A Gentle BreezeI stand alone in a field of flowersThe sun is burning my faceI feel a warm embraceAt the same time I feel a cold shoulderIt comes and goesLike a gentle breezeI sit at home in my wobbly chairMy eyes glued to the screenAgain I feel a warm embraceAgain I feel a cold shoulder tooIt comes and goesLike a gentle breezeI cry, I cry, I cry some moreBut in the endI feel much moreThan just a warm embraceOr a cold shoulderI feel...I feel...I feel joy and splendorAnd anger and fearAnd sadness and confusionA river of emotionsBut then I realizeAfter it allIt just comes and goesLike a gentle breeze
A Red RiverI look dawn as it dripsIs it water?No, it is with colourI do not regretI do not feelOnly the deep numbThat stirs from withinI cannot feelThrough mind and bodyIt drops to the floorThe dull blade making a noiseAnd I fallNo more...
UTAU VirgilName: Virgil OujiCharacter Item: StrawberryColor: PinkMusic Genre: J-PopGender: Male
read this when you're so angry you shakelittle drops of oil make rainbows on wet concreteand i don’t know how beautiful you find that,but sometimes you gotta learn thatthe littlest things are the prettiest,like the shape of your fingernails and the crinklesyou get at the corner of your eyes when you laugh andwhen you grow old and i know i said “grow old”like it’s a temporary thing, but that’s because it is.you can think it’s forever but it’s reallya split second because you don’t matter, not whenthe universe is still growing and speeding through a nothingnesswe can’t even fathom, not when color doesn’t exist in spacebut nebulas still explode in shades of gold and green,not when there are stars who diebefore their light ever touches our faces. you don’t matter,not to anyone but the people who have fallen in lovewith the way you walk and the way you breatheand the way you keep doing both.i don’t care that the universe is spinning and grow
He was not born a girl. (story of a trans boy)(He was not born to be a girl,He was born to be himself)I.)And when he was five hewas forced into dresses,not understanding whyhe couldn't wear thetrousers to school andnot the skirt,he learned that clothesand toys had one gender onlyand so did he.II.)And when he was seven hetold his Mother he was aboy and didn't understandher insistence that he wasa she and that he was a Prince,not a Princess.III.)And when he was eleven hewore a tie to high school insteadof the skirt and he learnedthat no matter what the expertssay, children can still be cruel.(but guess what, he still wore itday after day 'cause he wanted toand it was all him)IV.)And when he was 12 his body betrayedhim and he looked in the mirror andhated who he saw so he hid the dresseswhen his Mother was out and learnedthat gender is in your head and notbetween your legs and that gave himhopeV.)And when he was 14, he told themhis real name,but even though they said they'dalways
an open letter to my twelve year old selfone day you will cut all your hair off,and hang up a map of the world in yourroom and you will look at it on daysyou think your life is going nowhere.i hate to tell you this, but this isn’tyour worst year. it also isn’t yourbest.one day you will cut all your hair offand realize that some poems need to be readout loud, to an audience, so you’ll take a hammerand some nails and build yourself oneout of a girl whose veins look fragile butwhose bones are strong, a boy who isn’t as tall ashe thinks he is, but whose lifelines are the deepestyou’ve ever seen, and a girl whose eyes remind you of theeast coast shore.one day you will cut all your hair off,and learn that you can like pinkjust as much as you like blueand the world will not fall apartalong its fault lines. there are other flagsyou can wave with pride thataren’t American.one day you will cut all your hair offand figure out how to forgive yourself,figure out how to sta
a list of things colleges don't want to know1. i have a cactus named atticus that i boughton the day i thought i was going to die,and i never forget to water it, noteven when i forget how it feelsto breathe without my lungs rebellingagainst my brain.2. sometimes talking feels like walking on gravelin a Georgian summer heat.i try to keep talking anyway,and hope that eventuallymy voice will lose its softness and grow calluses.3. once, a man whistled at meoutside of a grocery store fromthe safety of his car.four years later, i still haven’t stopped lookingover my shoulder.4. i drive too fast and i take turns too sharplyand i never put enough sugarin my tea and i could probably surviveon watermelon alone. i’m left handedand once taught myself to write only in capitalletters to piss off my seventh grade english teacher.5. i have never felt closer to my fatherthan when we stayedoutside till two a.m. in november and watcheda meteor shower.6. there are some thingsi don’t think i’ll ever
peccavii think you are lovely.but i am not in love with you,and by the fifth time you catch my eye and lookaway just as quickly, i realizethat i cannot will myself into being so.if love were as simple as a field of flowers,i swear i would pick you a bouquetof daises, and make sure that every petal youpicked off ended with ‘she loves me’.if love were as reliable as the sun,i would never stand so far away from you that ourshadows did not touch.if love were as predictable as the weather,i swear i would spend every stormkissing you in the rain.if love were as fair as Lady Justicei would tie a scarf around my eyesand spend the rest of my life blindjust to be able to feel the way our fingerprintsline up together.if love were—but it’s not, and i’m not—in love with you, that is, andyou deserve a girl whose heartbeat playsthe Hawaii 5-0 theme song wheneveryou walk into the room.i know that isn’t me.and i don’t know how we can r
Thoughts on Growing UpThoughts on Growing UpI.I exist more inside of my mindThan in reality.I am not sure what I am trying to find.I think I am trying to loseMyself.II.I liked the sing song of nursery rhymesBefore I knew the story behind them.I liked the way the world lookedBefore I could read between its lines.They sound nothing like my little kid lullabies.Everything seems to remind meOf how it will never beWhat I wished it was.III.I thought growing up was supposed to make me stand tall.My veins are rootsDigging themselves into the ground.But nobody ever warned meOf the tree snappingThunderstorms.IV.And I feel like a little kid,I’ve got bright eyes and scraped up knees.The scratches so alive and raw.You use grown up band aidsTo cover up your wide eyed dreams.But I was never one for reality.Keep your band aids.I’ll make my own way to the NeverlandThat I dreamed of.I’ll make my own lullaby.Goodnight.
Depression is an OptionDepression is a choice, my dear,And happiness the sameYou choose this illness, don’t you?What a tragic little game.Depression is an option, loveJust get up out of bedTake your tears and worriesAnd just smile now instead.Depression is a choice, you see,And so is suicide.Just sit back, kick your feet up, dearEnjoy this perfect ride.Get over your own standardsOf what everyone should be.Just smile for once, and maybeYou’ll be living perfectly....But...Depression is an illnessThat we feel so deep within.Why would anybody chooseTo write poetry on their skin?Unless there lies a reason, dear,I would not choose to die.If depression was an option...Well...I’d choose to say goodbye.
what willy loman saidi keep trying to tell you thatthe woods are burning, the ocean is flooding,but you think it’s the summer heatand the summer rain and you thinkthis is how it has to bebut it doesn’t it doesn’tit doesn’t—and you don’t leavebecause you think we have time, but the smokeis a noose i could hang myself with andwe got jewels and riches and coins butwe don’t got a damn second.
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub.i.to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub:in the magazine I own that published your story,they blurred out the crime scene photographs,erasing your face andthe full curves of your breasts.some part of me wondersif you would have wanted this,or if you would have liked for the public to see you in your final moments,half-soaked in grey-looking water,your hair in strings, glued to the porcelain,eyes closed and mouth gaping,no breath stirring, no bubbles rising.ii.sometimes when I lookinto the depths of my bathroom sink,I hear your voice(or what I imagine it to be--after all, we never met).you sit on the edge of the toilet seat,and chat to me about the weather.I would give anything to hear your real, living voice,to ask you what you were thinkingas you lowered yourselfinto the tub, queen of the tendrils of steam,and let your lungs deflate like old birthday balloons.iii.on the news they say that your autopsyrevealed three quartersof a bottle o
A Sick PuppyYou follow him like a sick puppyWho needs attention and needs affectionYou go where he goesEven if he needs privacySuddenly you've forgotten everythingThe other people in your lifeHe's the only one that matters nowNothing else is important