Maybe I will be gone but you wouldn't know,
I am not part of your universe anymore.
You plucked me out of your thoughts
I don't think it matters to me when I am gone.
It just affects me now thinking you will care not,
I admit I cannot force my way into the lives I wish to touch.
I hope you remember me, my dilemma is such.
A person's significance is put to test when he is gone,
But you are significant to me, so much I care about.

I hate when people tell me
I talk too much.
I send too many text
And they can’t keep up.

At first they like it
Because it feels nice.
I help distract them
From their life.
But then it becomes old
And I get in the way.
Just another day
And I have too much
To say.

Every day-
a page
in the book
of life

how should
I live?
What can
I give
to a world
soaked
in tears
and suffering
stifled
with endless strife?

Wherever
I step
let me be
on the side
of the caring
the peaceful
the noble
the humane
the just
and the right

let me
have the courage
to stand up-
every form
of injustice
and cruelty
to fight

let me
lift up
the hands
of the kids
in fear
hunger
in pain
each in
untold plight

if my life
were to bear
any meaning
let my heart
and mind
be bent
towards  the woes
of my fellow beings
and if
to this cause
I sacrifice
without pause
I'll die
feeling
satisfied
with nothing
missing
fulfilled totally
fully worthwhile

Every frequency
screams.

My emotions
stuck at full volume.

It feels like
living
without skin.

I see the world
in a thousand
painful hues,
even joy
hurts
a little
on the way in.

I read silence
like it’s shouting.
I feel the shift
when a sentence
lies.
I catch what hangs
between pauses,
what twists the air
just slightly
out of shape.

I carry a storm,
but people only notice
when the lightning
hits them.

I’ve spent years
bending,
folding,
twisting myself
into smaller
shapes,
trying to pass
for someone
easier
to hold.

I’m the mirror
you avoid
when the mask
starts slipping.
I reflect back
a version of you
in a language
you are not ready
to speak.

Am I too much
for you?
Because I
I’ve spent years
trying to be less
for me.

Language states
music suggests
between the two
the latter has greater depth

Hope migrates to
sunny island shores.
There is no sorrow,
roses always bloom,
and the birds of paradise
fly forever free.
The salty ocean
cleanses the rot
from the skin
and the heart.