When someone dies,
Reality seems to slow to a halt.
Nothing makes any sense anymore,
And everything goes wrong.
They say there are five different stages,
Anger, denial, depression, bargaining, and acceptance.
Everyone feels it differently,
There’s not a special order to the pain.
Like a tidal wave,
It keeps knocking you down,
To the ground,
You fear you may drown,
And there’s no one around.
It never goes away,
Acceptance isn’t grief’s end,
Just a way,
To compartmentalize the pain,
Before it drowns you again.

I walk the middle line,
Open to hearing both sides.
Things are rarely black and white,
That’s something you’ll find.
There’s always nuance,
Though people may deny,
Open your mind,
And realize,
That perhaps you aren’t always right.
So many petty fights,
For “rights”
Stirring up so much strife,
For what?
Why can’t we just live life?
I try,
To be open minded,
And walk the middle line.
Always scouring the desert for nuance,
And nuance I always find.

When I last addressed you,
I considered you a former friend,
And after much consideration,
And re-evaluation,
I’m putting this debate to an end.
You were not my friend,
You never were,
Despite what I said,
And what I believed,
You never cared for me.
I was just an ear,
That you used for many years,
Oh, you caused me many fears,
Deprived me of cheer.
Friends don’t do what you did,
So I’ll say again,
You were not my friend,
And you never were.

I don’t consider myself a cynic,
But I am not fooled by good intentions,
People lie,
All the time.
Is it purely for self-interest?
Does any good come from their interventions?
Who am I to say?
Each person has their own belief,
On the selfishness,
Of humanity.
I’d like to believe,
That there’s goodness around,
You may have to squint,
But I’m certain it can be found.
Isn’t it a depressing point of view,
To say that everyone is selfish,
And nobody cares about you?
I’m not overly optimistic,
Nor excessively pessimistic,
I don’t believe that I’m a cynic,
I walk the middle line,
Filled with nuance,
And confusion,
All of the time.

Whenever there’s a storm,
And I hear the rain pour,
As the wind blows,
I’m reminded of the coziness of home.
That feeling of safeness,
A place to hide from the darkness,
When it seems hopeless,
A bed for your tiredness.
Though I know,
Not everyone has a home,
Or one that is safe,
One without pain,
So I feel empathy,
For those who may not be,
Lucky like me.
As I write these words,
I hear you,
And I’ll hold you,
In a tight hug.
It’ll be okay!
The storms aren’t here to stay.
Even though the winds may blow,
You can find a home.

I hold onto a rope,
Though I don’t know where it goes,
But I’ll keep on holding tightly,
Since I fear what lies below.
Somedays it’s hard to hold onto hope,
Somedays I wish I’d just let go,
But I won’t,
I won’t.
I’ll climb out of the hole,
That my friend dug to bury me,
With her resentment,
And discontentment.
I won’t let her pain be my end,
Like it nearly was for her.
On those dark days,
When there’s so much unknown,
The one thing,
That’ll stay the same,
Is my hope.
I will make it to brighter days!

It may sound narcissistic,
Paint me as a cynic,
But I must admit,
I sometimes surprise myself,
That everyone’s lives,
Are just as complicated as mine.
Everyone thinks,
Everyone feels,
Everyone cries,
And everyone dies.
The way people act sometimes,
Makes you wonder if there’s a thought beyond their eyes,
But there is,
Just like there is behind mine.
We are all complex people,
With desires and dreams,
Goals and aspirations,
Pain and fears,
Ups and downs,
Strengths and weaknesses,
It’s enlightening.