I like to do those quizzes
in glossy bubbles that you
find
in Cosmopolitan and
Elle and
Seventeen.

Which girl should I be?

Should I
dump paper flowers
on my milkmaid braid?
Long skirts, long chains, and
Beatles on my radio
during their ‘Indian’ phase?

Should I
paint it all
black, strip life down to
a *******,
blare punk at full
scream,
and cram my toes in ratty Docs,
smash all emotion
into smithereens?

Should I
sugar-coat my mouth with
Maybelline, button up
collars, laughs, opinions,
read books on behaving
just like a
daydream,
sip teas, bake cookies, aim for
Ivy Leagues?

Which gilded box do I crawl
into?
Which skin to don
this week?
Which fashion editor-friendly
stereotype to fulfil?

Which girl should I be?

I'll push the blade deeper in
I'll swallow my pride and shed silver tears

To be near you
I'll keep you close; I'll lie to the world
To not lose you
I'll be someone else; hide my true self

I'll smile the pain away
I'll be the light that keeps you here

To not be forgotten
I'll protect you
To not be ignored
I'll bare my soul to you

I'll sow my lips shut
I'll ignore the fire and burn in solitude

To not be hurt
I'll deny my feelings for you; deny the special glances we share
To not be rejected
I'll push you away; push away the heart you've began to tear

******* it, you left a heart at the end of your message and i felt my own lurch in my chest
i don't love you
i won't love you
but just for a second,
one precious, fleeting moment
you flirted with the fragility of my mind by showing me you cared
and, for a moment,
it felt like maybe i could;
maybe i could love you
but i don't

and i won't

We are taught to conceal aspects of ourselves,
When they do not fit society's perception of normal.
Even the negative aspects that ought to be dealt with,
We conceal in a steadfast way, making them more formal.

Denying something makes it stronger,
Even when it is an awful thing.
That is why acceptance and appropriate action is warranted,
Rather than these same songs of denial we sing.

Mental programming, it is killing us all.
Mental programming, it is how we fall.
Mental programming, what an insistent call.
Mental programming - we must stand tall.

This is the story of two little birds,
forced to keep their story unheard.
One quite frail with legs so lean,
the other a bit large, eyes of ivy green.
They met in the forest just barely hatched,
when they came across one another in the forest thatch.
They’d fly next to each other, side by side,
how sad their love, they had to hide.
They tried not to let their wings touch,
touching only a little, at least not that much.
They kept flying yet couldn’t seem to find the light,
their wings were tired from putting up with the fight.
At night they’d try to sleep, together in their nest,
comforting his beloved, the smaller tried his best.
‘Why can’t we love?’
Neither knew the answer as the moon shined above.
Sadness took over the bigger ones heart,
never wanting to ever be torn apart.
He was tired of being told no,
trying his hardest not to let go.
The smaller one whispered while taking in the cold breeze,
‘Hold on, stay brave for me, please...’

Not always good to hear
Not always the thing you wanna share
But please lets face it
Without truth, how will you make it?
So c'mon now
We gotta tell the truth, or show it somehow
Down to the girl or boy you don't like
Just tell them, but without spite
So spread the word about the importance of Truth
And help others realize  and believe me, some will go mute........

I fell down before I even got to the top.

on the worse days,
i do not let it show.
i watch the ones whom i love most
out of the corner of my eye.
their faces are bright.
i watch them - hope and love and surety - and think,
i am sorry.
i am sorry.
and i do not let it show.

everything is loud around me
and i am an apology left unheard, unspoken;
i myself am left deafened,
too lost to speak.

my love, my love,
i look at you and think:
i am sorry.
do you know? do you know?

do you know:
i am a plane crash,
i am leaping off this cliff that is my breakdown,
i am drowned in my own waters.
do you know, do you know?
my ribcage has been paper-thin for so long,
and my own heart is knocking it down
(it pounds so loud);
and so i am trembling fingers and empty feet,
burning palms and everyday fatigue.
i am the moment
the calm leaves the storm
and everything comes crashing;
i am a star about to die,
and not once did i ever seem to shine;
i am an explosion,
and do you know:
i am so terrified
you will be caught in my aftermath.

in the end,
none of the metaphors will ever fit:
i am sad.
it has been this way for some time.
do you know?
if i think too much my eyes might tear up,
and this is why i can never seem to meet your gaze.

no; of course not:
my apologies are always unspoken.
i am sorry;
perhaps one day the bravery will return
(if it was ever there)
and neither of us will be so lost.

my love, my love,
i am sorry. give me time.

my love,
worry not about me.
not yet, not now.
your quiet love - it is bright,
and i think: no,
you do not have to know.
for this moment, i will be all right.
i will not let it show.
(i will try to stop apologizing for faults that aren't mine.)
my love,
stay with me in this moment.
i ask for little more.