Don't fall in love and your heart will thank you
when it doesn't shatter and break into
          two,
                        three,
                                          a thousand parts.

I feel as if I will never write again.
I feel the doubt and fear,
paralyzing me until I don’t know what to say or hear.
They hate me, don’t they?
I fear their eyes,
their words,
their tears.

But I cannot speak.

I listen for the footsteps.
Where are they now?
Lighter footsteps slamming the door until I cannot hear them anymore.
Heavy footsteps have gone as well, the door is opened.
There they are.
I feel small,
so small
and little.

The word regression comes to mind.
They are coming closer, switch the tab, and hope that they are blind.

Questions are like landmines, and each one is smaller, still, no matter the size of the landmine, whether you try to confront or evade, they all are set to ****.

I don’t know if I can do this, be anyone I want to be.
Will I be a starving artist and a disappointment to my family?

My name is Fear, I do not grow, I am small in every way.
My impact is big, my job so large, and yet small in stature is how I stay.

Am I Fear, or am I something hidden far below?
If I am Fear, then tell me please why does my power grow?

As soon as I speak I forget the words, the problems, and questions as well.
There are so many things I yearn to learn, so eager to tell.

Growing up is stupid, and you can’t disagree;
so many things have gotten harder with age for me.

Don’t go outside,
don’t say a word,
don’t stay on the path,
don’t be deterred.

Don’t sing,
don’t write,
don’t flirt,
don’t fight.

These are simple things to ask of you.

Don’t listen,
don’t hear,
don’t have courage,
don’t fear.

These are what you know, and simple things to do.
Impossible standards are easy, the simple tasks are hard.
Is it one voice now, or many?
Are you always on your guard?

Listen, See, Do, Be.
These are simple, don’t you see?
Doubt is here, or is it fear?
Or maybe someone new?
All of these thoughts are yours my dear, so what does that mean for you?

I don’t like the days and I don’t like the nights.
I only like parts.
I want to enter the part where I enter dreamland.
Forever.
Even while awake later.
Just outside flying with the wind.
No distraction.
Being what I want to be.
For once and for all.
I want peace and dreams.
In the dark and sometimes in the light too.
But not too light, I became allergic to light.
Cause this life has left me burning and not able to face the brightness of another difficult day.
And the sounds are so horrific that they take my soul to leave it lost in space.
And my body cannot move.
It’s lying there still.

If you focus on the pain
Mild sore aches or strain
Does it fade away
Enough for long as
sun does with shade

Measurements of mixed context

The more we sit inside
Idle minded led astray
Nature's chemistry in flux
Diametrically perplexed
Medication stimulating parts of the brain

I.
my friendship is yellow

my friendship is being your favorite color


II.
you are falling and you don’t realize until you hit the bottom and your fingernails have dirt underrate them from digging and digging because your skin has been white-hot burning for so long the air against your skin as you free fall felt like relief


III.
and i know i was alive once because i can still hear ocean waves crashing in my ears


IV.
flickering embers 

distorted by ***** wine glasses

you aren’t here

but i’m starting to think you never were


V.
through the swaying leaves of almost-summer,

not yet humid but enough to wear your favorite green sandals,

enough where you are not yet care-free,

but you can almost taste it

like strawberry juices dripping down your chin