As cold and lonely as the outside can be, there's a lot less drama and pressure;
You're free

The drops are so much deeper,
and the highs aren't high at all.
Ongoing expectant measures listed,
of these persistent calls to pressure.
To fill a frame that's drained,
when switching off is no longer an option.
Are these real problems or signs of age?

Before was easier, yesterday simpler,
but would the early days help to mould,
when you've already grown from there.
Late observations of missed play,
a rug pull calls out the fool to vacate.
As we're a little bitter in vain,
there's no sweetness today.

Too much to do
Time runs out
And my demons roar
Behind my mouth

The voices in my head
Are knocking me out
So much to feel
Rage behind my mouth

Look into my eyes
See the flaming spread
There‘s no way out
From the demons in my head

No end, no beginning
No change, no line
And the demons are still singing
In my head, out of time

The flames in my eyes
Burning my soul down
While I hear them singing
So clear, so loud

No silence, no silence
But then I close my eyes, freeze
Let my heart burn down
To find at least a blink of peace

~every distance is a long shot
within reach of a fool~
                          Prv. 𝑓:𝑦

bleed your heart out in dripping
poetic pretense―slip
that inky salamander some silk:

         "the wilting waiting flora
bequeathed their busting bouquets and
     bountiful bosoms unto the world
              in all of its prescient
                       violence"

then read it back to yourself
later and be
absolutely disgusted.

throw it away with all the other
things you've done in your
life.

now reach back in your closet
and rattle the skeletons
lingering there.

finger your dreams in the
dark under pressure
from the mind
to find yourself.

the lightning severance
will sing and
anxiety will
harmonize with the knife.

you've done it again...
****** it all up
and everyone
knows it.

you could eat all the erasers
in the world
and your **** still
wouldn't come out correct.

a lifetime of valleys and
seawalls has made you
an avatar of
effortless blunder.

and you can't stop bleeding
all over the page; white
is red again
cause
you blue it.

bleed in―breathe out
breathe in―bleed out
bleed in―breathe out
breathe in―
bleed out...

welcome to the creative
process.

I am not coal to be pressured
And form into a diamond
I am human,
Under enough crushing pressure
For ever so long
Never to let up
I will break
For I am flesh and bone
Not of rot and stone

If I am to break
My dear little bones
The pieces must be put back together
Held in tender care behind walls
Before they can heal again
To become stronger than before

So, mind the walls
For I am healing
They will come down when I am ready
When my bones have mended
Strengthened anew.

- Jay M
April 20th, 2021

The only way to test the authenticity of a diamond is to place it under pressure
waiting to see if it breaks...

You wont find another diamond like me.
That is in stone...

Fakeness is the lesson you refuse to grow from
Fake is the world we live in
Fake is what you hate
But you love a fake face

The princess glides across the dance floor
On the tips of her toes
Barely touching the ground,

She is not dancing, no, she is not so simple
The princess is flying, free, forgetting
That eventually, she will fall

Her legs will begin to shake
After hours of torture, her feet will swell
In the shoes two sizes too small

Her ankles will crack under the pressure
But she will keep dancing
The princess cannot let anyone see
The pain that she is in, after all,

Beauty is pain,
But pain is not beautiful

I told everyone that I’m okay,
But do I still need to say?
I wanted to be happy, just to be happy all day…
I wasn’t expecting you come into play
Expectations deprived me from watching sunset by the bay

They wanted me to be perfect but I couldn’t shine properly
I was criticized silently
And was perishing inside, slowly

I cried a lot; my life’s too dry
No one scrupled to ask, “Are you still okay?”
When you had the confidence to utter words, it was late.
Too late
I’ve taken my life and it was my fate.

Do butterflies realize their beauty,
The wonderful way in which they fly,
Or do they compare themselves to every insect
Wondering if they should hide their colorful wings with dye.

Do they admire their wing’s softness
Their calming patterns, soft and light
Or do they think there’s something wrong with them
If there's something faulty with their size

Do they hate carrying the weight
of those stunning patterned wings
Do they ask themselves why they don't look the same
Or do they realize it is because they're queens.

Do they recognize they have nothing to be jealous of.
That they’re special and unique
Those wings are part of who they are
And without them, they would just be weak.

Do butterflies realize their wings’ beauty
And know they need them to reach the sky
Because without them they would be incomplete
And would remain “butter” without “fly”.