I love and hate staring at blank pages.
Love that it's empty, free for my thoughts to flow..
Hate the fear of running out of things to say.. not true.
Fear of my words and what they might be revealing to unforgiving eyes, what they might be saying to untrustworthy fiends.

These pages are always accepting.
Whatever it is I may be feeling,
unable usually to address,
these pages are doors ready to be locked and loaded with each emotion.

truth?

I wonder where the source of happiness lies.
I'm learning all these lessons, accepting all these feelings
my heart is crying..
There is a constant burning in my chest,
I couldn't possibly endure anymore.
I wish I could love freely but my recent lessons prevent me from doing just that..

Everything within it's time I guess.
Every moment felt,
we breathe through our pain.
through the hurt, anger and frustration.
'It's hard. This weight on my chest..
I have no escape from this mess..