Decisions, decisions
Like a ticking clock
Decisions, decisions
When ever will it stop?

Pinwheeling, pinwheeling
From my ear to ear
Pinwheeling, pinwheeling
Which one to choose? Oh dear!

If I choose the one, I may lose myself.
If I choose the other, I may lose everyone.

Bustle
All the city hustle
Clang
Watch the high rise train

Smile politely
Returns a hat tipped slightly
March along
To the pavement song

See the sights
From the top floor heights
Fun-house reflections
In the Bean, deceptions

Stars at night
Made by buildings' light
Sleep's almost done,
Time for more fun!

Sometimes I feel alone and I want to die
And I want to die, but this poem doesn't rhyme
And if this poem doesn't rhyme then why do I try
'Cause if I try then maybe I won't want to die.
And that's how you make a poem rhyme.

Life is an ocean,
Leading nowhere but to some vast horizon
No one can touch.
And all the while, we go through peaks and valleys...
But if we're really honest,
We are riding the valleys,
Waiting for that next cycle,
Waiting until the next great fall,
When we reach a valley again.

I don't know if you know how tired I am
Tired of putting on the face of someone who's
Not crazy
Not terrified
Not overwhelmed
By the waves crashing overhead

My ears are ringing from how deep below the surface I am
My lungs are burning from holding my breath every moment
My tongue has teeth marks in it
My heart beats doggedly against its scars

And all the while, everyone stares at my drowning; tells me to stop struggling and just swim, ******!
But they've forgotten that I never finished swim lessons from all the times I broke my arm growing up.
They've forgotten, but me? I remember.

Thomas O'Reilly was not a fool,
Nor was he depressed or teased at school.
In fact, he was nobody, a no one at all,
Which is why he thought it nice to take a large fall...

So they'd know who he was, a real person now,
One who could choose how he left his mark on the town.
He thought death romantic and noble and right,
He thought it each day, morning, noon, and night.

What Thomas O'Reilly didn't know was, however,
When you're dead, you don't know if you were thought clever
Or nice or smart or worthy of greatness;
All you know is your version of your own self-hateness.

The greatness is in you, hiding somewhere,
It has a small voice, because like you, it is scared.
But if you find it's location, it is sure to come out,
Then loving it will make it scream and shout.

So don't be like Thomas, and live for today;
Find out what it is that makes you okay,
Try something, everything, anything new,
There's a greatness in everyone, yes, EVEN YOU!

Thinking of the canvas clouds,
How they shield my eyes from the sun's sharp dagger;
And turn their backs against the windy stagger.

It's as if I were boat on wind-swept seas,
Tilting with the tide,
Listing from side to side.

And my canvas clouds are there,
Holding me upright so I do not fall,
They love me, without a word at all.