The world today... ****, what can I say... for the most part it's just one big dung pool filled with the **** and bile of humanity.  Things have gone from bad to ******* right out absurdly ******* horible.  At least here in the U.S. it has, and almost everyone just walks around like nothing is wrong.  We've turned off the fire under the Melting *** (and lets be honest, it was barely a matchbook under there in the first place... burning a single match at a time) and freed the hideous multi-headed snake of racism and bigotry.  It's embarrassing and disgusting to hear politicians spewing hate filled reterhic and then pretending that their **** filled speeches are inspired by the voice and righteousness of god.  These ******* wearing ******* are ******* on the devils **** while mumbling out their pathatic lies, claimng to have scientific fact on their side of reason.  They would rather protect the unborn spawn of ****** than the lives and hearts and minds of the women *****.  Build more prisons and invent more crimes than feed those who need food, educate our children to be better and do better, poison water for outdated resources we truthfully no longer need... and the list is nearly endless.  There are more criminals hiding in plain sight in goverment chairs than there are in our slums and dark alleys.  
In part, I envy those  that we're able to afford the luxury of suicide... Hunter, Cobain, Williams and all the other genius minds and beautiful hearts to kind and caring and passionate to take another day of watching this world sink any deeper into its own excrement.  Tired of trying to save us from own stupidity, their voices hoarse and hearts bruised, caving into the comfort of leaving this mortal coil, not able to bear watch it collapse and bury itself.  So they jumped the line, rushed to the front and flew over the edge... laughing I'm sure.
The world today... It breaks my ******* heart... Humanity as a whole?... **** IT! Long have we been capable to do better, to clean ourselves of hate,  to raise up and join hands and hearts and souls and love one another.  Instead we turn our heads, plug our ears, and hush our voices.  Letting greed and corruption **** on our dinner plates and then gobble it all down like we are nothing more than starving orphaned children.  
Is that all we are?  Blind, deaf, mute and starving children?  Willing to swallow anything placed in front of us?  Changing history books to their liking?  Placing Moses next to Jefferson,  erasing the actions and voices of King and Parks and Mandela... I wish I were lying, but in hopes of a more obedient society these same ****-wits want to stop teaching of civil disobedience.  They want our children to do nothing more than sacrifice themselves to the endless crime of war and to the gears and teeth of the machine.  Feeding and defending the crimes of the dollar while  grinding pennies into dust to make the ink they sign our paychecks with...
I don't know what else to say...  to those with the heart and the voice and the hope... Keep at it.... write, sing, scream, dance...
Love your friends, family... Raise your children to be better than we were, than we are... let them become the ones to bring about a world were compassion, empathy, and love define the success and wealth of a good life lived.

As I have stated before, my father, for twenty years was a game warden for what is now known as The Texas Wildlife Commission. He taught my brother and me a lot about hunting, fishing, and tracking, although I never developed a real liking for fish.
I was fourteen years old the first time he took me on a deer hunt near the south end of Texas' Yellowhouse Canyon, not too far outside of Lubbock, Texas. A rancher friend of dad's gave permission to hunt on his two hundred plus acres.
After about two hours of hiking we finally saw one, about one hundred and fifty yards from us.
Oh, how majestic he was, about an eight-point buck. Dad handed me the 30.06 rifle. Sitting on the ground, with my elbows braced against my knees, dad said, "take the shot when you're ready, but if you wait too long, he will run!"
After it was over, and packing the rifle in its case and closing the trunk lid of the car, dad put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Son, you did well!"  I never pulled the trigger. I yelled at that beautiful animal, and he took off as if he were shot out of a cannon.  You see, he posed no threat to me. Looking at him through the sight I realized that all he was wanting to do was survive.
I didn't want, or need, a hat rack.

In memory of "Cecil the Lion."

copyright: richard riddle-July 30, 2015

Convince him to get a new hair cut and when he does, notice the way it doesn't frame his face the way it used to and how his shaved head reminds you of your cousin who, as your mom said, enlisted too young. Listen to him, really listen to him when he talks and watch the way his mouth automatically turns to a smile after every single sentence he utters. Make note of every time he laughs at his own joke. When he tosses you a compliment picture his last person and how they must have felt when he tossed the same line to them. As you're lying in bed try to recall the time before he called you his and consider how long you wanted him. Remember the way you memorized his drink orders and the sweater he always wore on Tuesday. Realize that you stopped memorizing him the day he confessed to memorizing you. Bring him to social gatherings and become annoyed with the way he clings to you. Catch him staring at you at least three times in one day and when the day is over compare that number to the zero amount of times you found yourself gazing his way. His voice will come to annoy you and it is important that instead of shutting it out, you let it in. Eventually this annoyance will turn into hatred so you have to let every word sink in. Don't listen to your friends tell you how nice he is and ignore the voice in your head telling you that you have to be happy because he treats you right, unlike the last one. Let it finally hit you that you no longer like him, when you find yourself at 2am crying, in a dark room illuminated only by the light of a computer screen displaying the last picture you have of the man you actually love.

this is not a love poem
not a "i love another person" poem
not a "you make my world go round" poem
not a "thank you for saving my life" poem

this is a poem
about all the things i have never found the courage to say
this is a poem dedicated
to me, myself, and i

to the me from six years ago,
it is alright to cry
you need no longer
dig the edges of your nails so deep into your skin that it leaves a mark
physical pain to erase the emotional pain
you need no longer think that way

to the me from five years ago
you're beautiful
even if they all make fun of you for the mark of beauty on your face
yell at you that you are terrible
one day soon you will realise you are extremely beautiful

to the me from three years ago
i wish i could have stopped you from dating boys you didn't like
or stopped you from liking boys who did not deserve your affection
your self worth isn't dependent on how many boys like you
it's alright to be alone for a while

to the me from two years ago
pay no mind to those who laugh at your body
at your clothes
or at what you choose to share
your life is yours
so is your body

to the me from one year ago
i wonder why you were so angry
i wish you could've realised it sooner
that all you needed was right there
in front of you

to the me today
i'm sorry i took this long to build up my courage
there's are thousands of things more that i want to say to you
but for now
i will settle for

i love you

His hands were callused and cracked
They were rough on my cheek
I had never been pulled in the way Clark Gable pulls them in
Like in all of those movies I had seen when I was a kid
The way I had always practiced
Back then my ringtone was the sound of bells chiming
More specifically the bells of Notre Dame
As his stubble grazed mine they rang out
He let go of my face, his untrimmed nails scratched my chin
I would weep for hours that night
Stare into the dark corners of my room
Trying to identify all of the shadows I used to think were scary
I knew now what scary really was
Scary was his hand on my rib cage
Scary was liking it
He never did call
I changed my ringtone to the whistle from Robin Hood
I was set up on a date by my best friend
She was kind
Her hands were soft and smelled like Love Spell by Victoria’s Secret
She had no stubble to graze mine
She pressed her lips on the scratch he left on my chin with his untrimmed fingernails
And I flinched
This too was scary
This too I liked

I used to talk about love
Like I knew what hell I was talking about
I had all the clichés mastered
My mind made sense of
Nonsensical things
Like, tackling a girl into the snow
and her liking it...
Because it seemed to make sense,
I did it - and it worked

Back when I talked about love like
I knew a thing or two
I would use Crayons to color my best
Staying inside the lines
But love has no lines
I knew so little that I didn’t catch on
A flawless drawing just means
It doesn't have character at all

Now that I talk about love like
a ******* fool
I step on your toes
I laugh a little too loud at
inappropriate things
I respond to your “I’m fine”
With a quiet hug

When you hear someone talking about love,
Like they think they know
What they're talking about
Just give it some time
Once you realize how little you know
You took the first step toward understanding

I just wanna howl.
I'm itching
twitching rather
like sudden shivers flexing my muscles like gun shots.

anxious
alone
half liking it
half wanting to tell someone

I'm alone but not in empty air
these suite mates and roommates and mates in this building
I wanna howl.

let it roar
my heart
my ears
my eyes
my mind
all stretching and staining

Oh! it grinds my gears
to be alone but not with myself

Maniacally feeling up the walls and floors and other surfaces
I'm twitching
urging to howl
I want to cut lose from myself.
I gotta do something.

When did this happen?
When did we stop wearing light up sneakers?
When did going to bed early become a good thing?
When did play dates turn into real dates?
When did dad stop being a superhero?
When did weight stop determining what ride we go on and star defining who we were?
When did we start looking in the mirror and not liking what we saw?
And when did our scars become on purpose?

i am not yours to pursue,
nobody's to claim, to obsess over
you do not have the right to ignore my declination
nor to see my rejection as a challenge;
i am not a game or a puzzle
if you think my "no" is a jigsaw piece fitted in the wrong place
there for you to move and arrange
again and again
until you finally hear "yes"
then you are too much a child for my liking
too much about the conquest and not enough about the person.
my "no" will not be manipulated into a "yes",
you cannot play me into your hands

i am not a gamer, i am an artist
i will sketch thicker lines, make my "no" bolder
NO
i will add more tone, make it sterner
add more shade, allow my anger to cast shadows over your reputation
and it will not be hard to outline your true colours:
you've already revealed so many.
i don't need to paint you as a villain; you have done that much yourself
you too are an artist, in your own right...
you've smudged your lines so much, you've crossed boundaries.
your so-called love is not delicate pink―it is blood red and sticky.
your so-called affections leech the grey from my palette
and leave me seeing you in black and white.
oh, there's not much white, not much innocence
you are an all-consuming black; your desire to swallow me whole is abyssal

i will not be the reference of your portraits,
you cannot draw me in
your kind of passion disgusts me; you are not a true artist.
there'll be no soft brushes between us,
only sharp edges of craft knives
as i carve into your determination and soften that hardened clay
into something i can mould and shape,
something i can twist away from me.
six years is a long time for something to be set in stone
but i have a sledgehammer will and i refuse to feel backed into the corners
of your lustful foundations.
i do not wish to be a masterpiece in your eyes any longer.
i never asked you to admire me.
i will not be hung on your wall.

when my mother was pregnant,
my mother looked up names and their holy meanings and found one to be to her liking
and so i was named ;
but my brother, upon hearing this
squirmed and pleaded to change it for whatever reason
and so i was named ;
and later
i would play two videogames and love the two female protagonists so dear
i'd name myself ;
and a little further on
i would read a book with a main character so enticing and thoughtful
i'd name myself ;
and now
i find myself drifting from meaning to mood to games to books
and so much else - so many factors in a life and person
and i am only character
with a debated name

i want to scribble all my secrets

on the inside of your giant palms

let you squeeze them out of exsistence

lay my sweating worried forehead near you heart

hyponitize myself to the beat

fasten myself around you like strings to a guitar

and be rhythm

and be harmony

and be noise upon noise upon noise

layered to your liking

and all at once quiet

with my nose to your nose

so close i can't remember what color your eyes are

so close i don't feel anything but the deep blue hole

only a soul on a soul

i dream of just being the light

the speckles that escape between the shades

and dance on the floor

as the wind rustles the blinds

i want to be wrestled into harmony

pushed into fantasy

kidnapped by bliss

and if it can't come for me

i want to scribble all my secrets

on the inside of your giant palms

-there they might be safe from me

Knowingly, he waits for innocence to end
His eyes, glossed with instinctual terror
Factually fearful of something he knows nothing about
And the arbiter watches, like some perverse anubis
Observing the process with no clear objective
Like a statue taking a liking to cigars
The arbiter wants only to see the end, having no conception of what it means

Innocence and snow, both gentle
Falling, for the rare and irreplaceable moment of suspension in open air
Innocence and The End, present for one another
Be it though, a meaningless meeting
Neither of them knowing how important they are to each other


If only I could sweet one, but I may only be witness
Im sorry if youre scared
But know that I am here for you, when soon, all will leave you

Innocence can only look back
With no life left to look back on
This visitation is all he has

The ground grows close now
Innocence does not know the end is real
The Arbiter stays close, remaining only of occupation
There are no Angels here for you now he says

It wont hurt, it wont be scary anymore, I promise
Go with no knowledge of your armagedon
Will not go unnoticed.

I dream of wearing the perfect red dress,
skin-tight but easy to take off,
the fabrics light yet hard enough for
men to take their eyes away from.
And did you know that I love how your name rhymes well with death?
If my skin would bleed or sweat out rhymes,
it might as well be to the sound of your name.
My guts shall dance to your liking,
watch my blood flow like the wine
you've been gulping.
Do as you please, but please never go easy.
My body is made for the opposite.
Now excuse me, while I go and search for the
perfect
red
dress.

I have known this much talked about search for true love for over 10 years and I am aged 22 years now. There was this unforgiving loneliness till I was 17 years of age given that I am the only child of my parents who lives with them in a lonely campus of a research institute away from the small city.

A tumultuous relationship filled with resentment to the brim about my parents keeping me their only 'issue' was brought to the hilt and I was weary of being their arguably most beloved 'machine' who was supposed to live sticking to the 'guidelines' laid by them as the ideal only son.

We aren't from a landlord's family and have limited resources, so I was supposed to suffice in my parents' love and affection, studying at a fairly consistent dedication to bring forth the results worthwhile landing me a good job.

But who has been able to control a Romeo-in-the-making?

Answer: Nobody!

But my Juliet wasn't yet on the horizon till age 17, when I mistakenly took my first girlfriend who was my classmate till class 7, to be my last love. Period. Then for the first time I was introduced to the idea of 'love' by this sweet girl whom I dub "G3" over 11 months elder to me. I had proposed her, but it was not a pre-emptive proposal.

Our period of courtship had started over Orkut which was the most popular social website at that time. It was just friendship initially until I had unsuccessfully proposed two bimbets other than my first girlfriend. One of those two unsuccessful attempts was with her best-friend-once-upon-a-time.

I had told her about them both, she had even tried apparently helping me propose her best friend when I had told her that I had even written a song for my childhood crush over the years I had been away from my old school.

Her first reaction was, "I would die for having such a boyfriend! Wish it was I for whom the song was composed."

Then when I proposed my childhood crush, G1, I couldn't even mention about the song and she rejected my proposal. Period. I was distraught, I was broken & I was amazed at how easily she could've undermined my liking for her from the past 7 years.

To take my attention off the disappointment posed by my first rejection. I proposed a different girl, G2, non-seriously, knowing that another rejection was lurking behind the curtains of time.

Rejection 2 successfully diverted my mind away from the mess created. Anyways, I did have a girlfriend for myself. After all, people love guys who sing melodiously and can play guitar apart from having decent appearance, and believe me- I used to look this chocolatey young guy until I was 19 years of age.

The girl who later went on to have the place vacated by my first crush was her same best-friend-once-upon-a-time 'G3'. She went on varied lengths in narrating her own break-up story with the guy she was with. I got a second-hand  piece as my first girlfriend. It was no issues, at least till she was bickering about how he had broken her 'heart-of-a-self-proclaimed-princess' and we started having arguments and serious tiffs over what had been happening in her life.

We broke-up. I had enough of the hardships brought by myself upon her. She had taken to crying harshly over phone. I resented myself. I failed to identify that it was not true love indeed but only a mirage of the idea.

I next concentrated in studies and this time I prevailed over the hurdles offered by examinations and a second girlfriend, 'G4', who refused to openly accept she was going about with me was attracted to me. She'd go see the Taj Mahal at Agra and the Hawa Mahal at Jaipur with me apart from spending the night in the same hotel room but would still reckon me with my pending reappear supplementary exams and wouldn't openly accept a failure as her man. I was frustrated by her autocratic behaviour and opted for a different girl, 'G5'.

G5 was the prettiest of my first 3 GF's as far as looks were considered. We romanced around Delhi's historical places and malls; holding hands around cinemas and Old Fort walls in New Delhi. But still I was as ****** as I was when I was born.

May 7, 2010 was a scorching hot day with the sun ablaze overhead and me going on the busiest highway of India. I was going back to my home and met with a serious road accident en route that kicked me out of my senses into a frozen comatose state.

I somehow survived the life-threatening coma and was moving around in 52 long weeks, limping heavily all thanks to my parents and the kind physiotherapist. Thanks to a poor memory, I initially performed extremely below average at college.

Then I was all prepared to attack at all future examinations and nothing could stop me. I breezed past another girl 'G6', this was my last failure. She was confused between me and a different guy. Neither me nor any other guy with a high self-prestige would entertain the idea of being weighed as an option. I again moved on.

Then comes the continuing story of my true love. True love is the one that lasts forever successfully. She is incidentally my 7th chance upon the love pathway and last. I am sure this is her- my soul-mate.

She is my gateway to the 7th heaven, I find her presence in every aspect of my life. She is 6 years and 9 months younger to me and her descent in my life has been the best thing in my life. I celebrate and rejoice each day in her presence. Our tastes are so similar that we feel merely our X- & Y-chromosomes are different.

We patiently wait for time to last till the day till we perish after blessing our grandchildren. We live 250 kilometres away from each other and have only known each other through voices and photos. We are yet to meet. Till then I wait for the day my master degree gets over and she gets into a medical college.

Now I will end this post by saying that there's no end of love and no beginning of it - you just have to wait, identify and hold on to your truest love.

Watching the sun go down

To watch the lights come up on the night

Illuminated parking garages gave way to the dark blue sky

Sitting up on a loft playing guitar to the night air

Playing to the lighted windows across the way

Playing no one and the whole world all at once

I’m humming your lullaby in this elevator

I’m liking the way the notes bounce off of the walls like it bounces around in my head

Like the way you make my heart bounce around in my chest

Like the way I feel when I can’t rest.

My feelings are for no one in particular and for everyone at all

In the quiet of this room I feel alive

This night air is alive

We’re on the brink of summer

As though the days of spring were nonexistent

And I’m viewing the world through drooping eyes

This season brings dreams silhouetted by the sun slipping below the horizon

Just like you and me walking straight towards the line of eternity

We just look like the outlines

Next month promises of different days and

Narrow ways of escape from what is real          

In time the warmth of the sun will lull us to sleep

Only to wake us up in the fall.

What happens then will be so far away from us

When the dog days fall away

Into leaves catching breezes

And my fingers turning pages.

So, here’s to the days that I will feel so alive

Store them away until the days where I close the shades.

This season brings love

To only be taken away

There's a bunch of small things about you that most wouldn't notice,
That I just happen to love.

Like the star-like pattern of little golden flecks in your beautiful brown eyes,
Or remembering how soft your lips were against mine.
Or that goofy smile you give whenever someone actually makes you laugh.
It's different from your usual, kind of faked smile.

I doubt anyone but me and you
Remember the fact that, well,
You called James Madison a little *****.
Or that my running joke with you is 'smonk the wed.'

I doubt anyone really sees the way a few of your teeth are just a little bit crooked,
Or the way your eyes and nose crinkle up sometimes if you smile wide enough.

I doubt anyone remembers that time you wore my cat ears to comicon,
Or, really, the fact that you still have them- somewhere.
Or the goofy way you called me out on instagram for not liking pickles.

I still remember feeling your hand in mine.
I still remember stealing your definitely too small for me hoodies,
I still remember being in theatre with you.

I still remember admiring your eyes,
And the way your hair curled into ringlets when it got down to your ears,
And the way it felt between my fingers.

I still remember the way your voice calmed me down,
Or the day before thanksgiving when you called me, crying,
Begging me to stay on the Earth just a little bit longer.

I still remember you next to me.
I still remember all the little things, too.

"I mean I don't like you, like that yet." you said,
and went ahead to kiss me and cup my *******.
I have always been that kid who liked everything.
The cold morning breeze, scalding sunshine, brick walls,
burnt soup, inconsistent laughter, English class,
the weird kid in seventh grade who bullied me and
making crosses on my skin with fingernails over mosquito bites. So,
I did not understand it when you said you did not like me.
I wondered, if it was because my nose was too crooked, or my lips too plump or because my hair didn't have a shape?
It's weird because I like you and for all that makes you.
And it is so simple for me,
to appreciate the subtle balding of your head, the shape of your shoulders, the Pinocchio nose of yours or the fact that you are an *******.
I started to like the taste of your skin, the touch of the camera around your neck, your old, fading jeans and the 'know it all' attitude.
I heard your words in poetry when you kept saying,
that I don't know you well enough to like you or love you or to cuddle with you while I slept.
Darling, we both know you never intended me to know you well enough.
You said you liked how I wrote my words, my short haircut and the curves of my body,
but not enough to like me.
So strange, because it was as easy as breathing,
for me to draw masterpieces out of your naked body painted in
the subtle yellow light of an evening.
I haven't felt as worthless, as I did when I spent hours in the night,
loving each inch of you just to hear that
you don't like me, like that.
Darling when I held you, I held you with all the universe in me.
I held you, hoping to mend every broken part of you,
to make disappearing clouds out of everything
that keeps you awake at night.
It was simple to kiss your skin and to like it,
and to like you.
I liked our time, your kisses, and the husky sound of your voice when you said "I don't like you like that"
Maybe it's stupid that I like you,
like it is stupid to like loneliness, mud spots on a favorite clothing or holding my breath under water.
It's stupid to feel
so unbearably off balance while loving someone so emotionally unavailable and
liking it.
It's stupid
and you are a *******
but I like you.
I like you.

its time to change and get things going right.....
just wish youd be in my life when im better to sleep with at night...

Im going there *** ive lost it all.....
my car and job and no place to live so he is my pick up on my down fall...

Well my car is in the shop and i cant get to work.....
if he was really liking me hed let me take his car to work...
but he doesnt *** hes just a ****.

But at least i will get my *** clean.....
just hope its done before he gets all bossy and mean.

Dear Sally:

     Hi! I see you stopped by my page, you're always so thoughtful!
And I did stop by your page, you know, to see what you've been up to lately.
      Unfortunately, yet fortunately, I ran into all my favorite HP Poetess and poets that you so kindly re-posted. And so after reading down your list and commenting and liking all our wonderful friends' poems, I realized I never found your poems.
      Anyways, Thank you Sally for giving me a new home page to read my faves.
       Seriously though, you are very awesome and have a wonderful heart!

Sincerely Traveler
                  Tim

If I told you that you mean
something to me
could you open up your mind
and see yourself more clearly
don't you understand
you don't need to be royalty
you're just as great
as a new song from Demi
so let's stop pretending
that we're not who we want to be
let's start looking in the mirror
and liking who we see.
So let's stop lying to ourselves
we're just as good
as everyone else
don't let anyone bring you down
let's just paddle ahead on this ocean of emotion
and let's stay happy and not frown.
So don't let them tell you,
that you're not great
let's not be consumed
by our own hate
for the person we see,
let's decide our fate,
so don't let it bring you down
or you'll get cut
by the mirror shards on the ground,
but you're still here,
you're still around,
you're important.
So don't cry when I can't be found,
just look inside you
and hear the sound
of these words
inside you're heart
you're meaningful, important,
and if you feel sad just go back to the start,
and read this over and over again, until you understand.
I won't stop writing until you're smiling,
and only then this poem will end.

The woman holds a letter
crumpled and crumbling at the tip like insanity taking its first few licks at calm
and liking it
brushing black-inked words beneath her fingers
like she's contemplating some black haired deed
like anger
or hate
or ******
and maybe she is.

The woman lifts her hands unto the skies
crying for help from a darkness that won't help her at all
but she wants it
banishing her innocence and taking up home
in the old, abandoned shack of spite and malice
wanting blood
wanting love
wanting power
but not just for her.

The woman meets her husband
taunting and teasing and twisting his words into a sadistic mockery of what they were
and he believes her
with a slap across morality he agrees with her
takes her outstretched hand to show that
jealousy is married
determination binds
it was his idea first
and weakness is sin.

The woman turns and faints
blanching so white it's like the evil wasn't ever there
it's hiding
waiting, longing to consume her whole
she'd thought she'd washed away the deed
with just
a little
spot of
water.

The woman enters the banquet hall
hanging off her husband's arm like the weight of the crime that holds her down
she's shaking
trying to hurl off all the lonely isolation
as her husband lo and talks to ghosts
and kills
not just
men but
her as well.

The woman walks and talks asleep
scratches skin and tries to scrub away the sticking-plaster guilt
but still it stays
forces of darkness she invited
staying long past their welcome and
not just
eating all
the food
but her as well.

The woman recognises blood
splattering the deceased's names across her arms in swirling crimson lines like marker pen
that won't wash off
maybe she'd be better off dead than praying
wishing she could drown her err
in just
a little
spot of
water.

There's a reason
To everything I do.
Whether it be
Not smiling at you
Distancing myself from you or
Not liking you...
There's a reason.
I'm not your first priority.
Not even when I'm the
Only person
You need to focus on.
I'm not your first priority
When no one else is around
And
I never will be.
So don't pretend like I am.
Don't lie to my face.
Don't think everyone will like you
Just because you like to show them
Your enthusiasm
As if you're their Sun.
*******.

Be honest with me
Be truthful
And work from there.
I tried to do that with you but...
I'm not your first priority

We won't always remain who we think we are.
By chance, hard work, or just through
Our natural trajectory of life,
We transform into a stronger, wiser, better, us.

I used to fail physical education.
Never into sports, hated it with a passion.
Now I exercise thrice a week -
Skateboarding, ice skating, muay thai, & yoga.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still physically weak.
Only liking exercise
Just enough to be healthy.

When my first love broke my heart,
I felt like being torn apart.
Heart swelling like it's been stung  
By all the hurt I couldn't contain.
But as I grew larger my heart stretched,
Now accommodating
Both love and pain.

I was never one for religion,
And surprised myself when I started reading,
Thinking about God,
Wondering, hoping...

I always thought I had a gift for pessimism.
"Why so emo?" they liked to chime in.
It took a spiral to the sightless abyss,
Before I found comfort in the darkness.
With blinded eyes I've seen a fraction
Of the world's beauty,
Filling me
With a thirst for more,
To scents and sounds I've never been.

Life finds us in funny ways,
We are capable of more than we think.
Doing things greater
Than we ever imagined.

Change is the only constant,
And to change is to grow,
To grow is to live.
To remain stagnant is to regress,
And that is the opposite of living.

What is life if not one big lie
You're told stories of Santa as a child only to find he doesn't exist
He can't get you the pony you wanted, nor the spy kit
You're told you can be anything you want to be then later discover you can't
You can't snap your fingers and have enough money for the proper education to be what you want
You most likely weren't born into a role suitable for your liking
You're told that if you stay true to yourself you'll be happy
Yet, if you eat how you want, dress how you want, listen to the music you want, even love who you want, you will be judged and ridiculed which brings nothing but a downward spiral of depression
You're told i love you by a lot of people, but when you really need them where are they
You're told that you're lucky to live in the land of the free, however, we're trillions of dollars in dept and there are people in shelters because they haven't a home
So tell me
Where is the truth in life