I wasn’t very good at it—
and truth is,
it wasn’t very good
for me.

I give too much.
Try too hard.
Fall too fast.
And forget…
to breathe.

It’s not the people.
It’s not the place.
It’s the hope I hold,
the pace I chase.
The kind of happiness
I keep reaching for—
maybe it was never meant
to be.

Love—
or what I thought was love—
left me empty.
Not whole.
And not for lack of trying.
I gave it all.
My heart.
My soul.

But I’ve learned something soft,
something real:
What’s not good for me
still hurts…
even when it looks
like love.

What is good for me?
It’s quieter.
Gentler.
Steady.

It’s the laughter
of my family.
The stillness
of the trees.
It’s in the work
that feels honest—
in friendships
that don’t ask me
to be less…
or more.

It’s peace
in the mirror.
Peace
in the morning.
Peace
in just being.

That’s what’s good
for me.

So when I go—
when the story ends—
remember me
not for the love I lost,
but for the peace
I tried to give.

I’ll leave it with you.
Soft as a whisper.
Quiet as a prayer.

That—
that right there—
is what’s good
for me.

The hills have eyes
The woods have ears
The rivers have mouths
The wind has hands
The clouds have sweat glands
The boulders have shoulders
The mud have tongues
The mountains have ****
The flowers have *****
The bushes have *****
The mushrooms have hallucinogenic effects

I would like nothing more than to lie on a bed of warm grass
As the summer rains wash my whole world away
Shower my soul crushing sins into the earth
The autumn leaves will bury me as my body is consumed by the soil
Roots from the willow trees will coil like a serpent around my body
Cold and blue from the winter snow
And proceed to drag me far below

My veins, once full of woe,
Now make a root system six feet deep.
Like my heart, my skin hardens to create a shield
that is tough and rough to the touch
What was once my limbs now multiply and reach out to touch the sky
Fragile limbs that bear fruits amongst its leaves

There is a story of me, and it goes as so:

A woman will find me amongst a garden.
She will take hold of one of my sins in her hands
And from it take a bite

She will be ******, as all women are.
The utopia is taped off, now the sccene to the worst crime
The fate of humanity now digests in her stomach
And everyone will blame her
And label her the First Sinner

But my fruit was poisoned from my sinful ways long before she took a bite.

Wouldn't you miss me?
If I dropped dead.
Wouldn't you kiss me?
If this 's all I said.

I feel like I'm running out of time
seconds minutes hours days months
all slipping from my grasp like sand
like I'm not doing enough
like there's not enough time for my dreams
it seems like yesterday I was 14
now I'm on my way to college in a month
not enough time
slipping away from me
can I do this in my limited lifespan
I may seem young
and that I have plenty of time
but it seems to pass me by faster and faster
maybe I'll blink and wow!
another year will've passed

Your world teeters on the brim,
Washing away with every wave.
Soaked with suds that numb the skin,
Deluded just to soothe the sting.

You drown yourself in alcohol,
A sea you drink to flee the day.
Each sip, a tide that pulls you in,
Further from the shore, astray.

You think the burn will cleanse the ache,
That silence lives in every glass.
But pain still floats beneath the foam,
And truth returns as shadows pass.

The mirror ripples when you look
Your face a blur, your eyes unsure.
You wipe the steam, but not the truth;
You’ve made escape your only cure.

Yet no wave washes guilt away,
No ocean swallows hurt for good.
To heal, to break the deepest spell,
You’ll have to see just where you stood.

Not in the drink, not in the night,
Not in the lie you try to sell
But in the stillness, in the light,
When you begin to face yourself.