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I'm  afraid of falling asleep.


I'm afraid of staying awake.


I'm afraid of the dark ,
and what it conseals.
I'm afraid of the light,
and what it reveals.

I'm afraid of lines,
and how they seperate.
I'm tired of living my life in fear.
Fear of failure.
Fear of rejection.
Fear of trying.
Fear of embarrassment.
Fear of speaking up.
How do I fight what I am afraid of?
 Jan 2014 Rachel Brainard
Desiree
There is a certain beauty in collapsing on the steps
When the thoughts run through you mind, but cannot be fathomed.

Happiness has yet to engulf the soul that yearns for relief, but is latent there.

A broken heart is swallowed whole with each beat.
 Jan 2014 Rachel Brainard
Mailan
Looks are deceiving,
Eyes can read people easily.
Lies are told clear,
And thoughts are powerful energy.
So powerful they can keep you alive,
But leave many dead.
Just think about all the insanity in one's head,
Like how one kills for greed, fame, or even love.                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                     
If only we can read souls
This world is filled with peace and evil, like war
But one day will it only have one?
I can't be fooled
I expect the unexpected
But I suggest you....
Keep your eyes wide open.
This world has many things left unspoken.
The water is getting higher,
it surrounds me on all sides.
I'm panicking,
I'm looking but there's no way out.
It's climbing fast, over my ears and over my head,
I think the worst is over but it's only begun.
I'm not drowning,
but sinking.
I can still feel everything,
the pain didn't vanish.
Lord, if this is my punishment just let me die,
I don't want to burn anymore.
The worst part is feeling so numb,
but still feeling everything.
Dear Life,

Get out of my life. I don't like you; I’m scared of you. I'm not scared of death; I’m scared of life.  I can't look at myself in the mirror without getting goose bumps; I can’t water a plant without screaming. I don't know why I'm afraid of life, I just am.

But maybe it has something to do with my mother; she hated death, so I decided to revolt against her by hating life.

Another thing I should mention is that I don't like school, because most learning has something to do with living. In case you're wondering, I don't like writing, and I’m terrible at it. So don't expect any Shakespeare, coming from me.  “Why are you writing this?” you ask.  Well, I'll tell you.

It was about a year ago, that I started going to talk to this weird    psychiatrist that my mother wanted me to see. So we talked and we talked, and I was not having fun because I hated talking.  The psychiatrist said that I should write about my phobia, to get all my anger out. I thought,” what a bunch of nonsense,” but I did it. Here I am now writing to you. I ‘m afraid you’re never going to write back and that’s fine with me. But if you do, I’m afraid of what you’ll tell me, anyway.  I’m scared that you’ll call me a coward for being afraid of something   that I’ve lived with all these years.



Signed,

       Collin.



  Dear Collin,

I received your letter a while ago and I have been contemplating your phobia for 2 years. For what you wrote was powerful.



You’re not a coward and I won’t scold you. I have a phobia of death. Everyone has a phobia of something or other. Your phobia is not unusual but just so few people these days care to express themselves.  You’re one of the first people to have written to me.  You’re not a coward; you’re talking to your fear, something that takes lots of courage.



There is no reason to be afraid of me. Why are you afraid of me? I don’t think your mother is the real reason. I think you’re just too scared to go out in the real world and breathe the living air. You’re not afraid of life, you’re afraid of what is in life. You’re not afraid of me, you’re afraid of the lives I create and what is inside of them.

Your mother cares about you. She wants you to conquer your fear. You can do it, simply enjoy what’s around you, and don’t be afraid. Because, beneath your fear is hatred and you have no choice but to love.

You can do it , Collin, I know you can.



Signed,

Life
Life’s all getting and giving,
I’ve only myself to give.
What shall I do for a living?
I’ve only one life to live.
End it?  I’ll not find another.
Spend it? But how shall I best?
Sure the wise plan is to live like a man
And Luck may look after the rest!
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
Give or hold at your will.
If I’ve no care for Fortune,
Fortune must follow me still.

Bad Luck, she is never a lady
But the commonest ***** on the street,
Shuffling, shabby and shady,
Shameless to pass or meet.
Walk with her once—it’s a weakness!
Talk to her twice. It’s a crime!
****** her away when she gives you “good day”
And the besom won’t board you next time.
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
What is Your Ladyship’s mood?
If I have no care for Fortune,
My Fortune is bound to be good!

Good Luck she is never a lady
But the cursedest quean alive!
Tricksy,  wincing  and  jady,
Kittle to lead or drive.
Greet her—she’s hailing a stranger!
Meet her—she’s busking to leave.
Let her alone for a shrew  to the bone,
And the ***** comes plucking your sleeve!
Largesse!  Largesse, Fortune!
I’ll neither follow nor flee.
If I don’t run after Fortune,
Fortune must run after me!
 Feb 2013 Rachel Brainard
notlad
blessed
be

              the ones
                                 that
                                           stare
                                                        at the

                  ground

unbeknownst to others it
is
                                          not to
stop
              themselves

from                              
                                           tripping
but                                                                                                            
                                                                                                                   others.
 Feb 2013 Rachel Brainard
E
Morning keeps weeping,
while I wage war
within myself:
Civil battles, composed
of pen-ink & lines,
of unceasing tension & grief.

I attempt surrender:
To cast off the weaponry.
To rejoice: barefoot
on my wood floor,
marred by litter:
Indolent daggers of charcoal & ink.

Time beats me down, a battle drum:
Rhythm moves me onward,
despite my cry to retreat,
Tiptoeing wordbombs & rainbullet noise:

A song to keep me alive
& the wind howls her tears against
my closed windows
& I wonder how this ends:

With ink-explosions
Or with sword-swipes.
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