does that kind of love exist anymore? that kind where two people and their souls become one, that kind where you don’t have eyes for anyone else, eyes that don’t wonder, where the connection and love is so strong that an eternity together isn’t enough to express the feelings you have for someone so perfect, i crave that kind of love

This is an ode to my friends.
For the ones I've loved since day one
the ones I have learnt to love
and for the ones I hate to love.

This is for my friend,
for the one, I got drunk with first.
We stole a litre bottle of cider and four beers then drank them in the park at midnight.
This is an ode to my friend who cries at parties,
who swears he will die alone.
This is for my friend who laughs at every joke,
the **** and comedian but shakes when no one is looking.

This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who's grandma is dying but they
still, manage to draw on a smile and present a joke.
This is for my friend who has depression,
Or the friend who has anxiety,
and asks me to speak for her at restaurants,

This is an ode to my friends,
who is finally taking control of her body
after being trapped in the wrong one.
For the friend who is scared to leave the house
when it's icy because he might slip and hurt his ***.
For the friend, I fancied till I was sixteen,
and even though it's been years my lips still burn when
I look at her.

This is an ode to my friends who leave me out of conversations.
who have inside jokes they sprout when I'm around
This is for the ones that went to the movies to see the film they knew I was dying to see.
This is an ode to my friend,
who broke her leg whilst dancing in her favourite musical,
and the part was given to someone else.
This is for the friend whose mother died when she was 12
but she remains the strongest person ever.

This is an ode to those who
forget I'm their friend,
who ignore me when they're upset,
who  tell me daily that they love me,
who cry at Disney movies,
who laugh at videos of past times,
who  I hate that I adore,
who  I cry over,
because I can't make them happy anymore.

This is an ode to my friends,
for the one who is so self-conscious, he wears baggy jumpers to hide his stomach.
This is an ode to my friend who has scary parents,
for the friends who made a pyramid out of stones and raised a nation,
for the friends who try their hardest and still achieve nothing,
for my friends the world has seemingly forgotten,

This is an Ode to my friends,
the ones I know I will die loving,
they give me cups of tea with two sugars when I'm having a bad episode,
for the ones that cry when they hear a certain song, because it reminds them of when I tried to off myself in the toilet,
for the one that has never had a kiss,
for the one who refuses to get married.

This is an ode to my friends,
the family I chose,
the ones that send me stupid messages at four am,
then question why I'm awake so late.
For the friend that gets blackout drunk,
for the one with weak knees,
who, when she laughs, falls to the ground in a fit of giggles,
for the friends, I will marry, loving.
Speak now or forever hold your peace,

An ode to my friends,
who I love more than anything,
as we collapse through the stars,

I'll hear them laughing at a joke.

Staring at walls,
her face drained of joy.
Legs pulled close,
chin on knees,
hair draped over her face.

Empty.
She's so, so empty.

Didn't anyone ever notice her?
Not even when she didn't laugh once?
Not even when she didn't laugh at all?

Shrinking in her despair.
A vibrant world
gone in the blink of her sad eyes,
lost to the shadows in her face,
stuck staring at walls.

Waiting.
She's so sick of waiting.

Did no-one hear her silence?
Not even when she didn't reply once?
Not even when she didn't reply at all?

living death she feels,
her neck still damp from drying tears.
Holding back her sobs,
fighting back her tears,
fighting with the walls.

Lonely,
she's just so ******* lonely.

Didn't anyone miss her smile?
Not even when she didn't smile once?
Not even when she stopped smiling for good?

Staring at walls,
her face drained of joy.
Tear strained,
skin as pale as death,
razor in hand.

*Done,
she's finally done...

have you seen my skin?
my skin is rough and worn;
It's covered in scars from the pains of my past.
The skin on my knuckles are angry and red,
the skin on my lips is torn and chapped.
no-one notices my skin until it bleeds,
maybe that's not enough.
maybe I'm not enough...

But what's worse than my scars are the wounds of today,
pouring out beneath my skin.
no-one can see them,
but that doesn't mean that they're not there.
But no-one wants to see.
And no one wants to care.
No-one wants to take my hand and see my scars, my knuckles, my wounds, my lips and love my skin for what it is.
but no-one wants to touch my skin,
and no-one wants to look at my skin.

My skin is rough and worn and cold and scarred
but my skin is still beautiful.
Now do you see my skin?

A child is our ancient world's greatest gift.
So ignorant to ignorance they drift
through life, not seeing why we war or how
we hate the heartbeat of our life, but now
we try to stifle 'childish fantasy',
not seeing peace on Earth as they can see.

A child can make an instant, lifelong friend,
a common name or age will make them spend
their years together, joined at hip and heart,
each whispered secret promising the start
of stronger bonds and brighter days,
each hand in hand, traversing life's black maze.

A child may fight you over something small,
they kick and scream and bite and swipe, but all
their conflicts can be solved with one embrace,
forgiveness instant, smiles now back in place.
No secret sourness stored within their soul,
all faults forgotten; friendships, morals whole.

A child will speak with honesty profound;
the truths they speak to you are not yet bound
by pressures of society to lie
to save themselves - the words they speak will fly
through clouds of foggy falsehoods, set you free,
and open up your eyes to let you see
     just what you are, and what you've done,
and what monstrosity you could become
if you insist on murdering their world,
for it is worth its fragile weight in gold.
Ironically, materialism tries
to **** their tender, unpolluted lives:

"It's time that you grew up. You're not a child.
Don't let these frightful fancies grow so wild.
You've got to get a job and earn
your own money, quite soon you'll learn
the adult world is not so nice; no second chance,
so wake up from this stupid, silly trance.
     No time to idly sit and daydream dear.
It's time we got this situation clear:
a life of student loans and debts await.
Your choices now affect your life-long fate.
Bad grades, you say? Well, that's so awfully sad.
But don't expect our help. You'll only add
     to costs it takes to get you lot in work.
Although, those grades will only make this worse.
Who wants to hire a failure? No one does.
So get it right first time, my pet, because
you'll be ignored and shunned and judged, although
we'll masquerade, and claim we care or know."

But what if I don't want to choose this way?
I've got a voice, but you won't hear me say
that I don't want to live my life like this.
The future you have carved for me, your bliss,
is hell for me. Why can't you realise?
This world looks better through a child's eyes.

There’s a cloak I keep around
A fine, invisible one
One cannot feel its texture,
Or play with it for fun.
I can’t hear its many sounds
And neither can I see
The object of my leisure
A worker’s company.

How do I know it exists?
Perhaps I fool my brain
It’s a phantom wisp of air
That somehow hides my pain
That helps calm when one persists
In hurting what’s inside
The worn bubble worse for wear
When all weak tears are dried.

When internal demons wake
The cloth begins to fray
When the heart is torn apart
The stitches do not stay
The joints start to tear and break
Grow weak with weeping thread,
The engine now cannot start
One that was always dead.

Through the holes they find the *****
Some fellows in my land
Working their way through the fold
Turning stone to mere sand.
Why do they not stop to think
‘What is this good fabric?
Looking so when once so bold
Despicable magic!’

Therein lies the bitter truth
The folly of our time
They cannot see the poor cloak
As it is in this rhyme!
Only the wearer can sleuth
Which holes made when, are where
Through dumbness, anger it soaks
Each cruel word, each harsh stare.

Pull it closer, guard within
The fragile soul and smile
Hide well, know with clarity
That it is worth your while
Each mistake you call a sin
Throw it outside the cloth
With faithful integrity
Forgiven, not forgot.

Then build inside nerves of steel
Strength of iron so great
In the kiln of your own brick
Control what you create
Take the helm, but do not seal
The course of actions done
Know the plan, but do not trick
Make hay under the sun.

Make points clear, do not mask
With some thoughts said aloud
Keep a hat large for your head
I mean- do not be proud.
Perform with love each tough task
In your own, unique way
Care and earn, and share your bread
With every passing day.

Mend the cloak as you move on
With the good gift of life
Show it off well when you can
Fighting undeserved strife.
You don’t know why you were born
You do not have to wait
The brave roar of a lion sang
From stories of your fate.

The hands that haven't held
The legs that haven't walked
The skin that has never felt
The eyes that couldn't see
The ears that couldn't hear

I owned the mouth that never spoke,
filled with words hidden behind lips
that filled my throat
but, I couldn't speak
the last and only thing I felt
was the awful feeling
of being choked
whenever I spoke
I was creature with no energy
just like a flower with no petals
I wasn't able to bloom
I wasn't able to grow  

- Kaya

Being okay is not something you can just achieve overnight, or over a day, or even over a week. It's not something you rush, it's something that takes time, an uncertain length of time.

It would take you on some sort of uncertain journey knowing yourself, like knowing what makes you not okay today, or what makes you feel alright again the next day.

You will really never know when will you be completely okay, that's the truth; but the good thing here is this: you have all the time in world to finally be.

You have all the time for yourself to use it, to take the chance to  finally learn how to say "I'm not okay." at times you're not. Denying the truth to yourself won't help, accepting it and embracing it, would. You have to treasure that downfall moment, everyday; every weekend, in a midst of everything.
You have to do something about it, and what's more to create something from it, of all people; for yourself.

It can be a messy puzzle to fix, it can be a long process to be done with, but remember this:  It's okay to work on being okay, it's okay to find out what would work for you or what would not;

than to fret and work on nothing at all.

I have words  for everyone.
I have words for the broken,
For the ones who were left behind.
For the dreamers, the wanderers,
the seekers, for the risk taker.
I have words for the ones who have been lost, have been found, have been heared, or have been just a sound.
For those that were loved,
for those who were unloved.

The missed, the unmissed.
for the feelings that still exists,
for the lips that were still unkissed.
I have words for everyone,
old and young
for everything;
Spoken or sung,
for every feeling,
relating, revealing.

Yet at  the end of the day,
After all the game,  after all the play
After all the come and go,
After all the high and low
and after all the rain, after a rainbow
I'd love to have someone who'll have few real sweet words for me, as much as I have thousands for the world itself.

Write about me once. Just once. And I, beautifully,  will write about
you forever.