sometimes i have to breathe in,
and breathe out,
so i can remind myself not
to doubt
my existence
so i can remind myself of
the distance
between my room and my
mother's
so i can remind myself to not give her another
gray hair
so i can remind myself that
someone out there
probably does care
so that i can remind myself that
i matter,
though my heart
may shatter
and the art
within me probably
won't matter
sometimes i have to breathe in,
and breathe out,
so i can remind myself that i am alive
and that i can survive.

since when did being sad,
become beautiful?*
since when did tears,
become beautiful?
since when did cuts,
become beautiful?
since when did mental illnesses
become beautiful?
Since when did depression
become beautiful?
when did all of this become, beautiful?
no.
i want you to think that when i smile, and when i am happy is beautiful.
i want you to think that when i laugh, it is beautiful.
i want you to think that when my hair dances with the wind that it is beautiful.
I want you to think that when my eyes reflect the moon, that that is beautiful.
Sadness, pain, and everything does not define my beauty.
It should be my happiness that does, *shouldn't it?

she drinks,
until she feels her
liver sink

he drowns,
in his tears,
because he can't erase her fears

she smokes
until she's broke

he cries as
he watches her soul die

she gets high,
just so she can be free and fly,

he lets out a long sigh,
and finally went by her side,
being her wind,
to let her fly.

and she finally realized
that she didn't need those
drinks,
drugs,
and ugh-
to fly,

she just needed someone to be
her wind,
her sky,

and my oh my,
oh how he helped her fly.