Often times, it's the person sitting right in front of you.
Smiling and laughing and cracking jokes.
The one that's always the first to ask how you're really feeling.
The one who will sit with you in silence,
Or let you scream to them your frustrations.
The one who will give you a shoulder, an ear, a hug, anytime you need it.
The one who is always there, and never judging.
People don't often see their pain, because they've become so good at hiding it.
So they keep smiling too big,
and laughing too long,
and letting people soak their shoulders with their salty tears.
Because, unfortunately,
Depression targets the ones that feel too much,
until they feel nothing.

There is a spark,
in your soul,
that so many
underestimate.
They seemingly
keep forgetting
about this little thing
that we all call air.
That with a little huff
and a little puff
from those soft lips,
you could turn
this entire world
into a living,
breathing,
blazing fire.
An inferno,
made entirely
out of your beautiful
and glorious love,
you have
for yourself
and others.
Therefor,
their words,
can't ever touch you.
I believe that's why,
when they try,
you just smile and say,
"Have a beautiful day."

What saddens me horribly,
is that we spend too much time tangling ourselves up in our own insecurities.
Looping it around our throats and strangling our souls.
Maybe we need to start carrying around a mental knife...
Start cutting ourselves free before it’s too late.
The slow and painful process of watching a beautiful persons heart deflate from the negative needles that they turn on themselves, is becoming too common and too difficult to see.
Please, know that you're loved,
that you're unique,
that you're beautiful and smart.
Know that you're worthy of kindness.
Especially from yourself.

-Sincerely, A Stranger

I'm the kind of girl who remembers the first day I met you.
But forgets where I placed my phone two minutes prior.

The girl who sees the sadness you hide behind your smiles,
but takes ten minutes to finally see the can of green beans in front of her.

The girl who smiles at people who've hurt her.
And say's, "I'm fine" when I'm not.

I may never be the smartest in the room.
Nor the prettiest in the group.
I might never be the funniest.
Or the one that always has everything figured out.
But I can guarantee this:
I will always love.
I will always smile at strangers,
and listen to those who need to be heard.
I will always be respectful to everyone,
despite our differences of opinions.
And I will always be kind.
This, this I promise.

The wind was a melody I leaned to hear as a child.
But as I grew, it's tune became fuzzy.
Then nonexistent.

Once, the dead dandelion's were wishes.
But then they became weeds.
And a nuisance.

Puddles were small playgrounds sent down to bring me joy.
But then they were just mud and water.
Something *****. Something to avoid.

I could no longer hear the music on the air,
Nor did I look longingly at patches of dandelion's.
And puddles were just... well, puddles.

I no longer found joy in the small things.
And that, I believe, is why there is so many sad people today.
We all forgot what it was like to love life.

It's the simplest of sentences that cause the greatest of quakes in our souls.

Like, "I love you" and, "Goodbye".

"Why did you stop trying to fix me?" she asked.

"Because, you can't glue someone back together when they won't hold still long enough to dry."

Write what you want to feel.
Write what you can't say.
Even if, at first, you don't really know what it is you're saying.
Just keep going.
Keep feeling.
Let others read your work, and see themselves in it.
Write with that beautiful and chaotic mind of yours.
The one that is tangled and complicated.
That is charming and full of soul.
Then
and only then,
when you have lost yourself among the words in your veins,
do you find the path to your heart.

If you peel her skull back,
And look inside her mind,
You will find cases filled with memories,
That she keeps labeled and organized.
There is a small one for her dreams,
That has gotten covered up with dust,
For she is always putting off herself,
For those that never cared about her musts.
Then there is another shelf half filled,
That she has labeled "The love that I learned",
And it's been being slowly emptied out,
By those that have borrowed from and never thought to return.
Then you will see one very large,
That is packed more than the rest,
It is labeled, "All that has hurt me",
And she knows every one of the titles and their context.
There is more smaller ones scattered here and there,
With faded titles and broken shelves,
But they're all hiding in the shadows of her silent self torture,
Because we convinced her that there was selfishness in loving herself.

A flood.
A torrent.
An endless pouring of doubt.
It fills.
It consumes.
It chokes and kills.
You don't see it.
But it's felt.
Inside the depths of my chest.
I'm dying.
It's strangling.
It continues to press.
I try and fail to breath
And the funniest part?
I put on a smile and make a joke.
And no one seems to see.

There is no wrong way to write.
Writing is just another form of expressing thought.
Expressing dreams.
Expressing feelings.
It's telling the world who you are.
Slowly.
One
Word
At
A
Time.
There is not one person out there who is born doing it better than another.
Because greatness is only achieved through consistency.
Write.
Then keep writing.
Until your words are autumn leaves,
falling together in little beautiful tufts.

You can not choose the weather.
Nor the way the day's unfold.
You can not pick out the sunsets colors,
Or soften the winters cold.
You can not change the things you've said,
Or the way that you have cried.
You can not make time answer to you,
For it rides it's own tide.
You can not choose to forget those you've loved.
Nor can you make someone love you more,
You can not pick and choose your experiences,
Or go back to the person you were before.
There is so little you can control in this world,
So very few things we can completely control.
And the thing that I find so incredibly sad,
Is that the things we can, we blow.

When you sit and stare at people,
As they go throughout their daily tasks,
Do you ever happen to wonder,
If the expression their wearing is a mask?
As they walk right on past you,
A smile drawn across their face,
Do you ever think that maybe,
In this world they actually feel out of place?
And when a mother catchers her child being reckless,
You watch as she speaks to him with fury,
Do you mentally chide her instantly, or wonder that if maybe,
That's her way she handles worry?
When a little girl of six,
Sits alone, watching everyone else,
Do you think that she is sad,
Or maybe that she just prefers to by herself?
So many times, so many cases,
We believe our own interpretation,
That our eyes and ears have sought the truth,
But then we learn, often too late, that they'd gathered misinformation.
Oh, all the countless times we see things,
And deem them to mean something of no such,
You would think the we would eventually learn,
Not to so quickly judge.

Our thoughts are like an ocean.
For they make up most of who we are.
They can be very deep and vast,
And impossible to completely explore.
Sometimes you must tread lightly.
Watch what you do and think.
For there is the occasional drop off.
And with just one wrong step; you might sink.
Though sometimes it may seem scary,
Swimming in the dark and unknown...
It can also be quite beautiful,
With all that life, you don't feel so alone.
There is so many wondrous things,
Going on in our minds.
If we all just choose to open up a bit more,
Who knows what unique things we might find?

Oh, how we fall!
Back into our subtle brawl.
Of bickering and silent fits.
Of two at their last wits.
Oh, how we tried!
To just be on the same side.
But we're two separate countries.
Picking a different war monthly.
Oh, how I pray!
That one day we'll be okay.
That I won’t have to watch how I speak.
That I won't feel so left out of your clique.
Oh, why must I dream!?
Of something that will never be...

Fill my head with the brisk, night air.
So I can finally think.
Fill my lungs with the moons soft, light rays.
Let it drown me.
Fill my bones with the dry feel of leaves.
So it can replace the ache.
Fill my heart with this earthy content sound.
So the calm can take.
Fill me up with this autumn evening.
Let it consume me whole.
Let it, for just one night, do all the feeling.
Let this autumn night take control,

You lick your lips,
and your tongue slips back behind your teeth.
Just like a sword,
being tucked back into its sheath.
Now, you are preparing for yet another day,
to come out of a dual victorious.
But oh, my vicious opponent,
one of these days your words won't leave me injurious.

There is a silent howling in my bones.
They shake and tremble from it's humming tones.
I slip slowly to my hollow knees.
For instead of marrow they're filled with airy screams.
I am now too weak to stand on two feet.
Oh, how all your callous words have emptied me!

I remember the scarlet taste
from biting my lips.
I remember the salty water,
that my eyes had dripped.
I remember the silent screams,
that had rang in my head.
But most of all, I remember
all those desperate words I never said.

If your words can touch,
save,
comfort,
or
make someone,
just
one person
do or be better,
feel or understand more,
open up,
trust,
relax,
love,
feel less alone,
even just a little...
Than that's all that really counts.
If you could change just one life...
Do it.
Speak out.
Share.
Just, DO it!
Your voice,
could very well,
be
the one
that
others
desperately
need to hear.

It's all so tiring.

You're a million separate puzzle pieces.
Each a little different.
Some are a little plain.
Some are exceedingly detailed.
Some have sharp edges.
And some are softly curved.
But all together,
I know,
it's an extraordinary,
beautiful,
and priceless
picture.
Worth an entire life time,
solving.
Actually...possibly even longer.