I scrub and claw,
and the water runs clear
but the blood on my hands
is red as ever,
it beats and pulses
like the blood in my veins.
Turning my back,
I'm giving up.
I'm returning to my haven,
not so safe,
not so sound,
where I scream.
The Chill of MeltingThe loving hands which shaped these feathers
bade me fight the fire and forsake the water,
find the space between.
Then those hands released me from our cage,
and from my mind all was gone.
The empty openness of the sky
was the same as that of my mind.
Curiosity flew to me on her silver wings
and, landing on my back,
bade me soar.
She flew into my throat and sat in my heart
warming her iced hands at the fire of my freedom.
She bade the flames burn brighter,
for her hair was tangled with frost,
her eyes had become crystals of ice,
and snow now flowed through her veins.
She sang to me a song of winter,
and in the spring sun
I sprung from the cold shadows.
Her breaths of mist filled my wings
and chilled my blistering skin.
Her icy tears streamed from my ember eyes.
She gathered the cinders in her icicle fingers
and cooled my burning fear.
But as she sang her song,
the fire bade me fall.
Curiosity’s laughter screamed in my ears.
As the ashes swirled like snow,
I floated past the soft
LabyrinthDarkness will, in this maze,
scream in the ears of wanderers.
Darkness will, in this labyrinth,
crawl into the hearts of men.
Darkness will, in this endless hall,
silence escaping words and drag the rain from eyes of children.
Darkness will, in this prison,
ColorlessFeel openness around you,
lending its strength to the worn wood
bending beneath you
and holding you up.
The trees clutch you close to their chests,
comforting your unseeing eyes.
In the quiet around you
blooms the silent flower,
your own breathing the only thing to sound
alongside the avian lullabies
singing the sun to cool slumber.
Swallow the birds’ calls,
keeping the chill of the night from your skin.
Hear the trees’ heartbeat,
beating a rhythm for your own.
Breathe in the silence
pooling about you.
Because when you’re alone
your empty eyes can see.
Red LeatherMy eyes kissed the tough wagon,
“I’m afraid I’ve surprised you” said the wheel,
as red leather rocks took the shock and flew.
They flew twice as high as the wall,
flew past the stars and grew into the moon,
as the clouds sang, loud proud and true.
The frog sat inside the mailbox,
as someone pushed a pile of post,
the wide face swung forward and bit.
Paper bruised and cut its poor throat,
so our little frog melted to soft mud
and snow fell on the hot tarmac.
Wavering heat feasts on bones,
bones disowned by the scrap dogs.
Children mutter proverbs in silence,
their eyes lamps of sugar and spice
and as the gasping earth drinks its tea,
lambs die and no one hears their cries.
Away From HomeChantel walked along the boring, grey hallway like she did everyday on the way to group therapy. Walking down those halls really reminded her how much she hated the color grey. The walls were grey, the ceiling was grey, the furniture was grey, the sky outside was often grey; the color grey seemed to be a pandemic and, the first point of infection was the building she now lived in. She was an inpatient at a sanitorium surrounded by bucolic fields, trees and, as Chantel had figured when she arrived, nothing else. Thinking about the surrounding countryside reminded her of how she had been dropped at Mountainview Sanitorium by her untenably furious parents just a week ago. However, it seemed like years since she was sitting in the leather back seat of the family Volkswagen, duffel bag at her feet. The door to group therapy and the face of her friend Claire woke her from her reverie.
“Dude, lets go! Doc is gonna kill us if we’re late again,” Claire smiled as she remembered
It's OkayIt's okay to be sad.
It's okay to be mad.
It's okay to cry,
To not have the strength to try.
Sometimes people just need to
Let it all out,
Scream and shout,
And that's okay.
Admitting something's wrong
Doesn't take your strength away.
Ask for help
If you need it.
Don't feel weak
Just because you
Enough to move mountains.
Crying is good.
If you didn't cry
Just bottle it up
Until you burst.
You don't even
Need a reason
Just have a good cry.
Take a long bath
And watch a movie
That makes you laugh.
Bake a cake
Just for the sake
Of making something.
Lay in bed
Until the bad thoughts
Leave your head.
Just sit back and relax.
Because it's okay
To not be okay,
And to take a day
Just for you.
You're a Literal MiracleNext time you’re unhappy.
Think about this.
Remember that you are a walking,
You are alive based on so many chances.
So many different thing could’ve happened.
You’re still here.
You are literally made of stardust.
Matter that has been around,
Since the beginning of time.
Dreams and hopes
Forged in the belly of distant stars.
You have cosmos in your veins.
And eyes that have stardust in them,
That have seen the dawn and ending to galaxies.
I know it’s easy to forget this,
But it’s true.
Everything about you
And me and everything else around you.
Is a miracle.
So many perfect things had to come into place,
For you to be standing here today.
So smile sweet heart.
Cause you are a beautiful phenomenon
That was created by miraculous chance.
Words Are Powerful ThingsYou’re so angry
You let words swarm up inside.
Screaming to get out.
They yell and shout.
They sit there,
Turning into horrid things that should never be even whispered,
In the softest tone.
You get so angry
Cause you’re so afraid.
Like so many other people
You let your fear burst into rage.
The monstrous words inside of you
Refuse to remain in their cages.
You let those words escape your lips,
All of the sudden you feel like your words have killed someone.
As you see their face.
Words are suddenly bullets.
They’ve pierced your victim’s heart.
Fragments of a once pretty, friendship scatter on the floor.
The pieces so broken, I doubt you could find all of the shards to make it whole again.
There’s a slamming of a door.
Whether that be real,
Or just a metaphor.
To say you’ve been locked out,
From this once dear friend of yours.
I hope one day.
You’ll find better words
To form a key.
So you can find your way back to them.
This is anxietyIt's the constant feeling of not quite right
and I don't know why I feel this way but it hurts
(but not in ways that others can understand)
and it's the tension in your chest, the rising water
the aching muscles and the clenching in your core
That never leaves
It's the headache that never quite fades,
just hurts sometimes more than others.
It's the constant need to move with your racing thoughts—
to bounce or twitch or
glance around the room every three seconds just to make sure you're not being watched, you're not being judged
It's two a.m. and you're lying
facedown on top of hot sheets, such an empty shell
you don't even have the energy to cry over how tired you are
wondering if there's any way to turn your mind off,
when you can't even remember what sleep feels like because it's been so long
since you really had a true rest.
It's wandering through your days almost
walking into that door and
not catching half of what your teacher says because your eyes hurt
novelthere’s tea you still need to drink.
you left it on the counter again, because you’re
always forgetting where you put it.
it’s probably cold by now, but
it’s there for whenever you’re ready.
here’s a blanket to lose yourself in.
you don’t have to give it back.
here’s another book i think
will make you cry if i ever find the courage
to give it to you. i’ve underlined every
line that made me want to scream, that made me
want to rip out my hair and destroy everything
beautiful about myself, that made me want to
drive across a desert in the middle of the night,
that made me fall in love with everything wonderful
the universe has left to give me.
i can’t find the words to tell you what it’s about.
i guess it’s about growing up and finding love
but it’s also about figuring out how to exist comfortably
and it’s about people who are good and people who
are not always good and the things they do and the worlds t