#adapting
She thought she wrote from sorrow–
From deep blue hopeless seas.
She really writes from anger,
Wheels turning faster as she seethes.
What's the point in speaking up,
When your plane just gets shot down?
Tired of rebuilding from the rubble,
She learned to vent without a sound.
They think she was born to run,
They couldn't be more wrong.
She was born to stay– and build,
But not to that cursed **** song.
Her father played that tune for years,
It reverberates in her bones.
So she never picked up a guitar–
Nor made anger her bands promo.
Jan 21
Jan 21, 2026 at 11:04 AM UTC
Risk flirts with defeat
Beaten doesn't mean you're beat
Some plans trust retreat
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 2:18 AM UTC
Maintain your peace as if it were an unmasked blessing shaking you alive
Live in the protection of your
worth duly noted
Promote the promise of your vigour
The power of your vision
To provoke and shift your insides
Caged in unfamiliar plastic
Spaces
Unravel the savage
Excel with the newness
Find the goodness in what you love
Do not rest until it seamlessly
sends you
to your destiny
Greatness grows through the changes we make from within the stars we call ourselves
Change is upon you for the better and
for all
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 9:40 PM UTC
I never wanted
to be
what you
turned me into,
but I will
live with it,
for I
don't know
how else to live
with myself.
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 9:42 AM UTC
I thought I could conform,
wanting to become part of the pack.
I dressed differently;
closed my mouth more.
I tried to be less caring yet more selfless
hoping to become more desirable.
It didn't work.
I wore black.
I abstained from interests in favor of theirs.
I slept only with candles for warmth
and bathed in ice water.
I froze.
I laughed at the idiocies protruded from their mouths,
trying to fit in, but stay me.
I was brainwashed.
I ate kosher for a year and a day.
I drank tea to bleach me inside.
I prayed to Mother Earth and Father Sky for strength as the moon waxed,
but was weakened when they turned away my heart at Witching Hour,
and thought I would die from the cold.
I did what I thought was good,
thinking blending wasn't a bad idea.
But still deep inside me is the need to know:
was adapting always like this?
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
Is it acting
or adapting?
smiling for the show
of customers:
bright, dapper,
cheery and proud -
pushing product
with a knowing smile,
words animated,
confident and collected.
once they leave i sit and
ponder, I see the stars
in their films and admire
from afar, lamenting that I
cannot act - but can I?
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
They say when life hands you lemons make lemonade
But how can I do that in the pouring rain
When I'm all out of sugar
And misplaced my pitcher and cup
It feels like there's no way to whip it up
So I'm stuck with these lemons
And nothing to do
Oh how I wish I could make a switcheroo
I'd chose something sweeter than lemons
But I can't and I won't
So I guess I'll stick with this poem that I wrote
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC