Must everything be black and white?

Must we choose left or right?

Wouldn’t either choice eventually take us back to where we began?

What if we made our decisions based upon the needs of others, wouldn’t that be grand?

Mustn’t the pendulum meet in the middle before making it’s next move?

Wouldn’t the clock’s tick tock stop without this groove?

Are decisions made on predefined options still based on our own choices?

What if we instead made decisions using our own voices?

Why then is the road less travelled?

Is it because it’s only made clear when the facades built upon it unravel?

what do you do
what do you say
when you realize
you are no longer what you were
feelings and opinions
passion and light
drifted away
only shadowy memories
ghosts left behind
What do you do
when you forget how to be you
can you see yourself in a song
feel yourself in a breeze
what happens when your moments
don’t feel like your own
When your years are a lie
cleverly told
That’s not like you!
What is?
What am I
what should I be.
But most importantly
who cares.

Maybe I am destined to live a life I don't want
Maybe I was created to end it all for myself.
These suicidal thoughts can't be for nothing
I'm beginning to think maybe I deserve the demons in my head
And just maybe I was destined to let them win

Infinite amounts of definitions could not depict
The extent to which a structured norm
Is measured
Blindness adjoins clarity, while sight provokes vanity
It is an aspect unhindered, lacking certainty
A single word yet so many portraits
Drawn on the canvas of our linked pathways

If you ask me about beauty, don’t
For my lips would quiver nonsense to you, to me
The mass of the universe that surrounds our whole being
The endless rows of glimmering stars that speak to our vulnerable eyes
Or perhaps, the raging force of life that springs from within us

If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Because you would have to look at yourselves to see
The beaming smiles corresponding with velvet risings of cheeks
The abundance of glistening tears that have embodied those very same
And even, the flashing spark of joy which invites a feeling of utter content

If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Otherwise there would be an influx of sentiments towards
The prettiness of colored nature, steadiness of height-breaking hills
The calmness of the bare sound of waves crashing into an advocacy for peace
The building blocks of surroundings that determine you and me

So if you ever want to ask me about beauty,
Bare the consequences in mind
Just the elaborate thought of such a question
Could raise a plethora of reasonings

Who are you?
    Chaff on the wind?
    Child on the swing?
    An acorn falling midst the thick of Fall?

And what are you?
    A babbling brook?
    A winding road?
    Or a born tree with lead lined ink, skyscraper tall?

Why are you so?
    A constant ache?
    A worried mind?
    A mentality amongst those most small?

And who are you?
    And what are you?
       And why must I ask?
         Are you even here at all?