Second hand love:
Have I come this far to be a second hand love?
where is my rose, where is my morning smile,
where is my goodnight kiss and
where is my number one guy.

Sometimes I just read my work.
I read, analyse and get flashbacks.
From the pain, to the confusion to the love and back to the pain.
The nightmares to my greatest dream and back again to my nightmares.

My work reminds me of how hard my life has been. How painful it has been.
I read my work not all of it but the ones I can handle I read.
I see a child in me then, searching for freedom within my heart.
Searching for some parts of me that I lost.
But then I read a piece further than that. The piece where I gave up on searching for the lost part of me because by then I would have evolved.
Turned into someone stronger who still carries the heavy weight of my past.

Sometimes I read a piece, the ones I'm not supposed to touch and I collapse, my body relapses.
Goes in a neutral stance of holding my legs close to my chest, rocking myself back and forth and asking for the memories to disappear.

But sometimes they don't and I end up appreciating that. I write more about it. Put on a smile and move on. I can't always be down.

And on most days I write about her, my smile, my freedom. The one girl who has picked me up from the darkness and is still picking me up. I'm picking her up as  well. It's like we're saving each other. I write about her and write and write and write and write till my hearts content.

Sometimes I read my work and realise there are people who read it too and I am grateful.

Close your eyes
Take a deep breath
Let it out
Open you eyes
Look them straight in the face
Tell them you love them
Walk away without turning back*


If the person you love is making you feel like you're being held underwater for an ungodly amount of time, here's your sign. Do yourself a favor and let go. It doesn't matter how much you love them because I guarantee they don't love you as much as you love them. They don't care about you as much as you care about them. They're a leech, ******* out every ounce of energy you have left. You don't need them. If it hurts more to tell them you love them than it does to think about what it would be like if you lost them, you need to let go. You need to rip yourself off them like a bandaid. It's going to hurt, but you'll be okay. As a matter of fact, you'll be better off than you were. I promise.*



                                 B.S.

I understand it was forth of July,
Sipping whiskey watching the world fly by
But you didn't have to disappear
Like the colors at the end of the pier

-e.k. fm