Love is a field
Where the wild flowers grow
If this were show and tell
Maybe then you would know
Where the seeds are sown

On our window seal
Sits the vase of flowers picked
Loves fragrance is in the air
We haven't lost sight of that gift
At least not yet

Though the flowers may wilt
And appear to die over time
Love can not be killed
Once it's made it's way
Into our hearts and minds

Let's take yesterdays yield
And plant them beside the rivers flow
We will harvest what we till
From out loves field
Where the wildflowers grow

This one is for the bullies.
This one is for the cruel.
Try harder.
Because these walls were made with the intent
of keeping you out and instead
kept out the rescue party.
Too many are the tears which we have shed
over being too fat or too thin
or any other of these thousands of things within us
that define us as imperfect.
This one is for those that kicked us while we were down,
for the class clown addicted to our embarrasment,
to the flicked pencil that hits our back as we pass them.

If you've ever felt scorn,
if you've ever felt torn between the greatest two evils,
if you've ever as a kid felt that primeval urge of fight or flight
or spent a night crying over your bathroom sink,
It's okay.
I'm not saying that as if I could ever
make you feel as if that pain living inside of you
will abstain from your mind.

I'm saying that you aren't alone.
Simply let it be known how you feel
and you will real impressed
by how many others have felt the same.

This is one is for the playground bruiser, try harder.
This is for the girl writing '****' on her locker, try harder.
This is for those that will always insist
on testing the waters of an uncalm mind,
TRY HARDER.
Because it's never been an issue
of being smarter or stronger.
It's been about you holding on this extra while longer,
long enough that you can put all this behind you.
For all the gossips who acted like they knew you, try harder!

Because this time they are not getting through.
Concede to them nothing,
abandon no friend or creed,
let not their need for acceptance give lead to your self-loathing.
Remember, it is not your clothing or your skin that incurs their hate,
do not lock your gate to those who would help you.

The shallow brook runs the loudest,
the wounded dignitary the proudest
and so long as we allow them to hurt us
they'll believe they can get away with it.
We are many,
united in the trials through which we have grown.
Let us stand together now
and not any among us stand alone.