And believe me little girl: there’s nothing you can do for someone who chose to be sad.

Study.
Yeah, that'll get you places.
As the multitude of students waste away hours,
Studying, stressing, vomiting, anxious,
The hope that we'll eventually reach our dreams,
Yeah, that's barely what keeps us going.

We know our parents are pushing,
Always pushing,
For us to have the life they dreamed of,
But never had.

Do they ever think?
Does it ever cross their mind,
That maybe we don't want that?
Or maybe we want to make them happy,
So we push ourselves farther than we can go,
Just to keep them thriving,
For the last few years of their lives.

So instead of them checking on us,
Making US happy in our own life,
We are pushed, told,
"Study Harder" and "It's worth it!",
But I get the feeling,
Even with a university degree,
I'll still end up depressed, anxious,
And be worried about the future,
And with a debt that will just keep growing.

Its getting harder to laugh a while

Its getting harder to happily smile

Its getting harder to put on a mask

Its getting harder to just walk past



Its getting harder to go socialise

Its getting harder to look into their eyes

Its getting harder to see the right choices

Its getting harder to ignore the voices


Its getting harder to keep secrets up my sleeve

Its getting harder to find reason to live

Its getting harder to not submerge

Its getting harder to suppress the urge



Its getting harder to say “I’m alright”

It’s getting harder to see the light

Its getting harder to run after

Its getting so.

                          much.

                                             darker.

I notice the way
lovers linger at each other
for two seconds longer
and how
you mumble along to that tune
escaping from your right earbud.
The gallery cafe holds
artists in a room full of art
and I feel as if I'm
interrupting something
special
here.
I'd frozen that expression
portrayed by his features-
glowing when she'd
waltzed in;
tucked it into my bursting pocket as another stolen moment
and I think
love
is a funny thing.
Untouched
yet experienced
and I wonder why he
had eyes for her
and how long they'd last
or how he'd chosen
that particular song;
lyrics involuntarily memorized
for what other reason than fondness;
or how after knowing someone for longer than your memory can recall
that the creases in their index finger
is as familiar as the back of your hand;
so can all these emotions
overflowing with
serotonin and
caffeine,
dopamine and
adrenaline
be classified as love?
I think it can.

// Is this a milestone or ongoing progress? //

Love is addictive.
Yours is even harder to
Quit than ******.