I came to an art show,
where a friend stood proudly beside his painting.
Many people liked it,
and it made him genuinely happy.
So I tried making a painting of my own,
and I hung it beside his.

Seeing all of the other artists’ paintings.
Beautiful palettes of color and hue.
I could see why flocks of people
were huddled up in front of it,
praising the artist for his tremendous work.

I made it my goal to improve my painting.
And so I did.
People liked it, huddled around it, praised it.
And I genuinely felt happy.

My other friends saw how lovely,
all the paintings were.
So they decided to make their own,
all of them, three.

I was astonished…proud…happy
to see people huddled around each of their paintings,
praising them for what they did.
And they felt genuinely happy.

All was good, until one day,
when one friend said,
“Hey, let’s make this fun and interesting, and play a game,
whoever gets the most praise at the end of the year,
wins.”

I didn’t want this to be…
I never wanted this to be just
another competition.
Just another stage,
to brag how great they are.

I hope,
that this will never come to that.
You are all artists in your own special way.
You don’t have to get all the praise,
to know you’re good.

Continue making those awesome paintings.
Never stop improving them.
Because one day, I know,
people will start huddling
around yours.

I once found a field,
A beautiful field.
A field that humans have not disturbed.

I lived by the trees near this beautiful field.
But I lived in complete ignorance,
as two men, each with a *****,
came to the middle of the grass,
and struck down a wooden plank.

Before long, my forest disappeared.
Instead of grass growing,
The only thing that surfaced,
was the pale gray stone that was laid there.

I watched as they dug deep into the ground,
where tall boxes of stone and glass rose.
They stood proud against one another,
one building higher than the last.
But they blocked my view,
of a once beautiful sky.

Before long, the field turned into a city,
Cars and buses drove though the winding streets.
People soon started to appear,
and the field I once knew was long forgotten.

A fountain has now been placed,
where the pioneers have struck their plank,
With no tree in sight,
I throw the last seed into the water.
Where it settles to the bottom with coins and marbles,
never to sprout.

As a kid,
it hurted being
an island in the middle of the ocean

Seeing all your classmates,
bunch up together,
forming groups,
and just standing there
by the corner,
thinking why life left you out.

Groupworks were the toughest,
when friends were allowed to pick.
It hurted,
because I was always picked last.

That was so for three years,
until another island came over, and sat.
We said nothing.
But as the days turned to weeks,
and the weeks turned to months,
and as the months turned to years,
we became good friends.

The class soon bonded,
and I am happy to say,
that I bonded with them.

So, if you're an island like me,
don't be afraid to make friends.
Because they might just be,
the person that you've been always looking for.

Because after all,
all we really need,
*is a friend.

Back then,
in the years of young,
she was my everything.

Though the day was tiresome,
one glance at her,
would make me last the day.

If I was in need,
her company,
erased all my worried doubts.

Even an eternity,
wouldn't make up for one second
with her beside me.

When I was around her,
I felt complete.
She was the missing puzzle piece.
She was the Juliet to my Romeo,
and I was happy.

Back then,
in the years of young,
she was my everything.

But now,
she isn't anymore.

My mind flashes back,
to the deepest depths of my memories.
Back to the day when all went well.
Until I bumped into you.

Exhausted, I trudged through
the hot summer streets,
and found a quaint shop.

I sat.
I waited.
I looked around.
And saw what I really yearned to see.

In another island,
in another city,
in another town.
The chances would have been remote,
indeed they were,
but then,

*I still saw her,
and she still saw me.

Every time I forget,
or, at least,
seemed to forget,
you'd come back and haunt me with your stares.

Every time I finally
wasn't thinking about you,
you'd be there
to fill up my thoughts once more.