A picture on the internet told me
That I should write every day
Because it would make me stronger.
It said to write even when I couldn't
But if I couldn't then how could I?
That’s the problem.

If I don’t write every day then I become weaker.
The weaker I become, the less I write.
How can I write to get stronger when
I am already too weak to write?

Its like throwing a bird without wings and expecting it to fly.
Each time it hits the ground it is closer to dying
But it can save itself if it can just fly.
But that's the problem!

The bird becomes more jaded every day it doesn't fly
And the more jaded he is, the less he wants to.
How could he possibly save himself
If he is already dying?

Its like slamming a door in a decaying home.
The hinges creak and the wood splinters,
It comes closer to falling apart with every motion
But the people who use it only use it for their own privacy.
That’s the problem.

That door creaks and splinters every time it is closed.
Keep closing it and there will be no more door,
Just an empty space in a wall,
Another hallway.
There is only one decaying home and only a certain number of doors,
Pretty soon they will all fall apart in your hands.
It sounds like a metaphor.

In your picture I saw
Thought you were looking at me
An infectious smile sans flaw
Is what I could still see
My lips widened mocking your smile
Tears rolled out of eyes too in the while
And then I realized
You are no more.

May your soul rest in peace, I pray.
If there is heaven, may you there, stay
I pray...I pray.

I saw you in a picture today,

A Family Christmas Card.

Your face looks like mine
you can see it in the eyes
especially when you smile.

He's smiling
Holding you in his arms
like you belong there

She's holding your brother
like she held you
in the few pictures we took

Together.

But there's something
not quite right
with this picture.

You can see it in your eyes,
especially when you smile.

Some things will
never be
Perfect.

Iwanttobefree
        soIwillbefree
               Ihavethepower
                   poweryouwoul
                        dn'tbelieveI'md
                             onechasingbutt
                                  erfliesI'llneverca
                                      tchthemanyways
                                            I'mflyingwiththe
                                                   mnowafairyno
                                                        wsoyouchooseme

My long hair is a symbol of maturity
It frames my face, making a perfect picture
The brush strokes are my imperfect skin
Beautifully perfect mistakes
All apart of me
And all things I hate