Sometimes I don't even know if I'm sad,
If I actually want to be happy,
What if I actually want to stay sad,
What if all I'm doing
Is just because
I crave for

Attention.

That'd be really bad,
All the attention I'm already getting,
Is it not enough?
Have I really become that

Selfish?

All the little
Challenges
The people around me
Go through,
Have you really neglected them all?
Is it really because
You're depressed
And so you've
Wallowed up in this
Hole of depression
Cut off yourself from the rest of the world?
Or is this just

Intentional?

I don't even know
If i genuinely feel anymore
Or if all these thoughts
Are words from the devil.

I just hope
The people I love
Are fine,
Or more than ok
Hopefully.

It's just sad
That no one shares their problems anymore,
Worried they'll add on to mine,
When really,
It's doing
The opposite.

But it's my fault again
Isn't it?
For being sad in the first place,
For sharing the problems with you,
For bothering you
Time and time again,
It's all just me.

Me, myself and I.
Is that all that's in your mind?
What have you become?

Selfish ****.

Pretty
Pretty.
What does it mean to her?
Since the beginning time, she was always told she was pretty,
But at one point that little girl began to question
If what she was told was a lie.
Everybody seemed pretty,
But her.
She was no longer the “You should sign her up for modeling” girl.
She became “Oh, she’s ….. tall”
Or “Wow, you’re big! Oh I mean big for your age.”
When the “pretty” faded, so did her spirit.
The omnipresent smile was gone,
As well as her joy.
She became her mother’s nightmare
Moody,
Sensitive,
Irritable,
Argumentative.
She covered up her self-destructive insecurities with faux confidence and
“No really, I’m fine”
Just as if one covers up their unsightliness
With aggrandize grand eyes, cheeks and lips
No one ever knew that underneath all the bravado
There was still a little girl,
Who seemed grown physically and sometimes mentally,
Longing for someone to tell her she’s pretty.


Incorrect.


This little girl was waiting to tell herself she was pretty
And believe it.

Down the road of the land of the baked beans,

we find this fruit wing of an Amazonian tree.

In autumn, when she turns dry and brown,

she unfastens from her mother tree and plunges down,

dwindling she begins to whirl in pain,

screaming in fear and agony but one cant hear any sound.

The winds are here to fortify that this suffering remain,

she twists, she turns, she whirls and shes headed for the ground.

With one last breath she takes one last spin,

and lands unbroken as she had always been.





Before she catches enough air to realize what a fall she had endured,

a curious soul picks her up and tosses her into the air and her misery is ensured.

Again she twists , she turns , she whirls yet unbroken she lands.

Away from family, unspoken, confused in different sands.

She endures a hundred such journeys from here.





In the brevity of its flight, here is the beauty of her plight.

Despite the solitude ,she maintains her fortitude.

She carries without letting it out that in her she carries another soul.

A seed.

A seed that will give rise to forest.





With their canopy, the trees in the forests will not only live for themselves,

they will provide for, protect and shelter many more.

tiny beings, super beings, all beings.





Her fall was only a rise, upside down.

lie to me,
                    it's time. 

       I'm barley even in the room
          or in attendance at the banquet
             of my cloudy fingertips
                  
                lie to me it's time to shake
        that old blue saxophone
            down in a rattle-puff
                              fat lip moan
    
          
         lie to me that I'm as real
        as anything that jumps
           into the cotchels of the sky
          toward a well tied noose

               lie to me my
                 magic limbs
                will hold
              and I'll be strong

              despite my hot
                 and watery
            eyes of lapsang souchong,

                    my soul 
                a liquid swirl
                    of smoke
          against my teacup bones

I can’t feel anymore
Not the warmth or the light
Not the cold or the dark

This feeling gnawing at my heart and soul
Is the feeling of being alone
The shadows have become my friends
And the darkness within controls

I’m losing myself in the emptiness
And I can’t come back

A true friend is one who is always on your side
    One in whom you can confide
    One who will never you betray
    One who is still with you at the end of the day...

A true friend helps you in your hour of need
    A true friend is of a special breed
    A true friend does not, upon your sorrow, feed...

Such a person is, in our world, rare
    A person with whom you can lay your feelings bare
    A person who, of you, always speaks well
    A person who would never your honor, sell
    A person, to whom you're high on the list
    A person who, upon your welfare, does insist
    A person who, never doth you smite
    A person who is loyal both day and night...

A true friend is a priceless asset.

Rest with me
melt languidly into my arms
persistence reprieved

Allow me
grant this moment to pass
productivity be ******

Trust in me
my passion is passion
ambition denounced

Give yourself to me
I understand your value
progress so ill-conceived

I am a dreamer
I fulfill her destiny
*I am the place time comes to die