they say that
sticks and stones may
b r e a k  my bones
but words will never h u r t me....

but words are like scars
they leave trails on my skin  
as tear drops drip
evermore, they stay.

seven years ago,
i still remember what you said.

Poets are a common breed,
they're a dime a dozen;
my uncle was a poet,
as was my second cousin.

Some are mad romantics
some are crazy, like a loon;
they write at all the odd hours,
morning, night, and noon.

The good ones leave you gasping,
at each turn of phrase;
you envy their technique,
strive to learn their ways.

The bad ones leave you laughing,
as they offer empty blithering;
you tend to scratch your head,
is there such a word as glibbering?

But, bless them all for trying,
to say what's on their minds;
it only goes to show you
it takes all different kinds!

There was a Danish girl I knew before
A little girl who was unusual
The last time saw her I in local store
Or maybe I was just delusional
She always carried matches up her sleeve
And liked to set the fire to her stuff
The total strangers called her little thieve
And claimed she was supposed to be in cuff
Somebody said she went away abroad
To meet her mother who was working there
They heard she has been holding lightning rod
And waiting for the storm with humid hair
They said she went mad and burst into flames
She couldn’t handle things and gave it in
She was a fairytale, somebody claims
But fairytales like that just make me grin

You are "DEPRESSED" when you still have

" the inexhaustible willpower to fight back every time you are lost in the abyss of all possible existential threats"

If not then you are CLINICALLY DEPRESSED.

You are STRESSED when

"You are mentally torn into pieces, loathing everything in the world and still love yourself. you know you can resurface anytime.
All you need is spend some hours, maybe days in solitude, talking to yourself, reassessing and coming back with a better plan."

If you cannot, then you are CLINICALLY STRESSED.

I could have had you.
I was so close.
But, I didn't want you to be #2.
For, you are a rose,
and no rose worthy of my time,
who managed to make it into my rhyme,
would ever be allowed to be a #2.

So now it's just the waiting game.
I wish I could give you all the blame.
So that you can finally leave my mind,
I don't even care if it makes me blind.
but, I like you too much for that.
To let you leave so easily.
I hope you can believe me
When I say, "I like you."

But don't worry, honey.
I'll make it to you eventually,
so for now, I'll learn to kiss.
I'll learn to make love.
I will learn to strip lungs of breath.
And it will all be for you darling.

Because, I'm playing the waiting game.
and I cannot wait till it's my turn.