She has two faces.
One face that she shows the world, loved ones, and in public.
The smiling one.
The happy, friendly, and talkative one.
The confident one full of laughter and positivity.
The face that everyone is used to.

The second face is the real face.
The one she tries not to show anyone.
The face behind closed doors, when she's alone away from the world, in the security of her own emotions that she doesn't want to show anyone else or have to explain them.
It's exhausting trying to look happy and like nothing is bothering you.
The face that stares off at nothing or patterns on the floor or drapes.
The face that cries in the shower, in bed, car rides alone, cries sitting on the couch, or doing things around for house.
The sad face that stares back at her in the mirror and looks nothing like she used to be.
Well to her anyway. Others say she looks the same. The face that looks strong to the people she knows, but is really just shards of broken glass inside.
Yes, the girl that was there for everyone, and strong for others...is now split into two.
Two faces, one broken spirit.
She can't bear the losses.
It feels like a chapter of a wonderful book closed never to be open again.
All she has are memories and visions in her head that she plays over and over.
Nothing is the same to her.
Everything is different. She can't cope with daily life, her Doctor said. So she writes to help herself, and she has her two faces.
What's funny is, the sad face is the face worth a thousand words underneath in the depths of complexity.
While the happy face full of laughter, love, positiveness, and fun...is a straight shooter."-

Its nothing,
I know.
But its too much,
Though I wont show.
Inside,
Im butterflies swirling in a storm.
Outside,
Only visible are the fake smiles my lips form.
Help me,
But I dont know how.
Leave me,
Its nothing new now.

i read an article
on self-realisation today
about how
we are an echo
of the universe
and how we can use
that awareness
to unlock our greatness

it stated that
an echo is merely
a vibration bouncing
from point
   to point
across an expanse
it explained that
all objects
throughout the universe
pulsate with energy
that all objects
are a manifestation
of energy;
therefore we are
nothing more than
clusters of energy
vibrating
           bouncing
     ricocheting
through space and time

over time
echoes weaken and fade
into nothingness
returning to
the universe's preferred
state of equilibrium
that cosmic balance
between order and chaos
which existed long before
our disturbance and
will surely return again

the article was meant to be
an aid for practicing inner peace
but it seems i may have
missed the point

maybe i was wrong
when i believed
that it should age
like a fine wine
because sometimes,
it's only good
when it started.

This word called love—
let’s dig deep
into the soil of it
and plant a seed,
of trust.

If only for a little while,
bear witness.
Give no fear.
Smell the dirt.
Feel all of it,
the gritty,
and the grand.
Hear the earth’s confession.

Take the pain inside
and grab its hand.
Gather up every piece—
the chaos and the stardust,
and smile.

The sun rises again.

Embraced my chaotic waves
My mess after madness and
Braved my sullen storm
Reaching out your hands to
Accept the broken me
Calming my hysteric nerves and
Eagerly sailed along  
Deep in the darker side of me

Mysterious our horizon may be
Even in these surges of uncertainty

My soul felt a different you
Only one who truly understands
Ripples of memories behind, that
Even my dimmest night will end

cracks in the ground

like a frozen sea
cracks in the sky
like a frozen lip—
                quivering
then,
and voiceless fluttering
of word upon wordless wordy word

a low wind
that
proud wheat
    swept by

                   a bowing horde of gold

like kin on kin erupting
(because root dooms with it the house)
like a festival of distrust
where all centres
   in a tangle of struggles
own throats hold

gyres of limbs
              that themselves ****
themselves make

a ruffled head
that I so long combed
now a sea wild
wild
now slithering babbling streams
now lustful teasing waves
that shore then shore
meet and meet
and will rest not at all

what of—
blind infancy of impulsive beliefs
that through dunes and oases
go and go
(now nothing, now all, now none and all and all––)

a–– many sandcastle homes of childish sight
melt to doubt

— hold it—
this cleaving ground will be bound no more

cracks, indeed, all around