Drop
like a stone
down into the water
and sink into the darkness
slowly,
calmly.

Right,
a direction you turn,
or a decision you make,
that is true to you,
instinctual,
creative.

Now,
fall apart,
into little puzzle pieces,
that you can't solve,
confused,
misused.

Or,
you can do,
something more brilliant,
than anyone before,
try,
again.

Rise,
like a phoenix,
from the ashes,
and spread your fire,
burning,
passionate.

Up,
into the sky,
rest on the clouds,
with cool contentness,
foolishly,
lazily.

To,
all your friends,
let them hear you,
cry out,
with love,
and acceptance.

The,
birds will fly,
around you,
encompassing you with,
comfort,
strength.

Challenge,
yourself everyday,
don't back down from adversity,
don't get walked on,
because you are strong,
tremendous,
amazing.

Split seams on the dress of my daydreams.
No needle or thread in sight.
Where is the seamstress who'll fix this?
Why is she never here on time?
Lost on my way down the aisle.
Commit to a man I don't know anymore.
You don't get to sweep this under my veil.
You claim love but won't let me go.
I asked that you didn't tear my dress,
since it was my only protection from
the elements.
You agreed with me
but then snipped at the seams
when you said "Just trust me."
Was it all for your own pleasure?
To play with my own nerves.
You bought me a drink and played a sad song.
Then apologized for the miscommunication.

There was no miscommunication.

I blaze my own trail,
when everyone is going North,
I go South,
because I want to explore something new,
and challenge myself.
If you're with me,
that's fine,
and if you aren't,
that's fine too,
just don't get in my way,
when I create my own path,
for myself,
that is only shaped,
by the people I meet,
but never steered in a direction,
other than my own.

I've once said failure was kind
It teaches you lessons in the end.
But sometimes the suffering
you have to endure
is absolutely meaningless.
It seems naive to me to believe
that failure is kind
and that pain builds character
without believing the opposite
to be true as well.
Failure is mean
and pain can break you down.
I've lived my whole life so far
thinking that there had to be
a reason for all of this.
And sometimes,
there isn't a reason.
It just *****.
So failure is kind and mean
pain builds character and destroys it
and I can accept that
My sadness is real
and tangible
even though its reason
may not be.

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

Since day one,
she was a daddy's girl,
she was her fathers,
entire world.
Nothing could hurt,
his baby girl,
without answering to the face,
of rage and peril.
He saw her relationships,
and watched them fall,
and anger consumed him,
until he was completely enthralled.
Yet he saw a relationship,
full of hope and light,
and he thought to himself,
this might be the one.
Down an aisle,
he walks with his soon to be married
daughter,
linked together by their arms.
He hands her away,
his little girl,
to the love of her life,
and she smiled at him.
The same smile she always wore,
when he came home from work.
She was still
a daddy's girl.

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.

I used to wish upon a star,
for silly little things,
it didn't matter that it was so far,
I was sure the star heard my dreams.

My wishes included material things,
like nice clothes and fun toys,
but I hope this wish will finally bring,
something I can truly enjoy.

I learned too soon that wishes don't,
always come true,
I finally realized that I won't,
see anything become new.

I used to wish upon a star,
thinking my wishes through,
but wishes were just too far,
from ever becoming true.

Some went West
and others went East.
The ones in between
found they liked South the least.

The traitorous winds
carried news from the mouth
of a stranger who wandered
the dreaded South.

They said:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

Those of the West,
those of the East,
and the Northern inbetweeners
listened with incredulity.

But the Southerner just repeats:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

"If we fight not for glory,
then why fight at all?
War is a necessary evil!"
Those Westerners say, how uncivil.

"Peace cannot yield
without sacrifice.
Someone always has to lose their life!"
Easterners cry full of strife.

"Freedoms are protected
if you follow the rules.
Speech must be regulated, calm, and cool."
Said from those under Northern rule.

But the Southerner repeats like a record loop:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

Then the wind finally stopped
spreading its message.
But the lofty seeds that traveled with the wind,
planted themselves in places they've never been.

And they started to grow into something more.
Freedoms and rules.
Peace and sacrifice.
Glory and War.

Today I hid some Easter eggs,
in my cousins backyard,
for a bunch of little kids.
As I hid these eggs,
I realized that the kids
that will be looking for these eggs,
are more clever than you think,
I can't just scatter the eggs in plain sight,
they must be hidden.
When we let these kids go,
to hunt for these eggs,
you could feel the excitement
in the warm air,
and the little kids faces,
with smiles from ear to ear,
made me smile,
like i've never smiled before.

A long, dark, winding road,
at night's darkest hour,
this was her safe haven,
it was her perfect flower.

Slowly, on tip toes,
she dances in the middle,
with intricate footsteps,
creating her own riddle.

This peaceful scene,
quickly turns rigid,
as lights fly down the road,
and the body goes limp, and frigid.

Her vision goes blurry,
and her heart goes still,
her perfect flower,
certainly can ****.

Lights fly along,
a long, dark, winding road,
and her story is shared,
so she never grows old.

I'm not sure what's more painful
the fact that someone is struggling to live
or watching them as they slowly die
knowing that there is nothing you can do.

What does it feel like when you die?
Is it scary?
Is it calming?
Does it feel like black waters ******* you down under,
and pulling you towards a different light and surface?

If there are such things as ghosts,
which I believe there are.
Then that must mean there is some sort of afterlife, right?
Energy can not be created or destroyed,
so where does it go when we die?

What does it mean to die anyway?
I'm still not sure if I know the reason.
Is it a great sacrifice for a cause that we yet do not know
is it a symbol that makes us remember what we hold dear to us?

Or is it much darker than that?
Could it be a way to suffocate us
in the quicksand that is the hour glass of our lives?
Crushing us as we squeeze through the narrow center
and causing our life to be put on hold.
For we can not move forwards,
we can not move at all.

How could something so inevitable
still be a huge mystery?
It's like the one locked door
that every child avoids
until one kid somehow opens it.
All the adults will call him foolish,
but he is brave.

Is it wrong to want to understand the unknown?
Is it wrong to want some answers?
Well I know it isn't wrong,
I just wish I could do something.
But I can't.
Now i'm helpless
and constantly failing.

All I got out of these questions,
my experiences is,
I just know better than most
that some things are better left a mystery.

One must discover it on their own
to ever truly comprehend it.

we all must exist,
for a reason.
We all must have something to do,
in our lives.
We all must be the best,
we can be.
Otherwise,
we'd just exist,
and float through our lives,
watching life
flow right out the window.
And we'd just slowly waste away,
and our existence,
would have meant,
nothing.

If moving your mouth takes too much energy
then telling lies must be exhausting
because you can twist your words
to make yourself heard
but I know that you're lying.
Your voice is grating
against my ears that try to listen
for the truth between your words.
But it's too easy to believe you
and when have I ever had an easy life anyways?
You won't stop,
I won't stop,
so i'm sure we'll keep going and going around in circles
as we destroy anything that we ever had together
if we even had anything at all.
So spiral out of control
because who cares anyway!
Who cares...
Who cares?
Who...

Here are some of my reasons...
1. Desserts
2. Cute, baby animals (like kittens or puppies)
3. Warm blankets
4. Hugs
5. Kisses
6. Making new friends
7. Drawing/Painting (regardless of skill level)
8. Good music
9. Falling in love
10. Experiencing silly cliches
11. Holding hands
12. Dancing everywhere
13. Holding a baby
14. Having unique conversations with little kids
15. Family or your new family-Just people who love you unconditionally
16. Home
17. Change
18. Reading good books
19. Ability to speak my mind
20. Hope
...
There are many more reasons to live,
these are just some of my reasons
I hope this helps.

Such cruelness,
was injected into our world today,
and we could hardly stop it.
Such vile hatred,
such insanity,
in killing,
in cutting lives short,
especially young ones,
whose journey had only
just begun.
Now they're gone,
gone from their families,
taken from their right,
to live.
Speaking of rights,
if we lose our
right to bear arms,
it will make no difference.
People will still be cruel,
and dangerous,
people will still own guns.
Murdering someone is illegal,
but that doesn't stop sick people from
doing so.
So if we lose our right
to bear arms,
it wont stop people,
from owning guns.
This right is already restricted enough,
anymore,
and people won't be able to protect
themselves.
Just like with what happened,
today,
to the children
and teachers,
they had nothing to defend themselves
with.
Thus resulting,
in a horrific tragedy.
And I pray to God,
that their families can pull through,
because losing a child,
must be the hardest pain
to deal with in life.
And I know they may never recover
from that pain.
But this restriction,
that will harm instead of help,
makes me ask this question.
I live in the United States,
but am I really free?

I want to dream again,
I don't want to sleep in emptiness anymore,
Im missing my dreams,
They brightened the sad nights,
And lessened reality's cruel grip,
On my life.
Even nightmares are better,
than nothingness.
But every night,
I fall asleep,
And see nothing,
Im not granted any dreams,
Or nightmares,
Like I usually am,
Just nothing.
Oh God I want to dream again,
I want to see places,
That only exist in my imagination.
I just want to live again,
Because I haven't lived,
in awhile.

Do you see the little lights flashing,
along the lonely highway?
That will lead to the dead end streets,
of the failing misery.
Do you see the dark buildings,
and all the abandoned rooms?
Do you know the truth behind the scenes,
of the cluster of buildings?
Oh those poor children,
their days are numbered,
and I don't know what will happen,
to them.

The spirit
of a mustang,
runs through my soul,
I desire freedom.
I love to just run,
and shed my worries,
that keep me locked in a stall,
looking out the window
to the open range,
where I used to run.
My spirit is a horse,
wild and free.
I fight when my freedom is threatened,
because it is so precious to me.
I protect my herd, my family,
because they are the only stability I need,
I let my creativity flow.
I dream of horses,
dark and light,
and they help me find myself,
they help me grow,
and I connect with them.
They are always there for me,
not in reality,
but in a dream,
and I am one of them
in the depths of my mind.
I am an untamed soul,
as wild and strong as a mustang,
who has learned the tricks of mankind,
who understands,
how freedom is what I truly need,
to survive.
My spirit can not be,
controlled.

She walked inside a dazzling white room,
unsure of how she got there.
In front of her sat
a small, black, table.
It's bold contrast
made the room seem less blinding.
On top of that table
stood a golden contraption.
Filled with stunning white sand.
It was beautiful and unique,
yet she did not know it controlled
something so important.
That beautiful thing
was an hour glass,
it was her hour glass,
and she saw how long she had.
She watched as the sand dropped slowly
into the bottom.
She believed she had much time
to achieve all she wanted.
Just as she was about to leave the white room
the sand started to fall faster
and her heart dropped.
The pile of sand at the bottom
became larger,
and there was less at the top.
Each single grain of sand that fell
struck a chord so deep within her soul,
that she flinched,
as if the fangs of lost time sunk into her skin.
The pure, white sand,
that seemed so beautiful,
turned brown as it decayed.
The white walls lost their shine,
and they they became a dingy yellow
as they crumbled to the floor.
She looked at her hands,
they were covered in wrinkles,
and brittle like dead branches during winter
laden with heavy snow,
threatening to crack,
and fall to the ground.
She placed a weak hand on her face,
to feel the grooves on her forehead,
that would never relax.
The small wooden table started to fall apart,
but the hour glass stayed golden and upright.
Nothing was going to stop time.
She walked painfully slow
towards the hour glass,
she tried to turn it around
but it was stuck.
She watched as the sand dwindled to almost nothing.
Rage blazed in her heart,
she could not afford to die now,
there was too much that she would lose.
She grabbed a piece of the now broken table,
it was once as bold as she was,
and now it was a withering mess
of dark splinters.
She gripped the piece
and she smashed the hour glass
into little fragments,
that glittered all over the floor.
Time had frozen.
The last grain of sand was floating in mid air
above the pile of lost time.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
She knew that this couldn't be her end,
it had to be destroyed
so she could live,
maybe even forever.
She turned and started to walk away,
but she didn't notice
that the one, brown piece of sand
fell slowly to the bottom
and landed gently on the pile.
She fell to the floor
as agony consumed her.
The light slowly faded from her eyes
and she lay there in the dingy, withering room,
her mind no longer connected
to her cold body.

Time is the only constant.
Breaking the hour glass would never change that.

There is a memory I keep circling back to
during hours of soft, smiling silences.
It is rather incomplete, just a piece really.
A single shard of shattered years I hold dear.

In this memory, I am on a hill just before it descends
holding an ice cream cone that once held a vanilla scoop.
My hand still sticky where the dessert dripped down
as I sought refuge in the shade of a lilac tree.
Late Spring's sun ceded to the blooming lilacs,
I could breathe in the perfumed air with an ease
of those with lungs that worked consistently.
And I could hear bees,
buzzing overhead, pollinating the light purple flowers,
going about their work at an unbothered pace,
like they too were soothed by the lilacs.
Content with what they already had
unhurried to gather more than they need.
I took my time munching on the wafer cone
unbothered like a bee.
And I thought to myself at the tender age of seven,

I'll remember this.

I just didn't realize at the time
how important that promise would be.

This memory is a shard, a piece,
it was jagged and hurt to squeeze.
Because it was brilliant simplicity
just before the concept of breaking touched me.
But the years I've cared for it
receiving cuts from how much I despaired
that it was gone, I'd never feel it again,
my care to return to this piece smoothed its edges.
I know now that there was no use clinging so tightly
leaving a mark in my hands as if it was proof
to be read in my palms that I had happiness.
Because I haven't lost it.

I will always enjoy the memory
of eating ice cream beneath my lilac tree
and smile at that simple piece.
I remembered it because I said I would.
I remember it now to experience it again.
It is a memory of happiness.
A promising peace.

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

Move so swiftly
full of grace,
don't let your muscles bother you
with their dull aches.

You are flying
so high in your mind,
and your body falls into
a rhythm so undefined.

As you move
with the speed of light,
something upsets your groove
and everything goes dark.

You black out
your rhythm is lost,
now you're full of doubt
and everything is collapsing.

With a phenomenal effort
you refocus yourself,
you're covered in dirt
but you can't help but feel better.

Move once more
with grace and rhythm,
your aches are behind closed doors
and you sprint forwards into the future.

Look on with saddened eyes,
like little pools of water,
and the thoughts in his head
are swimming like fish,
beneath the surface,
of his blue eyes.

"Little boy,
you're crying,
please don't be sad,
everything will be okay,
you'll see."
But those words in my ears,
sound hollow,
and insincere.
I know he didn't believe me.
But he won't say anything,
he'll just nod his head and try to not cry.

This little boy,
had an aloof quality,
but yet still when he said something,
it was always important.
He used his words wisely,
he was far older in his view on the world and people,
compared to other children,
he was an extraordinary child,
and the time I spent talking to him
was short.

And then something awful happened,

He had watched his father die,
right before his eyes,
and I watched too,
for I was with him when it happened,
yet I felt strangely detached from his world,
it was like I was not there,
but yet I was.

I saw this little boy,
crawl numbly over to his father,
and I saw him cry,
and he said
the most childish,
heart breaking sentence,
I have ever heard in my life,
"Wake up."
He knew his father was gone,
but that didn't prevent him from trying to pretend
that his father wasn't.

Flash forward many years.

I met the boy again,
just not in the way I had expected,
He was in the hospital,
dying.
He had turned to drugs when I was gone,
and he lost his way,
and I cried.
If I had stayed I could have prevented it,
and he wouldn't be dying.

But that little boy,
who still looked little even though he was much bigger,
his blue eyes looked saddened,
and sparkling with his old wisdom,
he knew it was his time,
and he told me,
"It's my time, don't pretend i'm not gone,"
and then he died.

That's when I woke up.

It was all just a dream,
i'm here in my bed
confused,
who was that boy?
what does my dream mean?
why would I dream of someone I didn't even know?

Now what always haunts me is,
his blue eyes,
that were as deep as the ocean
and as everlasting as the sky.
It is hard to forget,
those sorrowful eyes,
in my dream
of a boy who died too young,
and I don't know what
that could mean.

Let me rest
and sink to the bottom,
and lay on the sandy ocean floor.

Let me slowly fade
into my own daydream,
where I float alone,
along the gentle waves.

Let me close my eyes
for the last time,
as the blue-green waves,
crash over my body.

Let the ocean take me under,
and carry me away,
with its strong, swift, current.

Let me die my own way,
peacefully.

Cry your eyes out,
till they're red and dry,
and no tears will escape,
those soulful eyes.

Lay your head down,
and wait for night to come,
where the peaceful dark,
will become your home.

Wake up to the morning,
and slowly rise,
your eyes feel dead,
yet your body is somehow alive.

Look into the mirror,
try to recognize your face,
let the feeling come back,
when you knew your place.

Cast aside those thoughts,
don't let them bother you,
get set for today,
because today is new.

It's time to fight back,
not silently but out loud,
your glares can combine,
with the strength of your words.

They will not get away,
with their games this time,
because your eyes will catch,
their every crime.

A dark river
at night,
how beautiful.

The treacherous rapids,
and stretches of gentle water,
that never last.

Even the river ends,
spilling out into a lake
or an ocean,
or even another river.

Some rivers are underground.

Those are the darkest rivers,
one hopes they can cross when the time comes.

But from this position,
on top of a small pile of rocks,
in the gentle stretch of the river,
there are rapids ahead,
another battle to be fought.

But beyond the churning water,
is this mist.

It sparkles,
it's so beautiful,
it feels safe,
but it's unknown.

And if the battle is won,
i'll be lost in that sparkling mist,
that hides all shadows.

When the sun rises
and the mist fades away,
will I fade as well?

Or, when the mist fades
will it clear my vision?
...
But I have to leave my island
and fight those dark, churning waters
first.

Then I'll know for sure.

I am nothing but a target to you,
painted red and white
with a bull's eye on my forehead.
Something that you practice on
firing away until you hit the spot
that will end me completely.
But it's okay,
because I don't mind what you say about me.
I don't care that you take out your anger on me
because I know something that you don't.
As you **** your gun and take your aim
glaring me down as I smile,
you pull the trigger
and I don't even flinch,
because the only sound is an empty click
of the gun you fired too many times
and had missed.
So you see,
I don't mind being your target
and it doesn't matter what you fire my way
because you have no bullets
you have absolutely nothing
to attack me with
and I am so sorry if that's not okay... not.

For the next two weeks he digs a grave.

He deftly wields a shovel
with hands that have forgotten
what it's like to hold the tools of life
He only knows what life is like
when he digs a hole for holy men
who have cheated others into strife
who have hurt their children, brothers, and sisters
who have made damaged wives
So for two weeks, he digs the hole deeper
than regulation states
for men who were mistakes.

The more time he spends digging
The more time the dead spend climbing

And they're always climbing
the ranks to be on top.
Falling again, bones breaking on impact
they just shake it off and start again.

He met one dead man who climbed to the top
with a light glowing where his eyes should be.
The dead man shuddered, bones rattling a song
of all the people he had wronged.
He was more bone than skin
More ghost than human
But he came back with sorrow on dried, discolored lips
and the grave digger wondered if
he could have redemption

For the next two weeks he digs a grave.