You promised me forever
even in a life that is temporary
and you broke two things with one word.
“Bye”

We try so hard for a life that’s good
Until we’re all numb.
Until we have been hurt so much that we
say we’re fine.
Until we look into the mirror and see all the good things that we are not
instead of seeing the good things that we are.
Until we’re all too blind to past all the lies that society shows.
Until the light runs out leaving all of us in the dark, with
nothing to say or do except lay there and
look up at the thousands of stars of the cold and bitter night and
one day eventually fall asleep.
Until that icy glacier covering your heart freezes more.
Until we take a breath in and can’t let it out because
everytime that you let someone go
it hurts and you know you possibly can’t let go another.
Until someone can’t grab you and
hold you tight like an anchor to reality.
So promise me you won’t break my heart again
even though I know you will.

                            ~n.r.

There was a small frog
Splayed out on a zoo log
Its name was something-dog

I think it was dead
It didn't move its head
Nor blink its eyes instead

It was kinda cute
Though in death it was mute
So a picture of it I did shoot

A girl my age shoved past
Looked into the foggy zoo glass
To see the amphibious class

She called it lazy
Said the frog was **** ugly
Then left to see cuter things

Dead or simply asleep
Cute or a slimy creep
Who thought about frogs so deep?

Go.

She has,
Copper skin and blood that runs red like little rivers.

She is,
Terrified of what is inside and who she is, only because she is rejected by what she is, and whom she has become.

She faces the lie of "I am fine", and thoughts that plague the fill-in-the-answer, dotted lines, crossed I's and dotted t's that scream: "I'm only tired."

She is tired.
She is tired of lies forced upon her body like scars that engrave in her brain. She is tired of the lack of determination, the learned helplessness of failing and failing and failing again.

She is tired of the elongated sighs and eyes trickled with crocodile tears.

She is tired of the future that leaps out before her, yet is so far out of her grasp.
Yet, she is tired of the haunting past, so she sits on the corner of "Where and when?" as if waiting for an old friend.

She waits for a friend that will never arrive. Time and time will pass by, until the moment her heart leaps out of her chest and into the bottom of the sea, where she longs to be free.

So in words shrouded in darkness and fear she writes the words and listens to poems that read, "My Dear," in hope that the aching of her chest will cease the blood orange rivers from tainting her copper skin.

She vows that one day she will win.

But one day is not today. So she continues to sit on the corner of "Where and when?"

Where will you life begin, you dandelion rose? When will your life begin?