This is not a poem.
This is just a clichè story
About a girl.
A girl who always laugh.
Who always smile.
Who is always full of happiness.
About the same girl
Who also cry every night.
Who's broken inside.
Who always wanted to die.
This is just a clichè story.

This is not a poem.
This is a hidden plot
Of that girl
Living in a clichè story.
Where she enters to the house
Of unexpcted people
They tell nothing to her
That make her so unease
But someone says;
"It is okay to cry if wanted to"
So,
She cry. Cry. Cry. And cry
For the reason of nothing she is crying
They let her cry.
They let her tell her story.
They are just there.
Not just watching,
Not talking.
Not judging.
They are just there.
Not just watching.
Only listening
Only understanding.
They are the people
She always wanted to have.

This is not a poem.
This is just a clichè story,
Having a fake hidden plot—
Let's make it real.

It is truly a devastating thing to know that the sun rises every morning,
Only to wake up each time to see it set.

I sit on my porch at 12am
staring out at the sky
laid out like a painted canvas

there aren’t as many clouds tonight
unlike the past few weeks
I can see the stars

I envy the stars
the way I’m stuck here on this planet
while they float on out there

I envy the stars
the way they sit there so far away
shining through impossible lengths

I envy the stars
the way people look at them and feel full
and look at me and feel nothing

I envy the stars
the way people love and admire them
for doing nothing but live

I envy the stars
the way they glitter and glow and die
bringing hope to all who see them

all but the fallen stars
the kids who want nothing more
than to fly back up, back home,

back up to our beds of space dust
to watch over our solar systems
and be at peace again

but instead of resting up there
amongst the other shining stars
we’re stuck here.

sitting on our porches at 12am
staring out at the sky- our sky
laid out like a painted canvas

feeling homesick

When I was a little girl..
I always believed that monsters slept underneath my bed.
As I've grown, I realized they were never sleeping under my bed.
They were actually sleeping in my head.

How are you today?
"I am okay."
Okay?!
You're a bad liar.
Is crying every night okay?
Is having financial problem okay?
Is being pressured to find job okay?
Is feeling left alone in the crowd okay?
Is feeling being unwanted okay?
Is having suicidal thoughts okay?
You are not okay.
And it is okay,
Not to be okay.
So tell me,
How are you today?