Click clack
Sliding of beads
So therapeutic
To see how this became that
What makes up the whole
                           Touch each fraction

No need for equation of form
To find value of one emotion
                               Against a known
Or
Tangents
Or
Ometries
                          
When the only calculus of interest
                                    Is sum of self

Not knowing how
              To do something
                           Learning
          Requires guidance
          Thought understanding

Not knowing what to do
When you know how it's done
              Requires little thought
              Just choice

Not knowing what to do 
When your lost
Without purpose
Requires no thought
                         Let go
                         Listen to your heart

In shadowed streets where silence weeps,
And echoes chase the feet of time,
A whisper hums where sorrow sleeps,
“Stay soft,” it sings, “though life may climb
Its thorn-wrought walls and break your skin,
Do not let hardness settle in.”

For pain may press with quiet might,
May twist the dawn into the night,
But you, dear soul, are not your ache,
Not every bruise, not every break.
You are the hush between the rain,
The breath that rises after pain.

So let it hurt. Let teardrops fall
Like silver bells down sorrow’s wall.
Let it swell and let it sting,
Grief is a wild, untamed thing.
But let it heal. The heart, it knows
How even shattered gardens grow.

And when the ache begins to fade,
Like fog dissolved by morning’s blade,
Let it go—release its hold,
The stories pain has tried to mold.
You are more than what you bear,
A flame still dancing through despair.

So rise, as mist that greets the sun,
As rivers do when thaw has come.
Rise soft, rise fierce, rise with your grace,
The world may harden—but not your face.
Smile with the soul that’s weathered through,
There’s still a bloom inside of you.

Who are heroes?
What is heroism?
I'm not sure,

We're at a scary lack of that,
Missing the true selfless values,
Of what we know it to be.

Today it's easy to stumble upon the self proclaimed,
What do they do it for?
For the clout, to move the graph,

Exponential gain.

But I know it's impossible to be pure,
After all, I've purged my heart,
More times than I ought to,

Bright places go dark faster than they should.

It may be consequence,
Of shooting holes in the flood-lights.
Though the sparking is just so entertaining,

Another simple pleasure destroyed by conventional good.

I stare into the ocean, my life reflected back, a mirror that reveals the path more clearly.
I carry my thread of existence, woven solely in the flame that holds my warmth.
I whisper to the waves— bring me life, bring me a thread of it.

I heard a wise man saying,
"I wouldn't just abandon a friend
Simply because they were going through
Some strange parasocial moment.
Although, I will admit
That I may not fully understand it.
That I might not be able
To fully appreciate their perception
Of whatever given situation."

For, you see,
We can only truly speak
On that of our perspectives.