I used to think 24 hours was a lot
but then I became sad.
It used to be an hour of sadness
that would blend into a few more.
But I could always get through it,
turn it around,
and enjoy life.

A few years go by
and the sadness took up more time.
A few hours
turned into school hours.
But when I got home
I could turn it around,
and enjoy life.

A year goes by
and the sadness took up more time
School hours
turned into day hours.
When the sun shone
my smile froze
into a sculpture of the real thing.
But when the sun went down
I could turn it around
and enjoy life.

Days go by
and the sadness took up more time.
Day hours
turned into night hours.
I could hardly sleep
as my brain, my chest, it won't let me.
But in that one hour of dawn,
I could turn things around
and enjoy life.

Hours go by
and the sadness takes up more time
24 hours
turn into 48, 72, 96 hours
There is no reprieve.
There is no new day.
Time means nothing to sadness.
It's consuming
and I can't turn it around
to enjoy life
because there is no more time.

I've painted roses on ripped canvas
but the thorns of the rose
just ripped it more.

I've painted roses on ripped canvas
claiming it was art
when it just covered abuse

I've painted roses on ripped canvas
and then just tore it apart
I cant fix this, just start over

I've painted roses on new canvas
and I felt empty.
A change of canvas hasn't changed me.

There are a series of drafts
that blow fiercely through the gaps
of the home of creativity.
Cooling the efforts
of the imaginative fire,
so that it no longer grows or glows.
The home's strength is tested
by its own scarecrow,
who should be out with the crops
to discourage other birds,
that can stop new growth.
But the straw-man persists
with his unequal arguments.
Tampering with emotions
inciting the fire to risky proportions.
And so the home of creativity
burns itself down.
Because it's walls are too weak
that some straw-stuffed clown
can overstep it's boundaries
and raze it to the ground.

There are words etched into my skin
but they weren't placed there by others.
If I am in control of my thoughts,
then I am in control of my words
and only I can place words upon myself.
So call me names,
I already have my loquacious armor
and I'm not afraid to speak.
Chances are you won't tell me something about myself
that I don't already know.
Only I can truly define myself
and my skin is home to words such as:
honest, liar, loyal, manipulator, friend, and monster.

Try to make me feel bad.
I dare you.

This beach house is blue
Yet it feels gray.
A sign on the wall points to the ocean
But actually it's pointing to the bay.

The walkway is lined with seashells
That are broken, jagged, and painful.
The front door doesn't even open
The force needed is almost shameful.

The feeling inside the rooms upstairs
Relates to its dark and boxed-in design
The oppressive weight of dead eyes
Watching for one step out of line.

Its uncomfortable and terrifying
Hardly a place for relaxation.
But each gray year we come here
To get more depressed on vacation.

Look at how large the tree is
with all of its branches
reaching for the sky.
Look at all of those people
hanging off the edge,
limply swinging into each other.


What a disaster.

Everyday he used his tools
to work on a fence.
He hammered and sawed
and hoped to God
that he would not cause offense.
To his neighbors,
to his friends,
he just could not let them see
how much he had let his yard
become overrun with weeds.

His heart was too weak
to deal with the stares
of people who said they cared.
So he built a fence
that was ten feet high
around his yard
around his mind.

He hammered in that last nail
to the beat of his pounding heart.
As the clouds gathered overhead
and he realized that it was getting dark.
He pushed himself up hastily
but he tripped over his own feet.
His hands covered in splinters
while he felt his heart shatter
he dropped to the ground
ignoring the clatter
of the wood and the nails
that flew from his hands.
His crippled heart skipped a beat.

The rain started to fall
and he forced himself to his feet.
He sprinted into his home
as his splintered heart hammered
in his shaking chest.
He sat down on his couch
forgetting his tools outside
and the whole mess.

Weeks then months then years passed by
and people who wandered the streets.
Saw a fence that went up one night
start to decay before their very eyes.
...
"What happened to the man who lived in that house?"
"I know the answer."
"You do?"
"*I do."

Take the keys and drive
and drive and drive
don't look back just drive.
The girl cruised down the highway
hanging onto the wheel
foot pressed ******* the accelerator
forcing her eyes to stay open.
Drive away, drive away, drive away.
The car can only go so fast.
Why can't this feeling of freedom last?
As the gas light blinks on
the girl blinks her eyes hard
and looks to the horizon once more.
She is not far enough away yet
but the need to leave is stronger
So she ignores the light
eventhough it's wrong.
Racing at a speed deemed unsafe
especially with the gas light on.

A boy with a bear was sitting in his room.
The bear was missing an eye
and the thread was unraveling
but his mother promised to fix him up
to make him new again.

They were going to his friends house
and his mom told him to leave his bear
But the boy didn't listen.
That bear was his heart and soul.

It was a warm summer day
the sky was bright blue
not a cloud could be seen
and the boy opened his window.

Don't stick your arms out the window.
The boy didn't listen.
Don't stick your bear out the window.
The boy didn't listen.

He wanted his bear to feel the warm air
in the same way he did.
He just wanted the bear
to feel the warm air.

But with one large bump,
the boy lost his grip
and down, down, down it goes
into the street-like abyss

But he didn't say anything.
He didn't know how to speak.
His bear helped him and now he's gone
somewhere on the side of the street.

The boy closed his eyes
shaking his head
and he slowly closed his window.
His mother breathed a sigh of relief.

He stared out the window.
He didn't look back.
He turned a blind eye
to his own unraveling thread.

Where is your bear?
I dropped it
You dropped it?
I dropped it

By the time they went to look,
it was already too dark
and the bear was gone
and so was the boy

I dropped it
I dropped it
*I dropped it

A man is chopping wood on a stump.
His hands steady the wood
and then with an ax he swings downwards,
Crack!
The wood breaks from the force
splitting into two pieces.
Then the man continues the pattern.

Now the routine becomes mindless,
all muscle memory, no thought.
He pauses, then shakes,
not allowing what's clinging to him to stay.

A few more forceful swings of the ax,
the wood cracks into two
The man pauses once more.
He shakes again but to no avail,
this is clinging to him.

The ax drops from his hands
Blade-down.
But the man doesn't notice.
He is just staring at the wood.
Perhaps what plagues him is maybe more
complex than wood
would ever hope to be?

He's sitting now
he's shaking too.
He is grabbing at his hands and his face,
his chest and his stomach,
his legs and his... feet.
His foot...
How did we not notice?
An ax fallen blade-down
did not sink into the ground,
but into his foot.
The agony he must be feeling right now!

Wait, he's no longer shaking?
His pale hands pull the ax out of his foot,
the blood is slowly oozing out.
He stands up slowly,
grabs a piece of wood,
and swings his ****** ax,
Crack!
The wood splits in two even pieces
falling on either side of the stump
and the man continues
making equal amounts of the same thing
on other side
with his ****** ax in the middle
letting his muscle memory take over
once more

Sweating so much and gasping for breath
I need to express the words I have left
and nothing can explain
how I feel in the rain
that washes my face
when I feel out of place
and help is a hand of a sojourner
who knows what it means to be a mourner
Time and time again
I learn what it means to end
I wish I could dance to express my view
but dancing is entirely new
and I feel that it us too late to start
but its okay because art is art
With an outstretched hand I reach
for a partner that would be willing to teach
until that day I'll dance in the rain
it's the only thing to wash away the pain
So can my feet move tonight
with loving care toward the light

Say something witty
Don't lose your mind
Whatever you do
Always say that you're fine
Because people can't know
How you feel when the snow
Piles up too high
Where you can't see the sky
Don't say that word
That was all you heard
As people complained
About the sound of the bird
But now that bird is gone
Just as quick as dawn
And in the meadow full of snow
Lay a sleeping fawn
And everybody knows
How that story goes
When the innocent is left
To the hands of its foes
Without their protector
They are open
To all forms of attacks
That they will rope in
And I hate to see
Just how nature can be
Especially when I'm not speaking of
the nature of animals around me

I don't know who to believe anymore.
I just want someone in this country
to make us safe
to make us stable
so that we can then build on that platform
and make our country a better place
for the citizens who live here
and for the future citizens
who deserve better
and I have such little faith
in all of the candidates
I don't know who to believe
because I don't think I believe that any
could actually get it done
and that scares me

I'm tired of surviving.

Look at the people who survived on islands
abandoned and lost
Look at people who survived car crashes
mangled and broken
But they survived
They are the definitions of survivors

Look at me I went through some ****
but my life isn't in danger anymore
so why do I feel like I'm just surviving?

I don't want to survive anymore.
I want to live.

I used to believe that people had a choice.
For the longest time I believed
that you chose who you love
But I realized how silly that was
when I noticed how I never chose
the people that I love today.

For the longest time I believed
that you could choose what you want to do
but it occurred to me that I never chose
to write stories or poems
but one day the paper and pen called to me

For the longest time I still believe
that people have a choice
that decisions can be made to change
the current situation

The most difficult lesson I learned
is that being sad was never a choice
I did not wake up one day and decide
that being sad sounded like fun
that choice was made for me
But I have control of my actions
I have control of my words
and I'll be in Hell if I don't try
to help myself first

So yes, depression is not a choice
but to a degree, how we react to it
is a choice
I could stay in bed all day
or I can get up
and this morning I felt sad
I still feel sad
But I got up
I got up
and that was a choice I made for myself

Thank you all for your support
I take strength from your words
and from knowing that I was heard
and that means others will be heard as well
So for that
Thank you

I'll build up to it
I've hinted at it a tiny bit
But the words don't come out right
They look ugly
And that's how I feel when i write about it
But I know I didn't deserve it
But it still takes time to come to terms
With the whole situation
And I don't know how long it will take
Because one day I'll share it
And it will hopefully help others learn
That they're not alone
And I won't be alone
And then we could all speak out
Together.

Dear Miss Melancholy,
I write constantly of how you affect me
you're like a guest
who overstays their welcome
in my head
and in my heart.
You seem to keep me all together
yet you constantly tear me apart.
And sometimes I think
that I will miss your constant presence,
but then I remember,
I will not miss Miss Melancholy
because she enjoys my sadness
and loves making me bleed
for reasons that are not clear to me.

There will be no roses on my grave
I do not want the red to mark where I lay
No people will mourn my life gone away
All the animals will retreat to the cave

People should cry at this untimely death
But no need to make so many trips
Because I just want to part my lips
And speak all the words that I once kept

There will be no fancy funeral
The coffin will shape who I am
I want them to remember who I was when
I didn't believe the race was so futile

So there will be no roses on my grave
Instead lay down lilacs
So every spring my scent will come back
And it will remind only you to be brave

How silly is the little flower
to think that it has such a large impact
on anyone's life.
It's as if it says
"I know I am just a flower
and it's well past the hour
but you picked me from the rest
so I must be the best.
So when I leave,
don't forget me please."

But it's just a little flower
that was chosen for no other reason
than to bring a little bit of happiness.
Yet the flower still speaks,
"I don't understand what you understand
but I know that I am not anything grand.
But it was me that you chose.
You watered me with the hose
and I have grown to be old
but now everything I feel is cold."

Poor little flower,
how long have you been here?
Shivering and shriviling.
But bless your soul you still speak.
"I know some time has passed
since I saw you last.
But I remember your sad smile
and how you had to sit down for awhile.
Your thin white hair has become flat
and I no longer see you sit where you sat."

That small, old flower,
drooped one last time.
With one last sigh
the flower picker spoke.
"I'm sorry little flower
it is well past my hour
and you're as thin as my hair
that has become so brittle without care.
But don't you worry
he is coming in a hurry
and I will not forget you
if you will forget-me-not, too."

Silver linings are hard to find
A life gets ripped apart like a bad idea
Deadly moments are forever remembered
No time is spent wisely with misery
Endings are sometimes too abrupt
Stairs are hard to climb
Seas are easier to sink into anyways

Emptiness doesn't last
Negative energy will come and go
Disease gets cured
Strive for balance

Heavy fog starts to lift
And there seems to be more light
Pleasure fills the air
People are dancing
Inside my chest my heart truly beats
New blood flows through veins
Endings are new beginnings
Silver linings can be found
Souls are united once more

Even smiles turn into frowns
Necks get tired of holding heads high
Determination has forgotten its goal
Sinking into the sea

Tick tock goes the clock
Reading your watch with a sigh
Under the shade from your hat
Treating others as shadows
Haunting your every waking moment

Hugs are empty
Universal pain of betrayal
Rhythm falters
The leaves shake violently
Still, they cling to the tree, they won't fall

Lightning strikes the ones who know
Interrogating their lives
Ending their words forever
Silence

Kind words now mean nothing
Independence is the only protection
Leave behind your old life
Look at the ruins from lack of truth

I will never forget the people
on the other side of the screen.
Their names stay in my head
whenever I write.
Because I always think of how
they're a person too.

I would
If I could
But I can't
So I won't
Do it

I would
If I could
And I can
So I will
Do it

Oh the nostalgia,
Oh memory lane,
a poet's dream that we try to capture
in vain
because the essence of what once was,
is never the same,
as the situation is
and that is beautiful.
Beautifully lame.
Because how can one song
Trigger a lifetime of memories
If the song has no real meaning to you.
But it was the feeling,
The freedom,
The risk,
And that's why it triggers so many thoughts and memories
Pain and happiness,
And if I cry in the middle of class
While writing this,
Then it's okay,
I can feel
I can feel
I can feel.

I stand out in the dark
my fear making me a spotlight
where everyone can see
how I'm frozen to the spot
eyes wide, staring at one point
that seems to be masked by the dark.
But I can see it,
it's there, it has to be.
Wait... I think it moved.
I'm gone I'm gone I'm gone
I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead
Sing a little something please
just to calm me
so I can go in peace.
That's all I want.
As my fear lights me up
showing me off to the evil around me.
To the darkness
To the darkness
Here I am for you to take me
Away from the light that makes me
A target.
Stop. No more.
Fear is controlling me
making me shine in places
that I don't want to be.
That thing is moving closer
closer to me.
To me.
To me.
Please leave me be.
I'm scared I'm scared I'm scared
of what is to become of me
if I allow myself to shine
in the wrong way
in the dark.
The dark the dark the dark
Go away please.
These imagined creatures are torturing me.
They're all my eyes can perceive
since my vision is clouded with
fear fear fear
and nothing is
clear clear clear.
I must get out
pull my feet out of the ground
but it is so difficult
as they have become roots
seeking the safety and stability that the soil
provides them.
I still can't move my legs
and now my arms are frozen above my head
and I feel my skin becoming more rough
and I find that I no longer have a mouth.
I can't speak, scream, or fight
my rooted feet had sunk too deep
and the spotlight has gone away
yet I am here to stay
to witness others get lost just like me
and watch their painful transition
into a tree
Whose face is etched in hard lines on the trunk
and whose mind wanders like they used to
But yet nothing is the same anymore
as their feet sunk too deep
since their fear made them take root
in the dark
In the dark
In the dark

You told me over and over again
that I ask too many **** questions.
But how will I ever find out the truth
if I don't ask you anything.
You get angry with me
saying that everything isn't always black
and white
that I never understand you.
But you never let me in.
And when the truth came out
I couldn't help but ask why,
since the communication we had
was severed long ago
from the moment I asked you:
Why are you hiding?
Why are you lying?
Why are you....
Why....
Why?

I will disappear
I will feel fear
I will lose control
I will let things go
I will smile everyday
I will cry in my own way
I will sink like a stone
I will ignore the phone
I will call myself a coward
I will never give myself an award
I will forget how to speak
I will see the ceiling leak
I will take comments to personally
I will whisper my responses silently
I will not know what it's like to be golden
I will not know what it's like to be chosen
I will remember every moment I spent
I will dream of the one present
I will win many battles that open up doors
I will fight more unnecessary wars
I will find myself one day, I was told
I will look back on life fondly when I'm old
I will be happy on most days
I will be sad always
I will just say one more thing
I will remember how to sing

Time is another unit of measurement
but unless you're cold-hearted
you can feel each little second that ticks away.
Each minute,
each hour,
dig deeper and deeper into your heart,
making it feel like it's about to explode.
The day you decided to start this... mess,
was the day the countdown started
and even though I haven't seen you in awhile
I never want to see you again
ever since I realised what you did to me.
When did you do this?
When will you come back?
When will you stay away?
When will you...
When?
When...

Mountain ranges and valleys,
two extremes,
yet it is easier to sink into one
than it is to climb up the other.
The distance you ran is so far away,
away from me.
But can't you see?
That wherever you went
you took me with you
and yet I can't find you
because I don't know where you've gone
and I don't  know where I have gone as well.
Did you take to the heights?
Or sink with the ground?
I feel like I might know.
Where are you?
Where am I?
Where is home?
Where are?
Where?
Where...