everything that i was afraid of
has already happened

and i’m still here

Life is hard,
That’s the way it’s meant to be.
We try so hard,
This is easy to see.
They say hard work pays off in the end,
On this I disagree.
How can death be the payout,
That doesn’t seem good to me.
We fight,
We struggle,
This is what makes our life.
If it was easy we’d have no reason,
No reason to fight,
And push for something better.
The final destination is irrelevant,
It’s the journey that makes us.

Do you actually want me?
Or just like the thought of me?

Please let me know
If you want me to stay

I want to stay
But only if you want me to

I tried to plant a garden
I toiled and tilled til my nails were nothing but blackened nubs
Like small pieces of charcoal
And I spent my last coins on seeds- because the granddaughter of a florist must have flowers
But my blooms wilted
My leaves shriveled
And locusts chewed on my darlings til they were nothing but the frailest stems
Like my legs looked, when I was fifteen

For days I mourned. Years it seemed. More coins spent on seeds, more work in the sun
But I kept ending up with bare roots and dry buds
Until finally, one day, I looked down at my barren garden and asked it, how do I make you beautiful?
To which my garden replied

cow ****.

Because the lotus can’t grow without the blackest of mud. The roses can’t bloom without meal made of blood.
my garden had died... because I hadn’t gone through enough cow ****.

The years when I was a child were filled with a infinite range of emotions.
Emotions so strong it felt I could move mountains, land, and even oceans.
My childhood was full of tears and fun.
I know now I am not the only one.
I remember exploring the country side with friends.
When we were older we drifted apart and the pain never ends.
I remember all the cartoons we watched.
I remember birthdays, Christmas, and the toys that were brought.
I remember all the pets we had.
I remember the days when I was happy or sad.
When I think about it I am mad.
The days I have now are filled with sorrow and grief from that.
Though my childhood still remains.
I should be glad that I am alive, please relieve these restraints.
Every day I am reminded of the past.
Hopefully I relieve the pain at last.
I am not proud at what I have become.
Maybe now the dreams of my love.
My friends and family I will follow them.
With their guidance I will swallow them.
I hope to never remember the past so angered.
For some, hope for the future is endangered.
My advice is to find something you are good at doing.
Run for the future and never look back unless it is wrong you are pursuing.
I will keep the past pain and hardship near.
My pain in my heart is stored right here.

Perceptions of identity in internal conflict grow by the shared fear of being disproven.

Resistance, in the form of denial, turns into desperation and anxiety before it reluctantly ceases.

But sometimes it happens during the mental battle and human hardship that the most pressured of these perceptions fires a distress-rocket out of its protective trench.

Something instinctual in man appeals, and if need be demand an opportunity to express what has happened.

The signal often depicts itself in ways of expression already chosen at birth, without regard to the self-image's rigorous, albeit nervous defense.

And so the poet dictates,

the artist sings,

regardless if one never dared before, one dares now.

The feelings are preserved long after the battle has passed,  
thoughts fade out of memory,
lost in one of the eternally sealed archives of the organism.

Yet the fragment that made it out is a beautiful remnant, an undeniable testimony that a creation of the soul can leave man.