go to God
and be with Him
it always will
make Satan grim
for that is what
submitting looks like
giving Satan
no chance to strike
he is resisted when
you and God converse
one on one
in His presence immersed

Converse shoes and sometimes vans.
Most of them aren't worn up because there's always new ones.

Skinny jeans and crop tops.
Whoever understood these shrinking styles?
This generation of despair and confusion.

Teens who look up to eachother more than their family.
Teens who find satisfaction on the side of a sharpener's razor or the end of a cigarette.
Teens who live in their young lives more than their parents ever did.

We're seeing chaos and ****** of little children.
Wars in countries that hates eachother.
The oxygen thats thinning right in front of our faces.
And how much poison being thrown at us, brainwashing youths and toddlers.
Making them miserable without them being aware of it.

But this is the generation that knows the power of loving eachother.
The generation that uses that power to stay alive.

We're living on the edge.
We're seeing what the world is becoming.
And we are the only hope, to get **** back on track.
Hell even adults say that.

I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.

They’ve got thick rubber soles
and bright white laces
The kind to take a stroll
with deep wide paces.

My bright yellow pair of sneakers
I wonder how they look
Or if I seem too eager
Or if I’ll be mistook.

They make me grin so wide
I feel unrecognizable
My heart so full of pride,
My smile’s undeniable.

I can’t help but feel neat
when I squeak against the sidewalk
or when I saunter down the street
and meander round a roadblock.

I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.

My heart is starting to look like my converse.
***** and worn, but fully functional.
No holes.

My heart is starting to look like my notebooks.
Missing the cover and a few pages here and there,
but, still full of plenty of worthwhile content.

My heart is starting to act like my cat.
really means well and playful
but, isn't very good with strangers
or people in general, really.

I guess that it's a slow build.
Two steps forward and one step back, is still movement.
I know it's not the saying, but I'm an optimist.
I **** up less often than I get **** right.

Bad things come in threes and I think I've bought myself some time.

French vanilla Converse,
  taupe-boxed flannel (too big),
and an American Spirit burning,
  real, real slow. What a hipster ****;
what a culture-eating parasite.
  He says, 'Read Proust with me.'
He says something about how
  his dad is dead but not in
a literal sense; metaphorically.
  I was never interested in that part
in the avant-garde spoken poetry Friday nights.

  I bust into the bathroom
and *****, grasping
  Bed Bath and Beyond clearance items.
The walls are the same shade
  of green as my skin.
A hand pets my thigh and I'm told
  it'll all be okay.
How those knuckles knew,
  I'll never know.

Its weird getting new shoes , i either like them immediately or it takes time

our friendship is like converse , it took time
but i loved how easily it could be washed , even after a muddy climb
i mean slowly i realized that with every wash the color faded a bit
i didnt mind the change in color , becuase its a good shoe
then holes and rips developed and maybe my feet grew
I got tired of the stitches and glue
its not that i dont like you
its just its ******* me too

I had an interesting trip
To realize friendship is endship

Thump Thump.
Butterflies crawl in my chest.
Thoughts swirl around in my head.
I can’t focus or see straight.
This is anxiety.

And it’s not something I
talk about often, though it’s
more common than one might
think, where my heart pounds so
loud and anxious
thoughts threaten to
drown out everything
that makes me,
Me.

You see, my brain sees simple
things incorrectly.
Texts and sometimes the
thought of leaving the
house sends
adrenaline coursing through my
system like
a thousand shots of caffeine
into my bloodstream.
The logical parts of me fled on the
first flight out of town,
leaving me to feel the tremors and
full force tsunami
on the ground.

Anxiety is a lot like love,
but it’s a battle not a dance.
A lifetime, not five minutes.
Unlike love, it’s often violent.
But just like love, it’s quite silent.

Anxiety feels like hunger, but stronger.
Like fear, but it lasts longer.
Writing this poem has quelled the
qualms that anxiety often spells.

I wish that I could be honest
about this part of me. But it's
one of those things you’re trained
not to talk about from a young age.
Because unless you’re depressed,
medicated, or heaven forbid
you’re not seeing a therapist,
then it’s not bad enough to qualify.
It’s not big enough to report.
I’m not suffering enough.

But if you could just feel
my heart beating fast.
If you could interpret the swell
of my tell-tale blush.
If you could whisk your fingers
through all of my thoughts.
If you could only
hear all of the things I’m feeling
but can’t quite express.
Then you would know that my
silence is telling.
I may be smiling, but currently I’m
fighting for sanity in my own mind.
The mind I feel is no longer mine.
I’m walking a dangerous
tightrope *****.
My mind is a minefield of poisonous
butterflies.
They threaten to swallow me alive, so
I tread the violence quietly.

I fear when I expose you to this
side of me, you’ll only see anxiety
or that maybe I’m lying.
But anxiety is not me.
I am more than mixed up brain signals.

The rest of me is cardigans in the summer,
because it’s cold inside.
I am mock converse and ponytails and
words on paper,
thoughts poured out,
slowly.

I just feel anxious
Sometimes.
More than normal, actually.
But I’m dealing with it.
And I’m no less me.

A conversation**

I want to safety pin
your broken parts on mine
and make a mosaic,
Oh baby, it's only a
matter of time.

You're my captor,
no need to ask;
You have my heart.
Him say  "Do you love me?"
I say "Is the sky blue?"
Baby I suffer chronic
stockholm syndrome
whenever I'm with you.

I don't want that sinking feeling,
I don't want to fall apart,
but I'm ready, I guess
for this ride; I've
buckled up my heart.

Mind-cuffed, yet I
thought of you
and your one-sided-ness,
don't you know
for love you need conversation and
conversations work in two?

I will throw you shade
so you can burn,
we won't die from all
their camera-eyes;
I never fell in love with and
in the moment;
I fell inlove in the exact hour
my smile turned sour
because of you.

My blood's gone blue,
and my hair might be wild,
but you're still dealing
with an inexperienced child;

I wasn't told a soul
could become so cold,
you have a beautiful face
but nothing as nice to say,
and I have a mouth that screams
"I love you" in **bold.