To get my point across
I must say it in the little lines
I'm not so good at putting words together
Making them work as a story
Finishing it
It just doesn't happen
So this is the best I can do
Sometimes I'll leave it in a cliffhanger
But sometimes
I meant to do it.

She seemed so beautiful
The girl sitting on the bench
But what no one knew
Is what she held closest to her
The secrets of her past
Haunt her forever
The tears she cries when she's alone
They will never stop
They'll always be there
Falling
Dropping
No matter what she does
They won't go away
She can't tell anyone
The memories hurt too much
That ******* the bench
She seemed so beautiful
But no one knew
The way she felt inside
Now it's too late
We'll never know

That sunset
It's turns yellow to pink to purple to blue
Then black
It's dark
No light
Then it begins all over again
Who am I to say when it will stop
Who am I to predict the day the world will stop turning
I am no one
I am nothing
I am human
I am me

I'm not sure what I'm feeling inside
It's all wind and fire and ice
It's anger, but it's calm
It's like being underwater in stormy seas
Above me, there are crashes, screams, pain
And here I am, trying not to float up to it
Trying to hold my breath
For as long as possible
Before I have to join them
Or I'll drown

Beauty crowds me til I die
In the most peculiar places
A wave on the ocean front
A changing of seasons, autumn to winter
A choice
A kiss
A love
Beauty is all around me
Why am I not allowed to have it as well?

Bring me the sunset in a cup
And the sunrise in a kettle
I want to know what is hiding behind those mountains in the distance
I wish to hear the birds chirping sweetly in the morning
I have to see the clouds change color before my eyes go dark
I need to feel the chilled air on my skin
I must taste the rain that falls from the sky
Bring me the sunset in a cup
And the sunrise in a kettle

If I were to pour out my bag, myself, there would first be numerous scraps of paper, doodles and small notes. Then maybe some pieces of brightly colored cloth. There would be coins, representing all the change in my life. Miles and miles of film would fall down to the floor. Notebook upon notebook would slam on top of each other, filled with writing. Stick-on-the-ceiling-stars would fall down from the darkness inside the bag. Those are from my childhood. Caps from jars full of summer fireflies would drop down, making a ‘klink’ as they hit the ground. Socks with holes would float slowly to the landing. Pieces from board games, little Candyland men would tumble out, doing cartwheels through the air. Past trinkets and toys, a few postcards, jewelry from past generations, all things that are or were a part of my life….