,
But thorns are hiding out of sight,
I want to relax in the ocean,
But creatures are lurking in the night,
I need to feel the suns rays,
But it's too hot outisde today,
I need to go to school,
But the students there are cruel,
I haven't spoken in months,
Because I'm too afraid of getting hurt.

Just because we've torn their statues down,
and cast them from their temples,
doesn't for a moment mean the gods are dead.
Land of Ionia, they love you yet,

their spirits still remember you.
When an August morning breaks upon you
a vigour from their lives stabs through your air;
and sometimes an ethereal and youthful form
in swiftest passage, indistinct,

                passes up above your hills.

Got straight A's and mommy still ain't proud
Yelling still comes from her lips
Into the ears of her daughter
With her too wide hips
Which mommy tries to alter
And her poor daughter just falters
She's a good girl now but mommy doesn't care
Because mommy isn't fair
Mommy has an angel who's untouchable
And mommy blaming her daughter is unstoppable
His troubles become hers
For she lives mostly to serve
Her screams and cries go unheard
He gets candy for being bad
While she gets scolded for being sad
Attempting to teach right and wrong
But mommy puts her efforts down
And her own daughter struggles to be strong
But mommy is blind
And her daughter utterly confined
Over the years she lost her patience
And is waiting to say good riddance
Mommy pushes away
While the daughter hopes to fix things and stay
Mommy makes her daughter cry
And she doesn't understand why
Mommy didn't give her daughter a daddy
Mommy gets angry and calls her daughter fatty
Mommy has a saint
And daughter tries to voice her complaints
Mommy and aunty gave daughter a child
That child is much too wild
No boundaries or rules apply
And daughter sits by
Hoping she no longer must comply
Hoping soon she can wave goodbye.

Half the time
The mirror smiles at me
And the other half
Breaks because of me
Torn between the complexities of me

Imperfection,
Why should such a cruel word exist?

Beautiful,
Why should a word so magnificent be spoken so seldomly?

Why should I,
As a woman compare and contrast?


Why should it matter what size certain body parts are or are not?

Is the heart, the soul, not all you need?