the magic of poetry.
is that it makes everything
beautiful.
it fills your lungs
like air.
it turns your soul
into a sky full of stars.
your heart
a field of wildflowers.
you.
into a poem.

Sometimes it gets really bad
Up in my head.
And the questions start to hit;
Why this, now? Why me? Is it really worth it?

And the answer is always this:
Yes.

-m.b

you tainted me
spent eternity filling me with colors
each stroke was perfect
but i wasnt your best
you still need to find
the masterpiece
that would fit the void
inside your heart

c.a

How long I've been wanting
To hold your hand,
And watch stars shooting
Hoping it doesn't end.

—a.c

Uncomfortable within this skin.
My joints complain
and muscles scream.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

My mind in shambles.
Ideas incoherent
and thought processes
sluggish at best.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

My emotions are in
total disarray.
I'm not happy
yet I'm not anything at all.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

My insides twisting,
splitting.
Every grain and fibre
set on fire.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

If this is normal,
I'm petrified with
the prospect of
what isn't.