raindrops danced
on top of the pavement
as I searched for a reason
to continue on

drenched in misery
i begged
to feel just a small mist
of what life had to offer

instead
this downpour
continued filling the gutters
and drains of my soul

and still
these raindrops danced
enjoying a brief moment
of bliss
before falling
to form puddles in my mind

Within and in between
a dusty red brick chimney,
and a tired aging oak,
do advance the clouds of
brilliant ember,
cascading over one another, eager
to wash the field of azure
while a gentle roll of
thunder
bids goodnight from afar.
How we wish that the
weary hourglass
would squeeze each grain,
so that raindrops
-- having just settled among
emerald blades -- would
glisten for a lifetime,
while the world remain bathed
in a candle-lit hue.

A raindrop floats down from clouds of grey.
It seems to be cry Night and Day.
Help me O Help me it pleads as it falls.

Spiraling, drowning, falling, raindrops.

It crys and weeps the sky.
The raindrops its tears. The sky it's face. The clouds its eyes.

Spiraling, drowning, falling, raindrops.

Raindrop O Raindrop why do you cry?
I cry for the stars. I cry for the sky. I cried for my life but not anymore.
Why O Why did I ever die.

You can try to dodge the raindrops.
If evasion is your intent, then dive right in.
I won’t stop you,
but I will tell you.
Each raindrop you try to avoid
finds its own special way of dampening your mood.
That is, if you try to dodge the raindrops.

You can try to true the lies
If truth is you intent, then speak it.
I won’t stop you,
but I will tell you.
Each lie you try to true finds its own special way of satisfying truths.
That is, if you try to true the lies.

You can try to touch the rainbow..
If feeling is your intent, then reach out.
I won’t stop you,
but I will tell you.
Each rainbow you try to touch
finds its own special way of keeping you on the move
That is, if you try to touch the rainbow.

By the sill sit still;
Listen to the wash on the roof;
Specks and sheets form a symphony
so complete to hush you quiet,
Even still.

An inundation.
This libation to parched earth has
been a meditation since birth;
to ponder under the pitter-patter
hiss and swish of exponential scales
At the wrongness of raindrops in a sunbeam.

Sit still, brood like the clouds that came
to darken a June day, so silent they gathered
over a land hard with memory,
With fear for passing years and
worries that grew like weeds in summer showers.

Brief as thought these drops like jewels
are set ablaze then strike the dirt; done.
They flash for an instant in time,
with no way back to an azure sky.

There is no telling the distance,
How high these clouds climb.
Just the sound of falling rain,
Listen.

Collating rain drops on the window
can I just say its beautiful,
creating a pattern, feeling of safety at home.
Amazement of  the drops being separate,
then how it forms into a pool together as one
How individual rain drops have colours,
trying to stand out before they fall.

We are like these rain drops,
we shine before we fall,
We pool together as a community,
We also fall serperate away from it all.

Just like these raindrops we are on the other side,
Looking out instead of in it,
looking through instead of seeing,
gliding on the windows with the feeling of no meaning.
But just like these raindrops we can pool together,
to seap through the window,
to create a puddle,
In a gloomy world.

tomorrow’s raindrops
falling on our shoes
our sheds and our attitudes
dead like winter
feathers turn red in spring
grief is a funny thing
how the mind hides from itself
its faults are shed like yesterday's skin
frequent lessons to be earned
and then dealt with
never make a bargain with the devil
rather let yourself listen
and then swiftly walk away
take your space
and face your inner demons
reside in the cave of safety
within your heart
we know that love is an art form
with more music and magic
bursting forth like fungus
the moment after the storm passes
i am drenched in your fabric

within a glass iris
lions dine on sunlight
and a kind walrus
dunks his head in your oasis
drunk on stone fruit
we drift into this music
forensics are freedom
as hungry lovers
lick loquacious diamonds
mined in eternity
dine upon my consciousness
and find the rivers edge
why do we no longer beg to taste
each other's lips anymore

as long ago i wandered
upon the ocean floor
and saw a tiny star
eyeing me curiously
from beneath the sand
but when i bent down to pick it up
i was surprised to find
it was not attached to anything
it was just lying there
shining like a diamond
within it i could see
everything as clear as day
and it had a musical way
of saying hello
and that there was no need to worry
because help was on the way

The child discarded in the storm was lost as lonesome sheep.
The flowers in the garden there did bow their heads and weep.
The tears that flowed did nurture and develop a perfect chrysalis.
And as the morning mists did rise a fragile butterfly hit the skies.
A magnificence of purple pause an emperor for a day.

The sun came out, burned out all  the pain of rain.
The child smiled it's heart was made of joy.
As once upon a time the child was born a boy.
Glory and magnificence made magic from the raindrops craft.
For now the gorgeous girl child, she lived, she loved, she laughed.
(C) Livvi

The stars are raindrops searching for a place to fall

Smiles, pretty hair; glances, little stares,
You're not here, but you're everywhere.

In the moonlight I find you,
    as it lights up my night,
In the raindrops I feel you,
    as they bring me to life.
In your absense I see you,
    as the faces go by;
In the silence I hear you,
    as our song fills the sky.

You are everywhere and yet you are nowhere;
    You are the heart that I left behind somewhere.
You are my dream, my answered prayer;
    You are the pain that reminds me to care.

How is it that you find me every single night?
    When day is gone and visions clouds the light.
The silence overtakes me, forcing me to feel;
    The demons of memory provoke me to fight.
        The soul and it's descent,
                      your smiling little muse,
        The moment never fails
                      to bring me back to you.

Raindrops...
keep falling on my head
Falling in my heart
Soaking wet I am
Inside and out........

I hear that it is raining
I hear every drop falling on the floor
but I looked up in the sky
there were no clouds

Where did the raindrops come from?
why do i hear the raindrops?

the raindrops did not come out of the sky
the raindrops came out of her eyes
I saw the gray clouds
they do not come out of her eyes
but from her broken heart

she was alone, sad and helpless
but I will not let the raindrops fall out of her eyes

because i will be the sun for you and
I'll wipe the rain out of your eyes.

Raindrops are falling on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothing seems to fit
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling
So I just did me some talking to the sun
And I said I didn't like the way he got things done
Sleeping on the job
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep fallin'
But there's one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me
Won't defeat me, it won't be long
'Till happiness steps up to greet me
Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me
It won't be long 'till happiness steps up to greet me
Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free, 'cause nothing's worrying me

when she was eight years old
she
asked her mother
have you seen the girl with
lashes like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches?
a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets
streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach

it feels buttery to stare at her:
see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace
see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm
see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon
proclaiming she trickles with stars

when she was eight years old
her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot
but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage.

she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday
whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees.
see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun
they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues

i yearn for you
     'tween raindrops
silkiness
    of early morn's dew,
spirit
    of twilight's mist
dark cherry wine's
    intoxication
& comforts
    of a different rhyme
those spaces
   that enchant musings
toxic perfum'd lacings
     air filled of metaphorical
blush'd smoke
    gasping for surrender
'tween honey'd breaths
         wafting in my mind
  of nectar'd
       burgundy enchantments

I can't stop
thinking about
raindrops
on roses
how the perfectly round
droplets shine
and how they look
like diamonds
backed by an elegant
red dress
I can't stop
thinking about
the smell
of the rain
with the perfume
of the flower
and I can't stop
being happy.

They told me to listen to the raindrops,
And how they beat pitter-patter on the rooftops.
But there is no rooftop on this broken home.
And rain doesn’t “pitter-patter” over it,
It drowns it out.
And now, submerged under water,
I cannot hear anything.
Except the pitter-patter of my heart,
As I’m looking at you.
We’re here, dancing and drowning in the raindrops.
And now, the only pitter-patter we hear is our feet on the floor of this ocean house.
The waves carrying us in any direction in sees fit.
And now, when they tell us to listen to the raindrops,
We won’t be able to hear them.
Because we are now the raindrops.
Pitter-patter.

.
Tears like raindrops roll down my face
as I start awake from another dream.
The stark isolation set in another place
reflecting the here by subconscious means.

The wind whistles a gale of fury
whilst I squat on the mountains summit.
Bracing my heart from an angry jury,
whose purpose is to find me unfit.

Not worthy, by proxy, a foregone verdict
delivered eloquently from myself to me.
Scything confidence away, I've heard it.
Raindrops taste like tears to the lonely.

Shutters and barricades drop, my armour,
holding back the bad, and the good.
Protected, the gale blows much calmer,
the stark isolation accepted and understood.

But the dream persists, always the same,
a looping litany whilst I lay asleep.
The withdrawal is but temporary in name
until I locate that which I humbly seek.


© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

NO MORE RAINDROPS
NO MORE PAIN
I LOVE TO WATCH THE RAIN

I FINALLY HAVE THE STRENGTH
THANKS TO THE MAN FROM ABOVE
I WAS WEAK
I WAS MEEK

I LOVE TO WATCH THE RAIN
NO MORE PAIN
I LOVE TO WATCH THE RAIN
I LOVE TO WATCH THE RAIN

HIS LOVE SHINES THROUGH ME
HE MADE ME SEE
I CAN NOW BE
OH I LOVE TO WATCH THE RAIN

THANKS TO THE MAN FROM ABOVE
I CAN NOW LOVE
NO MORE PAIN

OH HOW I LOVE TO WATCH THE RAIN
NO MORE RAINDROPS ON ME
HE MADE ME SEE
I CAN NOW BE

OH HOW I LOVE TO WATCH THE RAIN
THANKS TO THE MAN FROM ABOVE
I CAN NOW LOVE
NO MORE RAINDROPS ON ME

.
    It's here again...
   Heavy downpour...
   I inhaled the rain,
    cloying with petrichor.

      Standing at my window,
     looking out...
    Street lamps struggled aglow.
   People with brollies walking about.

   My eyes reached out to the heavens,
    tracing these glassy beads
      as they'd free fall...
        Falling by the sheets,
       the pattering hastens,
      periodically punctuated
     by the thunder's call.

     Mind is drifting and floating,
       intently listening to a
          million love wishes...
             Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
           In light entrapped splashes.

         Raindrops descend and come,
         into my still life tonight...
          Won't you will me numb,
             with your chilly bite...

             Wide-eyed enamour...
            Catching a stray droplet or two.
             Riding the tail of a zephyr,
              finding a place where
                no trouble could ensue.

            An errant gust blew
           to meet with me.
          The refreshing moist
         meets my parted lips...
        Inhaling deep in this reverie...
       Into a sea of tranquillity,
        my mind slowly dips...

      Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
      I would savour each and every one.
      If the moist wind came and caresses
     I would meet it in a tight embrace
   till the break of sun.

  What a sight...
   Almost surreal it seems...
      As the light from the surrounding
         lamps dances playfully...
        Dispersing and exploding into a
     barrage of shattered beams.
    Before it gets subdued in the drops
   caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...

   The drops would trickle
     and fall before merging,
      forming stranded puddles
       unable to flow...
        Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
      An image...
     Borne out of a fantastic show.

    An image of beating hearts,
     overlapping one another...
       Speaking of consequential love
          and feelings so true
        Intertwined...
     in the promise of forever...
  Slowly retrieving itself into an...


  image of you...

Its Saturday night
Raindrops are my alcohol
And these tired thoughts
Are my hangover

Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach.

The sea reclaims its myriad young,
Kidnapped by clouds, thunder-slung;
The storm is long past with calm all around;
Albatross glide, with a whisper of sound.

Seagulls circle, dogfish sleep,
Gannets dive and dolphins leap,
But black clouds return and lightning flashes
O'er storm-tossed seas, as thunder crashes.

Once more a stealthy cloud abducts infant water,
The sea's own offspring: a son ... a daughter;
The thief sets off at a wind blown pace,
The anguished mother unable to chase.

The criminal finds refuge in a partisan crowd,
A formless body in a vaporous shroud;
The cloud has no guilt, shows no remorse,
But heads inland on a predestined course.

A hill stands guard, like a customs post;
It stabs the guilty, but allows past the host;
The rogue cloud is ruptured, severed seam and pleat,
Releasing its captives and accepting defeat.

Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach ...

The belated summer sky is alive
with a  D r a g o n f l y ballet

Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal

A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering  airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath

Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
    just this side the  
softening sunset backdrop

A synthesis of fluid motion
  – darting kinesis –
    swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
   another summer's
 imminent curtain call;

reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
  of passing  seasons

Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
   coming to know
    we cannot stop
   how life unfolds

The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...

  — hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch

          and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
     in the treetops


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018                                                 .

my soul
has turned into a house
with leaks in its roof
my words are the raindrops
that fall through
and i
i am trying to catch them all.

Run run run, from the falling rain
seeking shelter from the struggle
seeking shelter from the strain.
Hop hop hop, across the empty streets,
running from the water's bellow,
running from the water's feats.
Gasp, gasp, gasp, as you see a yellow light
                  you let out a final sigh,
as your heart looses it's last fight.
Pain, pain, pain, your bones seem to cry
the tire tracks on your body,
the tire tracks where you lie,


Alas the rain drops have come to say goodbye
You are important to them.
They're here to watch you die.

You fell from the sky.
Out of nowhere,
you were suddenly there.

You nourished my life,
Out of nowhere,
You were there.

You landed on me,
Spontaneously.
Out of nowhere,
You were there.

Just as you came,
as a surprise.
Out of nowhere,
you weren't there.

Just as I began to love you,
You began to disappear,
As raindrops fall,
As raindrops fall.

Silent crackle, tingle,
The smell of a sticky must. Floating dust in
An abandoned attic, where the rats roam and the dead skeleton of a fish
Still lies in an empty bowl of moldy rocks and plastic plants.
Yet, despite the emptiness, a girl curls up in the corner, black
Running down her face as she weeps for the things she longs for most.
She looks out the *****, broken window at the cloudy sky and imagines it
Blue. The brightest of skies with only few hints of cirrus.
A blanket on the ground and the man she loves, nothing else in sight.
The expanse of green in her head is contrasted to the rotting floorboards she lays
On, dreaming. The steady beat of Boy in Static thrumming through her headset
As she struggles not to scream and jump, finishing the job on the window
From troubled teens years before. The sound reminds her of VHS tapes,
Press rewind, take a turn and start over. But she can't, when something has changed.
The boy she knew, looking down with his hood not up, but covering his face, shielding
Himself from her. She knew he had a ***** in his head, but she just looked away. He never answered anything she asked. He was unable.
But her heart still dropped, she smiled her best. An amazing actress, fooling everyone, makeup allergy keeping her eyes dry. She just read Huck Finn as though nothing was wrong.
Now she sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry, but her mind kept wandering to that attic.

She was there again. Blankly staring at her star charm anklet. A simple blue ribbon.
And the throbbing of her heartbeat through that one spot on her thumb,
That pressure point that hurts more than anything. But one thing could be worse.
Being left. Just like the broken rocking horse in the corner and the baby's cradle
Lined with blue silk that was shoved into a box. That baby is probably dead. Just like all
Of the others who lived there, burned by the fire. Goose flesh raises, prickly
Hairs on her legs from a week of no shaving. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Bleed.
Change the song. Bleed Like Me. Perfect. She draws on the peeling walls, two hundred
Years of wallpaper and lead paint, chalk barely leaving a mark. She sketches a masterpiece.
A child that she wishes she could have. Impossibly too young, but still...
A daughter she could raise better than her mother raised her. A chance to do something right.
More than the mechanic life she has lead, empty and useless.
Confused and pathetic. Like the broken grandfather clock that ticks backwards.
Three, two, one.
Ding-****, ****-ding. Grandfather never taught me anything. He was not a wise man.
He was a fool. Knew too much and too little, no room to know what was right.
She let another raindrop escape and suddenly it began to pour. Lightning crashes as a glass
Slipper collides with the picture drawn of her dream. Thunder as she releases a
Bloodcurdling scream. "Why!?"
Why her? The pain in her back is unbearable. She slouches too much, and her eyes burn.
She is not Cinderella; her ball gown does not glitter.
Piano is her least favorite instrument, but it somehow gets to her. Small hammers
Striking her heart strings, low notes reminding her of his voice and the soft, feminine
Voices radiating, remind her of when she was young... Immortal. She has aged since then.
Too quickly. Her entire life has been a masquerade ball. Unskilled idiots dancing
Around her and stepping on her toes. Shouldering her in the stomach,
Breaking her ribs. Beats of music guide her skilled toes, swerve around falling raindrops that
Her own eyes emit. And she crashes through the floor of that dismal attic. Broken free,
But she is still trapped. The walls are charred down here.

But the walls are not painted black. They were once a mint color, green and cheerful, healthy.
Until a psychopath lit a match.
"I didn't mean to do it." It was all in her head. The house.
She set it aflame.

She sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry. It isn't worth it to stare. Nothing will change.
She is still just a girl in a glass box, being stared at and judged. Trapped and ridiculed because her eyes bleed and bless the onlookers with bad luck. It's amazing the things
That people don't know. Drifting deeper into a pit of endless darkness. A candle won't
Live down here. No oxygen to let it breathe. But one lit self portrait hangs in the air.
Years ago, drawn in pencil. Symbolic, it wants to be erased. To die.
And the ******* the page is wearing a mask. The girl in the parchment is me.
Medium length hair and a tear painted, permanent. A Parasite. Capitalized for its meaning.

A demon is running through me, singeing
My tissues, blisters on the insides of my bones. Swelled up, show through
My skin. Waves on a shore. But I am not a beach. A ***** maybe...
Still, I hate it. The hate killed whatever flowers I had left planted in my mind.
Tainted me with the horrible visions of a tear streaked face of paper mâché.
She was the one in the attic. Her whole persona
Wilted and ashen, grey. A silent movie might mask it; the hurt, I mean.
The grey lines on the screen hiding the bags under her eyes and the redness of her nose,
Get rid of the twinkling shards of glass frozen on her cheek from crying in the dead of winter.
Slip up once, and everything goes to hell. Well, I must have slipped years before I was born.
Few smiles are left on this dismal timeline. And I shall use them wisely. But, for now,
I think I will just weep, sleep forever and hope that you don't give up on me and pull the plug.
I am still here somewhere, just dormant. Please wake me up. Get me out of this charred cabin,
This glass box. Pull me out of my warped sense of everything, teach me again what
Love feels like. I have forgotten amidst everything that I have felt and remembered.
There is no more room for things to be learned. Only for things to be repaired.
I will give you a hammer. Come inside and fix me; that ***** in your head couldn't have taken your knowledge away. You are the only one that knows.

Use this never ending lightning and bring your bride to life.

On a journey down to nowhere
I have realized many things.
Dwelling on the subject; friendship
And what once a stranger said to me
“You’re not a no-man
Neither am I”
He continued with a sigh.
The stranger gazed high above the tree tops
We heard the sirens of the cops
As little raindrops gently landed on our faces.
There were no traces of violence just serenity.
“You can feel and so can I
We could perish in a blink of an eye.
We can withstand the strongest storm
Yet we are torn from a cunning plan.
We are strong when we’re united yet
How weak we are alone.
Then why do we insist to consist in groups
Exclusion is not the solution to our society
The variety of us is overwhelming
Compelling us to accept
So why do we resist?”
He preached
Continued to persist for his message was vital.
Accept and you will be accepted, you will be loved, free.
On a journey down to nowhere
I have realized…
Unity is vital.

raindrops faintly laughing as they prance
                                                along the leaves
watercress dancing gently twirling slowly
                                                          in the creek
a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper
                                                           against a tree
the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones
                                                             of red on green
a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry
                                                               but bravely greets
the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent
                                                     ­                             things unseen
                                 

©2016janetaylor

it's not that I don't
want to die anymore.
I still do some days.

I am still not okay,
but that's okay.

the way that I stay alive
when I want to disappear

is that I look for one good thing
in every day of my life.



this morning, I made
some pancakes with
blueberries in the batter.
I really like pancakes.

yesterday, the sunset
was gorgeous. it's usually
not so pretty this time of year.
I love watching sunsets.



I could hate every part
of my life, and honestly,
sometimes I still do.

and yes, there are still
bad things and scary moments
and breakdowns and pain.

and yes, sometimes there's
more bad than good,



but if I wasn't here,
I wouldn't have eaten
those pancakes this morning.

I wouldn't have seen that
beautiful sunset last night.

I would never have gone
on that impromptu road trip
to the city where I grew up in.

I would never have gone
to college, or even graduated
from my old high school.

I would never have learned
to speak Mandarin, or how
to play chess, or the way that
the gears look inside of those
antique grandfather clocks.

I would never have met
the love of my life.

I would never have realized
how amazing love can feel,
or that I am deserving of it.

I would never have seen
my friend's baby daughter.

he'd be telling her all about
how much I would've loved her,
and he would be right.

but I would never have
loved her, because we
would never have met.



there are so many things
that I still haven't done

and so many places
that I still haven't seen

and so many people
that I still haven't met

and so many memories
that I still haven't made.



and yes, maybe the truth
is that at the end of it all,
I will still hate it.

maybe ten years from now,
I'll still want to die some days.

maybe there will always
be more bad than good,

but there will always be good.



the reality is that I don't have
an endless amount of time.

the clock is ticking.
one day, I will die,
just like everyone else.
I can't change that.
none of us can.

when those thoughts
come creeping back in,
and I don't see the point in
anything anymore, I pause.

I remind myself that
it's not logical for me
to end my life any earlier
than it's meant to end.

death is inevitable.
eventually, it will
be my time to die.
but today is not that day.



so if I die, and one day I will,
it won't be at my own hands.

life is too short, and
I don't want to leave
depressed and crying.
I want to go out laughing.

I want to die with
some good memories,
not just bad ones.



so I stay alive for
all of the good things.
I stay alive for pancakes.
I stay alive for sunsets.

I stay alive for those moments
where I laugh so hard that
my stomach starts to hurt.

I stay alive for the sound
of raindrops hitting our roof.

I stay alive for all good things.
even if they're little, even if
most people would
find them insignificant.

and that's okay.



if you've ever felt
the way that I feel,

I'm not here to tell you
that life gets better.

I don't know anything
about your life, or
about the battles that
you are fighting inside.

I don't know you.
I can't promise you that
your life will get better.

but I can promise you
that if you look closer,
there will be good things.



stay alive because you
need to feed your cat.
stay alive to see the beach.
stay alive to find your
new favorite movie.
stay alive to read that
book that you keep
saying you'll read.
stay alive for the
warmth of your clothes
fresh out of the dryer.
stay alive because
the cactus on your
windowsill will die
without you there.
stay alive to see clouds
shaped like funny animals.
stay alive to find a
four-leaf clover.
stay alive because you
haven't beat your
high score yet in
that video game.

stay alive for yourself.
stay alive for your family.
stay alive for your friends.
stay alive for your pets.
stay alive for your children,
or your future children.
stay alive for your coworkers.
stay alive for the homeless man
who you give a dollar to when
you pass him every day.
stay alive for the people who
secretly rely on you, who
read your poetry and listen
to your songs and feel
changed by you, even
if you'll never meet them.



and if you have no one,
then stay alive for me.

I care about you.
I don't have to know you
to be inspired by you.

it takes strength to
stay alive when you
don't want to live,

and for that, you are braver
than you will ever know.



so stay alive because
you still have a life.

stay alive for whatever
you'd miss if you weren't.

stay alive because maybe
it's true. maybe you're right.
maybe things won't get better,

but you won't know that
if you aren't here to see it.