Oh! young man
You are the chosen one who adore your land,
Holds sword called gallant in your hand...
Your spirit serves for glorious terrain,
You will not anxious for awful pain...
You have no chance to gaze for your gorgeous maiden,
Yes! you will not have sorrow for that happen...
You will delight for being the faith of boy,
Since you ignore for your tenuous joys...
Although you sacrifice your blood,sweat and happiness,
You will never reckon that it's sadness...
You have only dignity for your loyalty,
So, you will not betray comrade and majesty...
What a honorable nobility worrier!
We all recognize your proud of worrier,
You gives your entire life with lack of horror..
You seems to myth for ultimate sacrificing,
Although you have no ideas to care mother' hopping...
Only, you minded to triumph combats,
all these are you irreplaceable fact...
what a gallant young man golden worrier!

One day, I'll pray
to make this pain go away.
Someday, I must say
my past will never drag
me down today.

There will come a day
where everybody knows my name.
They will say to me that
I was once a worrier,
but now I'm a slayer.
I slay every fear and anxiety
that creeps upon me like a serpent.

I held on to my sword
for I will no longer
be a slave no more!
I will travel across
the land to find the cure
for I am a warrior.

I shall fight,
if it's the last thing I'll do!
the devil will never have me
because we're through.
I lift up my hands
to the righteous King,
for he has blessed me so well
that I could sing .

After many years of doubt,
I won't let my fears and emotions
pour anything out.
I must have the courage
enough for me to flourish.

A worrier
The type that buries thoughts in silence
A warrior by your side
ever since

Those girls that we laughed at
The ones who acted like a ****
Skin caked in make-up
Dipped in powder

Umpa lumpa oranges
And Casper pale whites
Skin tight rags
Creasing into every crevice

All you know is that
He makes you smile
So you want him to stay for a while
But there's a thousand reasons to cry out

This is not a midnight stroll in paris
And I cherish you
So here is what I'll say
Hoping you would understand

I'm a worrier because of his past
And everything is moving too fast
There's a problem
And a lesson to be learnt

This is all you got
And everybody in love thinks its going well
So don't listen to a word I say
But the truth will bury this

Your changing who you are to please him
And he's after who you're not
Its a fun thing
So I'm telling you to leave it

Secret meetings
If its right then why do you have to hide it?
Looks to me like love is blinding
Flipped the switch and now you're riding

High with him
Hell bent on tainting
Turned your back to the past
I can see you changing

A regret in the making
Left you senseless
Not the worth the conversation
Can't you see why I'm anxious?

I don't want you hurting

The world farmers day
We are celebrating valentine and friendship day
It is the time to celebrate world  farmers day
farmer o farmer you are the great worrier
  you feed the world
  you make the world better and you are the great !
Today it’s the time to honor our farmers
It the time to say jai jawan jai kissan
It’s the time give honor to our farmer
Who work for us to get better food .
Today nobody wants to be farmer
Because farmer job people fills cheep
But we have to under stand
Without farmer we cannot live ,
Farmer o farmer you make the world better
You work under the open sky
Today is the time for celebrate world farmers day .

Be a Warrior, not a Worrier

I think too much.
I care too deeply.
I text too often.
I laugh too hard,
For fear of them having to fret
As much I do.
Such is the nature of a worrier.

Stillness and immobility
They look just the same
But one can be bliss the other is pain

The stillness arises when the tension is gone
When the tension grows immobility is born

The blessing of stillness it flies high and wide
The curse of tension pulls the mind closely tied

Stillness and immobility
They look just the same
But one can be bliss the other is pain

In the eye of a storm mighty worrier she waits
Her opponent exhausted from the forces he breaks

From the centre she moves in any direction
Her hands tied only by one thing - affection

Stillness and immobility
They look just the same
But one can be bliss the other is pain

Distant letters to town making there way back home. Distant soldier in war losing himself.  Tears write the words on his paper. And the pain in his heart.   

Chorus: he stands firmly in the dirt. His solute flailing through the sky to his forehead. His command heard through the air to his followers. He cries. Welcome young worrier. Welcome young pride. Welcome young fighters, here you can't be afraid to die.   

He fights for his family rights. Battles for the worlds freedom. Standing beside his fellow soldier. Hes there crying shoulder.  Little did he know that the fear of leaving here. Was instilled in his soul. A life of hiding himself from the world. Because he wants his children to be happy, and never learn to to be cruel.  As he takes out a pen. Writing dear son I can't believe your ten. Send my love to your mom. Cause honey I love you to. Wiping his eyes as the tears fell through. Writing I love you sincerely and forever yours. As he returns to his storm. His stance is formed .  

Chorus: he stands firmly in the dirt. With  His solute flailing through the sky to his forehead. His command heard through the air to his followers. He cries. Welcome young worrier. Welcome young pride. Welcome young fighters, here you can't be afraid to die.

After his speech walking back to his cabin his. Stopped by his commander above him. To hear him say you've been commissioned. To fight with your men on the next mission. He knew the journey that he'd take with them. Would be a dangerous one. So out in the Baghdad as the bullet shells. Missing him by only a few  inches. Standing with his men in the ditches he screamed over the noise of the bombs landing just over their heads. Commanding through his tears. 

Chorus: he stands firmly but with fear. With his feet in the sand. His solute flailing through the sky to his forehead. His command heard through the air to his followers. He cries. Welcome young worrier. Welcome young pride. Welcome young fighters, here you can't be afraid to die. This is close to the end. By let them not forget our let's breathe. 

These where the words he said, fighters for freedom. Remember to pray each day. Cause today is a gift , givin and gained by warriors pain..Don't forget them.

What might the heights of the minds eyes see while the spirit is in motion of the purest emotion of intent and expression of love?


Is it such a state where false has awards and evening gowns picked out for the awards show?

Is it so fake that one might find it difficult to understand real from false?

Or might the fact that when a human being can truly  walk the line of life with grace and demanding ******* while gently caressing the absolutely overwhelming truth that love has ravaged the soul ,

Ravaged this soul,

*****, held, ravaged, run through, righted and scorned in the deepest of waters a soul has yet to express to the world for two thousand years, and all while  the captive ....... Soul,         is critiqued on the devastation wrot in such completeness that is is even to this day savoured as a prized  fetish even unto the sad would self.

Dare I ask simple a question of wondering curious eyes of windowed souls to cast a view into the dew of the greatness of being of truth and grace while respecting the very heart from which such torture pours from?

dare a truth be asked that such a human being be of a dignity in company with the child timid in him self torn, dashed , bruised, named and bolder than the soul that resides in you?

Dare a tasked truth be ever revealed of contemptuous  acts of ***** souls and privacy of ones tiny castles in the  oh so damaged and bitter sands. Of the wombs of mind that we all venture to frontier the very limit of the souls endurance, prestige while being undignified by the raw violence of the act of continued ****, or is a dared truth to harsh a fact for timidness of my self to have swallowed whole as the soul of mine self and mine eyes and mine teeth from which the vengeance did pour a pounding to seek, all to be driving back by the broken and horrorably disfigured child of me that many find more womanly.   For this Ugly Boy of me, this sad sot silly and ***** smaller to the vastness of the fridgidness of ******* through lies and manipulations while taking in the raw ******* of the common God's child , virus this not what we all are the now newly in question not so rarely ***** and sold like ****** in a new church for the dastardly and bastarded ******* that we have come to call complacency of decency?  

Any, how foolish, yes my dear friend , you are indeed a wiser worrier  wafareing wondering wizard of vast skills and frightful  ways and means to tame the beast of such hateful things , so costic as to reach deep into them and quiver their tiny tethers and frail feathers all a mockingly  to the tones and notes left after we vacated the dead crypts of self deprivation and hate as we all found the truth of the emotion as it poured through us when realizing this damaged, torn and frightened child , a man holding the depth of winter killing fields at bay, a man kindly swaying the stars to play a tune so as to grace all who broke his heart a stay of pain for each and every attempted and timidly bold and brazen sway and slanted ****** love or raw truth and powerful motions from which we all find the fancy to ****** the  tool as the goofiest  **** **** as hell fool we all choose to allowed the absolute grace and magesty to ******* Rule our Hearts for even just a fraction of a moment in this prayer of endless time, yet hold with the dared scary and walking naked and alone into the lions den while the wolfs and beasts all gathered their finest clothes, weapons and gold, silver, trinkites and shiny of the shiniest of the things they boldly and brashly slash all with as to command the fear to reside in the human spirit.

As this silly little hill Billy with a **** nice *** *****, were wolf feet and all called out to the proudest and loudest of the tiny little spouts and softly said " what is all you foolish fuss about?"
"Have you lost you most precious toys, only to find victim the Dickson of my sorry and sad state of dieing from the oath and lashing of what you helped  rip from what can only be many peoples and communities and even many families?"

Dare a truth to truth this dare my dearest cud of a bear for a true beast of welcome verosity I be all the while giggling and prancing all about like a happy *** skipping fairy, and of this I most truly rather be for don't you know? , did no one tell you the news?  The horror is scaring but the truth is so amazing, turns out scar gardens are the softest things God has ever created, scar gardens are the hardest element that break far stronger , bold creatures of far fasters tested , cleeted, bust a mother up than most man has ever know to exist.
Scar gardens are the very  spouts from which the truth and grace of the living love of God pours fourth into this majestic ******, animal ,spiritual ,sacred, holy and magnificent place , a place that the very bashing of the flowers that dance you delight even in the pity, plight, laughter , and slight  has done nothing but cast us all from it loving embrace, yet, dear cub of a Billy bad *** nub of a cubbed couger in the final leaps to catch this timid and playful prey of me that you so think you will devour you see,  we, the ones whom truly felt and opened and dare that **** scary *** chance to dance with this devil in the pale moon light have found that they no longer must live in fright, that this very garden is theirs and none to own but to flourish and grow, thrive if you must, but lest get nasty for a real minute, animal to animal ,it ma thrive , sure but it will **** , love ,fight, rise , Smit , right the wrongs that have tortured us far to ******* long and in that moment of exstacy the human race may just finally realize ***, love, caring, kindness and truth of self are the face of God starting through your eyes experiencing all f his loving songs creations and getting ******* goose bumps and he'll yes this Billy Jack goofy *** bad  kat all **** knuckled with bad habits and a lust for loving full ******* spectrum and a lesbian trapped in this fugly *** mans body all crazy *** triple run *** marks the spot moon shine devil of mine were wolf feet and all does truth and whole love the Real Girl and is ,,,,, and most mother ******* who are real and real down with the truth that God is love and loves even your silly but as God loves mine silly *** and the rest of this star studded cast of human **** ups simply attempting to pass and go the **** home at the end of the school bell.


HUA,    I do love the Real artist  you speak of, she knows it, and may just know that I know she is not the one laying **** the silly hill Billy with a rather bad *** wi,,,,,,,, um sorry.     Where were we. Oh yes. Um. Only those who care to let go and allow the truest of flows and are true to self and the love that one finds in the being of anothers breath, thoughts , actions , decisions, and mistakes and graces to right ones self after horrors that tear us and embarrass us, these know the truth ,and my dear friend i love you too, but not like the love i expressed to you in hopes you to feel the love i share to her with out pushing it on her, so that what is rightfully hers to reject or except i gave it all away to all even those whom used it to fuel hate in mine own shape , form and name.  And i have done all of this and a dillion years of pouring stars into the hearts of that goofy *** girl by way of dancing crying and **** it dieing through the very core of you,  yes i got you high, horney, got you off, many times , i gave you memories of sparks you know, i gave you worlds of wonder and ways to flurish and grow, i gave you what you , well many of you , did not even deserve for it was truy meant to be for her, but i felt that the most good it could do and the best love i could show her is i can love all of you and even rock hear heart all the very same ways i moved you , and not loose one silly little drop of the tears in her pain, yet sip them and drip them into her so she may choose to live again, as she has done for me.....do you now see? For I C C I said this goofy eyed going man who has done all this in his true and real names,  For I Love You So.


And didn't even eat my wheaties wink , smile I a not mad at ya, just being me, and some times we all have a tax bit of  werewolfand badger **** in us , sorry to offend, smile in the end, we all just might be ,,,,, sort f friends..

Self care is showering 
for the first time in a week
It's remembering to eat
And pushing through my anxiety 
when the phone rings

Self care is gritty
It's ***** and rough and almost living

Learning to love myself is a dark, twisted path
full of thickets and chiggers 
and shadows trying to lure me astray

It's trying to understand
that I am worth more than my broken parts
That I can be more than a peach pit heart
with arsenic pumping through my veins

Self care is knowing no one can save me from me
I will rescue myself
I can be my own hero

Self care is broken knuckles and ****** knees
from fighting my own castle walls
It is meeting myself in a battle of will
and being aware I might not succeed

Self care is pushing on,
when all the signs scream run away,
because I've been running for too long

So, at least for now,
I'll face the danger of self care

Theoretical problems
Social validations that never pass
Quantifiable shapes over gaps that never fit
Thoughts on any and everything
Self-created problems that never exist

Since moving back to Ireland
from sunny Provence, I have
become somewhat anxious
about our hidden pots of gold.

I met a Leprechaun in Mallow
yesterday who told me that all
the holes in the road, were due
to trial digs by The World Bank.

Cork County Council are waiting
for an EEC grant before they even
consider backfilling them, for now,
they are being used as bird baths.

I don't know how this came to me... Haha. I like it though. :P*



I pace the one corner that hasn't been ripped to shreds

Wondering if this love is alive or dead



They way you said those last words to me

Left me speechless and lonely



Where are you? Where could you be?

Is this really the end of you and me?



I dream that one day you will pop back into my life

And we could start over, without all the strife



So if you are reading this letter of regret

I hope this will be an act you won't forget.

I worry that every little thing I do,
disappoints you,

& I worry that the things I say,
embarrasses you.

I worry that the feelings I push away,
frustrates you.


& I realize.. i always worry,
and it always leads back to you.

But I don't ever worry for you
because I know you're not coming back,
I know you're okay.

Choose your conflict.*

                           *Internal

             ­                       Or

                            EXTERNAL?
­
                                      **It's gonna be one

she worried about everything
the weather and her outfit
whether or not she packed enough food for lunch or too much

and she worried about him

she worried about his health and how he drove after a night with friends
she worried about his lungs and his teeth and his brain
and what her dad would say when she came home smelling like smoke and
worried that he wouldn't have enough time with her

she loved him
thought of him as this supernova that had just opened up in front of her
this great expanse of opportunity and future and present and everything she's hoped for

and so she worried about him until she did not eat
worried until she all she wanted to do was sleep so she didn't have to worry about worrying about him.

but he was the best thing I had ever worried about.

He was a foxhound
on my trail
after my tail

He scratched at my den
digging for my heart
******* me without art

He stuck his nose in
saying he “dug” me
that the girl I saw him with yesterday
was fat and ugly

He said nothing about me
that said lots about him
he didn't get under my skin
I got his skin under my nails
I know because me called me
“dog”

He'd dug only his own eyes
graven image indeed
and went barking mad
up more wrong walls
scratching at bricks

I should have called him
fat and ugly
but stood and watched
his claws bleed
happy they were blunt
not like mine

If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's gonna call me Point B,
because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands,
so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
"Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."
And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,
wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming,
I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself.
Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,
your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried.
"And, baby," I'll tell her, "don't keep your nose up in the air like that.
I know that trick; I've done it a million times.
You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him.
Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,
to see if you can change him."
But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix.
Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix.
But that's what the rain boots are for.
Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me.
That there'll be days like this.
♫ There'll be days like this, my momma said. ♫
When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises;
when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,
and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment.
And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away.
You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.
You will put the star in starting over, and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty **** naive.
But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.
It can crumble so easily,
but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more."
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things.
And always apologize when you've done something wrong.
But don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat,
you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

-Sarah Kay

When I think back now to when I was little (to when I was young)
The words "I love you" I don't think were ever spoken, not in our house anyway (now I could be wrong)
It would have been something silly to say
That was something you'd only hear in a Hollywood movie
Between glamorous movie stars, glamorous people
It wasn't part of our reality
If you were feeling anxious about something and needed comforting
You'd be told not to worry, that you were being silly
You'd be given a hug maybe or 'a treat' something nice
Usually something sweet, a biscuit and a hot cup of sugary tea or cocoa
A chocolate sweet if there were any
You'd be allowed to stay up late and watch the late shows on TV
Me! I was always a terrible worrier just like my Mom
Food most often was the comforter, the soother, the remedy to all
(Some say our relationship with food is the closest relationship we ever have in Life).

Yea! I don't think the words "I love you" were spoken where we grew up
Our parents they loved us as best they could
But they didn't have the words, the words to say it
It was strange...it was almost like they were forbidden to.
Of course, you could love your neighbor alright and your neighbor's neighbor
And your neighbor's neighbors neighbor's neighbor
And all the feckin' neighbors in the whole feckin' world
But the one thing you couldn't, you mustn't do
Was love yourself, this was the Big No No, the Big taboo, the Great Evil
It was the one thing you must never do,
And every Sunday at church, the priest way up on his pulpit
He'd never tire of telling us
How evil and selfish and bad the Self was
And all the bad things it got up to
Yea, your neighbor was always better than you were
Put your neighbor above yourself always
Love your neighbor and you'd be alright
That was the message loud and clear.

                               2

So, so we got treats instead of words of love when we were little
On Friday nights when Dad would come home from work and the pub
He'd always have with him lovely Apple Turnover buns
And a bag of crisps for each of us
And so, we'd all sit there together in the evening in front of the telly
After the maelstrom of the school week with  its lessons and scary teacher
Trying so hard to understand and get your homework done,
And despite all we'd laugh and enjoy the TV shows
And this... this was Love, us all just sitting there with our buns and munching our crisps just watching the TV together
Knowing we belonged and that we were loved kind of...as best they could
And that we had a couple of days off, days of freedom
Before we'd have to go back to school again,
It didn't get any better than this.

And when we'd be going down the country to see our Uncle John
My Dad would always stop off to visit a pub
And he'd get us a Club orange and a packet of crisps
It couldn't get any better than this... this was Love
The lovely sweet taste of that fizzy Club orange juice
And those wonderful salty cheese and onion flavoured (potato) crisps or maybe salt and vinegar flavour
Or later on, lovely smokey bacon flavour,
As we'd sit there Dad would be talking to the barman or some of the locals
But we didn't care what was being said, it didn't matter to us
It didn't get any better than this
This was heaven... this was Bliss.

Sometimes during the summer months before we could get summer jobs
Maybe it'd be raining outside and we'd be stuck indoors and bored
But then Mum would up and say "I know I'll make some chips"
Now Mum's chips were really something special, they'd be lovely big chunky potato chips, hand cut
And maybe she'd have beans in tomato sauce with them,
And maybe there'd be a good film on in the afternoon
Well, this was it, nothing could top that, a good film and a plate of Mum's big chunky chips and beans
Sometimes she'd even make these lovely mince beef pies
With minced beef and flour and onions, salt and pepper on them
And they were really something else
It couldn't get any better than this... and this... this was Love
(I can still remember the kind of meals we ate
And my Mum in the kitchen, and my Dad).

                            3

It's how people grow up in the end I suppose
They find someone inspiring, some teacher or book that makes a strong impression on them (if their lucky)
Or a partner who broadens their horizons, makes them question things and expands their vision of life and all its wondrous possibilities
But what if you don't find those good books, those inspiring teachers
Those voices that'd offer you a better vision of tomorrow and what this life could be
What if you only found bad books, bad books purporting to be good
That'd rob you and leave you lost and desolate, fearful and confused
What if some of your teachers turned out to be alcoholics
That some even done away with themselves
What if the people you met were even more lost than you were yourself...

And you'd go to a job interview and the man, he'd look at you and say
"So, what are your aspirations in Life, what are your values, your goals, where do you see yourself a few years from now ?"
And you'd look back at him blankly, Aspirations! Values! Goals!
What are these words, what's he talking about...
What am I looking for in Life ?
To have some fun I suppose...maybe (if having fun was still legal now as an adult)
Fun!!! Whatever that was now ?
Or to get drunk and stay drunk, escape this grim world I'm in somehow
What am I looking for ?
You tell me...I don't know, what is there
For all I knew I may as well have said
"A Club orange and a packet of crisps".

                              4

Now the faces they have all faded away, the voices too, have all gone
There's only me here alone in this room
It's Friday evening and I've got a readymade dinner from the supermarket
Just need to pop it in the oven for a few minutes
And I got a Dvd from the Dvd store,
So I sit there and eat my dinner, I savour every bite
But still it doesn't last very long
And I can lick my plate but it doesn't make any difference
I can lick it all I like
But I can't make it last, and I can't bring them back again
Those people that are gone;
And the food, it doesn't taste the same, doesn't taste as good as it tasted back then
And the movies too, their not like the ones we used to watch...

When I die it'll probably be like that movie Citizen Kane, at the end his last words "Rosebud"
The name of his beloved childhood sleigh
He used slide on in the snow,
I'll say on my death bed "I too have a memory of Love and Joy, Yea!
A Club orange and a packet of crisps".

"If I was a bird, I'd be an owl."
If I was a bird, I'd be a-
"Don't say pigeon! I hate pigeons."
Pigeons? What is so horrid about them?
I thought and feared for my potential existence.
What if I was a pigeon?
What if my feathers were grey?
What if my belly was fat with breadcrumbs
and street scrap?
What if low coos did escape my throat
in efforts to keep warm and draw love?
What if children did push me to fly away?
What if I did choose to sit on trees,
and **** on statues of prominent people.
If I was a bird I'd be a warbler- no, a worrier.
One that plucks its feathers,
be it grey or rainbow-colored.
One that grows weak when flying in the cold,
but makes it south, all in all.
One that doesn't have a beautiful singing voice,
but chirps aways all in its lonesome.
If I was a bird, I'd peck at windows,
only to fly away
when someone comes to open it.
Because I know when I'm not welcome.

his head bleeds rivulets of flowers
on the street with few passerby
but there is still naught, not
a worrier, we are all sons of this soil
which has imbued in us the shield
of defense against pain, poverty,
wound and death, we are all idols
of this soil with our open eyes
that see but never could comprehend.

we are solemn in our expressions
but only if it could turn into actions
that we have long forgot the story of,
there is pain in every glance, and
that is all there is to it, our hands
clutching our ******* as we pass by,
our eyes squinted with the soil kernels
touched by his blood, fainted of life,
(of alcohol may be) and of lifeless visions.

his toes are half hidden beneath a car
(is he just asleep, my eyes ask me,
I have no answer, I pass by: a passerby)
a turbaned man sees through his shield
while speaking on his phone, the lips
next to me tell of the blood I failed
to see or sniff and him being passed out
by alcoholism, those lips wonder if he’d die,
may be he would, we’re all dead, when alive.

As the Phoenix rose from her ashes
And the Dragon silenced his roar
The distant lighting flashes
And he swoons as he watches her soar
For he had seen never something so bright
She burned with a fire that could not be doused
In this the Dragon felt contrite
And all her enemies the Phoenix would roust
She had this way about her, something so soothing and warm
Legend told of her beauty and intensity
And how she could calm every storm
The Dragon enjoyed her propensity
He found her beautiful, alluring and strong
The Dragon was mesmerized by her brilliance
She sang such a beautiful song
She exalted such resilience
The Dragon could not help but sing along
Though the Phoenix may have her battles, she will always win the war
For the Dragon sees the warrior
And her magic quiets his roar
So the Dragon is no longer a worrier
She moves in a way that's enticing
With every move that she makes
The Dragon will never abandon her
No matter how hard the ground quakes
The Phoenix is a one of a kind
An answer to a prayer
There is no greater light that the Dragon could find
Than the beauty of the Phoenix's flare

To say goodbye ain’t easy,

when you’ve done all that you can..

to convince yourself subconsciously that there’s more to a man..



Then what you see in photographs and read in magazines,

those flawless shining faces on your flashing TV screens.


Accepting to abandon sorrow,

can be a feat fit for a warrior

I was never one to dwell for long, but I’ve always been a worrier.



I’ll let you go, I’ll do it now.


You go your way, I’ll go mine.



And I’ll try to forget those summer days,

where we were tranquilly intertwined.


All those nights I whispered thanks to you,

cause I was scared as hell,

of where’d I’d be perpetually after that final bid farewell



I had a feeling from the start!



I had my doubts and in my heart


I knew, I knew



You were too good to be true.

Be dark, night--
on rests the Swallow, the
vagabond, the worrier.

With darkly cauls and veils
of infancy, the blue-bloods
calling:

Mother of mercy, Mother
of grief.

and in greed, he follows,
a blind man wretched beneath
the sun and quiet in the night.

Be dark, night.
Be folded by the belly,
Be milk, warm-cast in life's
coldly arms--

for the transient, the reviler,
wander hand in hand
lonely by the light.

I sharpen my quill
And prepare for battle
No shield made of metaphors
To guard my self-doubt
And no similes to carry me through the trenches
Like a brave war horse.
I am on all fours
Crawling into the unknown depths of the plain pages
That blinding
Brilliant
White
I am falling into the unknown -
Falling into the trap of the enemy
Which I am certain is
Myself.

I can’t remember the last time I had someone worry about me in a way that didn't make me angry. In a way that didn't make me want to immediately hit them for giving me that much space in their life.

But tonight, when I walked out of that bathroom & saw the look on your face and forced myself not to cry as I told you the truth about why I didn't want to go home, I realized worry is okay.

I’m a worrier so I know what it feels like & I don’t want other people to feel that way about me for some reason.

But you were worried, genuinely worried, and it made me feel an emotion I have yet to put my finger on but.. it wasn't something I've felt before.

I've never had a boy or a girl worry about me like that. Ever.

But you did & for some odd reason, I want to thank you.

Thank you for giving me that place in your heart, thank you for allowing me to mean that much to you. Thank you for not letting me push you away & just giving up. Because otherwise I would be lying in a cold basement sleeping instead of sitting up at 5:05 am in my warm bed, writing my first piece of poetry about you.

When you have low serotonin levels.
When you have low serotonin levels, exercise has never been more important. Unfortunately, all the shaking from said unknown anxieties doesn’t count.  So instead I usually find myself on a bike pedalling furiously away from all my problems.  Or I slip on a pair of sneakers and sprint away towards the greener side.
When you have low serotonin levels, sleep has never been more needed. Sadly, this doesn’t seem to come easy for someone like myself. For some unknown reasons, I can’t get my eyes to shut.  I can’t turn my brain off and my thoughts run wild.
When you have low serotonin levels, coffee has never sounded any better. Coffee seems to cause my shaking to simmer when for most others it would go out of control.  Nothing too sweet, just enough to trickle down my throat. Afterwards, it’s like the fog has been cleared.  The best of course is shared with friends on a cobblestoned street in Europe.  Watching people pass by with smiles on their faces.
When you have low serotonin levels, music has never been more relaxing. Suddenly, all the thoughts are drowned out by someone else’s worries. Instead of my foot bouncing anxiously up and down from nerves, there’s a beat.  If you can give me music to listen to, then you can hear the beat of that rather than the non-rhythmic beat of my anxious feet.
When you have low serotonin levels, friends are the light in a world full of shadows.  They allow me to laugh and smile.  They are what push me to not be afraid.  I talk to them, and suddenly I’m more myself than I have been in months.  I’m laughing, I’m smiling. I’m making jokes.  When I do cry, I have them to lean on.  And I’m forever in their debt.
When you have low serotonin levels, optimism is key. You have to believe you see.  Try and wake up and smile.  Love yourself and those around you. Laugh until your stomach aches.  Cry until a small river has been made.
These are the thoughts from an anxious worrier.
And I don't want to tell you. I don’t have to tell you. Things could be different and I could be somewhere else. But no. Instead I am here.
I don’t want to have to tell you. But maybe you should know.