We always run
On the chain of desire
As the last person
At the end of the line
It's easy to give up
Make your run stop
No one will notice
Everyone's ahead
But we somehow stay
Though it's the hardest
To stay behind
And keep what we have
But we somehow hope
That what we're running
Is worth aiming for

Numbers
Numbers matter so much to people.
Math.
A scale.
Competition.
Money.
Time.
Numbers aren't even objects.
You can't hold a number.
We rank people, low class, middle class, high class, all by numbers.
Girls rank themselves by numbers
"She weighs 10 lbs less than me"
In competition the lower number the better, we all want first place.
When in the end its only a number.
Why why why
do we care
so much?

Completely wrapped around the finger of burden
We compete with eachother to who can carry more than
To try to win at every turn isn't winning
To make everything a challenge isn't fulfilling
Weighed down by the pressures of our surroundings
Everyone tries to be a hero, but the insanity is astounding
Attempting to shine in a room filled with uncountable bulbs
Is a wish that should be approached with care

Open your eyes and who do you see?
Climb into the high and what can you read?
While trying to find in what you will creed,
One tries not to die while trying to exceed,

Open your eyes and tell me who’s there,
And see with your heart if for you they care,
When destiny takes away time to be pairs,
What have you not but to treat those unfair?

Open yourself and pass all the pain,
Because it is the only one way to gain,
And if not then one puts itself to insane,
Cause if not others may maintain all their fame,

Now you know who is always real sharp,
Don’t grief on it because its only the start,
And whilist one gathers light to form one’s star,
Foes put one through stress because they can’t get far…

I hurt you?
This isn't a competition.
When I say something, your response is you have it worse.

I'm sorry I make you feel like a bad friend.
It's my fault.

I'll spare you the pain of my friendship.
I don't have the strength to make the sacrifices anymore.
Even though I love you.

I really do.

Sometimes, I wonder if you ever loved me.
You say you do, but why can't I feel it?

There never seems
To be enough
Seconds in a minute
Or
Minutes in an hour
Or
Hours in a day
When it comes to this journey called "life."
There always seems to be
Somewhere to go
Or
Someone to see.
If it's not here, then it's there.
If it's not her, then it's them.
I frantically rush from one hour
To the next
CrammingCrushing
Everylittlething
Until there is nothing left but
Me and a hundred of thoughts,
A myriad of worries,
And a pyramid of plans.

But it's then that I take a breathe.
I take a breath
& remember You-
The Great Beginning
And the End.
For even but a moment
It is just the Father and I-
A father and his daughter.
I rest at the feet of Jesus
Like Mary once did.
There is no agenda
No rush
No need to be anywhere but here.
I am humbled by His presence for
He radiates
Love,
Holiness,
Self-lessness,
Patience-
All that I am not.

I tell Him of my day
And the fears that have taken root:
The fear of failing,
The fear of disappointment,
The fear of not being good enough.
"It's too much!"
I cry out.
"I can't do it!
There's too many things and not enough me."
But my Father,
He tells me to list.
He tells me of how He has a plan-
A plan of joy
Not worry;
A plan of peace,
Not distress;
A plan of victory,
Not defeat.
"Child, yes, you are small,
But I am big-
Bigger than your plans,
Bigger than your hopes,
Bigger than your fears.
So take comfort in Me
When life is not at rest.
Find solace during the story
While knowing that I calm the seas."

One branch
Protrudes above the rest
It's not
A competition
There is no match here
It ended
Months ago

Last season
In the race
For light
Survival

This branch
Fails to see

We're all from the same tree.

I turn on my heel
in the blinding darkness,
feet tingling over the warm night sand,
only for the dark to be pierced
by the shining light from the illuminating moon
onto the land.

And below it, the murky waters
mimicking the sky above
In all its dark, sapphire glory.

The sea’s bipolarity inflicts,
as it sways and swishes,
gently hitting against the eroded rocks betwixt,
before stilling momentarily and resuming its dance.

I step forward from the ticklish golden grains,
interrupting the perfection of the sea in front,
slicing through its peaceful layer,
its mood changes: it roars, it shakes.

But I continue, carefully diminishing the ocean surface,
killing it with every step I move forward,
going deeper into its place of sanctuary and refuge.

And then its fury comes into action,
trapping me in its freezing grasp;
I’m stuck, unable to move.
Its revenge is coming, it is inescapable.

Then it happens, by a split second,
the icy depths, now conjugated with the once-still surface,
to make a prison, inescapable, unnegotiable.

Leaping, jumping, pushing me underneath its shallow exterior,
I scream a noiseless scream, lungs burning with misery.
The melancholy is true, inevitable.
There is nothing I can do, but calm underneath the covering.

I am going to die.

But I wake up,
in my bed, though in a cold sweat.
“It was a doomed dream,”
but no, it was not.

For though I may have not drowned
physically and ******,
I am already dead,
emotionally and mentally.

And as I walk through the shattered glass of Consequence,
I see that it may have just been better off as a reality,
for my world is already drowning me,
but this time, the sea, the tormentor
doesn’t have this much magnificence and beauty.

And I battle it every day,
listen to its insulting notions,
back and forth, back and forth.

It doesn’t understand
what I have to go through.
the constant demand of society
is enough to want me to bid adieu.

“What the hell is wrong with you?
You’re a piece of dirt,
no matter how hard I rub off the stain,
it just never comes off, it always grew.
That stupid stain is you.”

Yet I still must go through it,
non-stop, every second of my conflicting life,
not a single moment of peace,
not even in my sleep.

As I walk through the burning abyss of Memory,
I am bombarded by the bleeding wounds,
not yet healed, fresh and open,
and it hurts, the pain is unbearable.

The fighting doesn’t stop,
I’m told that I’m hated,
worthless, unneeded,
“Go, leave, go die,” it stated.

I must battle with my mind.
I must carnage with myself.
And it’s not going to ever end.

I’m better off going to the cemetery.

Because this is the world I must endure.