My friend , everyone started this journey alone,
Which is the greatest gift of Lord-
Use it to the fullest,not to make moan;
But rather: to write on the book of hearts, your own chord!

It all started with the dream world,
Where existed no word called lazy;
Where life hadn't its true colours unfurled.
We were nothing but crazy!

Those were the beautiful moments of childhood,
When we knew how to live without being taught.
Please take me back in time if you could,
Before the clutches of the cruel world have me bought!

It could still be the same, you know;
We were the ones to get this complicate-
This soul is the same, we just physically grow.
Don't let the gray world fade your glory too, mate!

Forget what people say, you have the power to dream,
It's time to break the mental bars;
Don't stop your heart, let it scream-
It states the desire to shine out like stars!

Maybe I never find a place
For this heart so misfit.
So, I fill pages after pages with my grace-
To learn to live again,bit by bit!

there’s something unsettling about convenience stores. the fluorescent lights resemble some planet far away from here. neon signs with a letter broken, now flashing “be r,” beckoning the broken, the damaged, the lost boys. the home of those who don’t fit in. they buy the greasy pizza, rubbery hot dogs, and chemically nacho cheese which imitate something edible but scream danger on the tongue. haunted by the souls of the the pimply teenagers working the register, lips stained blue from blue raspberry slushy, slaving through the evening for the nocturnal souls buying milk and bread in the wee hours of the night. hushed arguments on the phone about forgetting to buy toilet paper and why don’t you ever pay attention to me. the pungent smell of hair dye boxes, the stink of attempting to be someone you’re not. skeleton children with messy hair, ***** fingernails as well as thoughts, up to no good back for more cherry cough syrup and furniture polish. soon after 3 candy bars will be found missing from inventory. detergent bottle caps, once neon, now faded with gathering dust, residing next to a dented can of campbell’s chicken soup. an organized chaos. the land of misfit toys.

She stands on a chair
Looking out the window
Above the kitchen sink,
Scrubbing baby bottles,
Sippy cups, and baby
Food jars.

She sees her entire
Second grade class
Playing a game of
Tag without her.

The baby cries from
The bedroom.
She jumps down
And runs to the
Back of the house,
Dragging the chair
With her.

She jumps on the chair
And lifts the baby out
Of the crib.
She reminds herself
To support his head
While she walks to
Their mother’s door.

Her mother is asleep
In the arms of a different
Man than last week,
She smells the all-too
Familiar mixture of
*** and Wine.

The man opens his
Eyes and barks at
Her to get out.

She carries the baby
To the ratty couch
And feeds him
As they sit with the
Two other children,
Listening to her
Peers laughter through the
Window above the sink.

I'm just a misfit.
I just don't fit in.
I'm just a outcast.
I'm just missing my past.

I'll be at the ball in my tutu and fishnets
While I idolize the girls with the long hair and dresses
The money thrown at them by loving parents
While my outfit is made up of spare change and short tresses
But I'll wear my mohawk high because even though
I look out of place and not as royal as you
I am me and true to my name
While you are just the same ******* dolled up

"I've always felt like a yellow skittle in a sea of red skittles."

"what a coincidence. yellow skittles happen to be my favorite flavor of skittles."

"ok."*

*"ok."

I think the worst feeling in the world is being misunderstood.
You think, believe and dream in a certain way but because people assume they know you better than they do, they instinctively think the latter of you.
My behaviour is who I am. I am myself. I am erratic, indecisive and irresponsible. Yes, I admit that.
But I also have the ability to love harder than anyone I have ever known when given the chance. The only thing that holds me back is fear. I can't invest everything I have in one person because there is always that chance they will leave me, and then I will be left more than empty  - I will be broken. I will have nothing left inside of me to love anyone else that isn't you.
I wish you knew how I really felt.
So yes I am misunderstood, and I am sick of it.