Selfish love

This was a selfish love
Love came into his life breathtakingly
She didn't have to say a word
He would do his best to try and talk to her
To make an effort

This was a selfish love
Love soon became a part of his life like a dream
The dream was a mix-tape
And it always got stuck on the track of me and you
The dream played loud and proud and didn't care who heard
Because the sound of me and you together was something beautiful

This was a selfish love
Love became a daily routine
Love became a "How's your day been?"
"It's been good."
I wish you would just tell me what's really going on..
Love became "Sorry I have plans with other people and can't see you this week."
"Well that's okay I just wanted to let you know I love you and wish we could spend more time together.."

This was a selfish love
Love became a stressed mess ready to poop like a zit on your forehead
Love didn't know how to communicate properly
Love tried not to let things bother her, but he could see right through her mask and it bothered him
Love didn't speak of it
And when he brought it up she'd burst into silence
This is what love looked like when she shut down

This was a selfish love
Love slowly got better at hiding her emotions
And we would go through the motions just like we used to
Love slowly got worse at being herself, and he began to not recognize her
Love pushed him away anytime he tried to help, and all he wanted was to fix her
Love was a shattered mirror and he didn't realize that if he put her back together love still had cracks

This was a selfish love
Love seemed just fine and everything was back to that dreamlike state
Love was that mix-tape that got stuck playing the beautiful track of me and you
Love skipped tracks and said, "it's not you, it's me."
Love said she needed to love herself before she could love someone the way they should be
And I don't want to sound selfish, but I hope she finds a selfish love.
Now you see, Love was a fixed shattered mirror, and as he stared at his love one last time he realized his cracks matched hers and he became selfish love.

Sometimes

When I see people I ask them how they are and respond with I'm good too.

Even tho sometimes I'm really not.

People see me in the hallways with a smile on my face trying to talk to anyone I make eye contact with.

To tell the truth tho, sometimes I don't feel like talking.

If I'm at a party you better believe I'm going hard.

Although sometimes I really wish I hadn't.

I really love sports and played a lot growing up, but never kept with any.

And sometimes I wish I had.

I think about all the things that I've done and all the good from those decisions. 

But sometimes I think about what might happen if I didn't make those decisions, and if they'd be better.

I try and be as happy as can be and look at everything in a positive way.

And sometimes it would be really easy to focus on the negative.

I wish I could tell everyone how I really feel all the time.

Sometimes it's just easier to keep it in.

Society thinks that people with successful lives tend to be more happy.

Yet sometimes those people wish they were able to disappear.

And sometimes they do.

Well I'm not that successful, and I feel like I'm a fairly happy person.

But sometimes, I don't want to go outside.

I think I like being lied to.. idk

I am afraid of people because they are all hiding something.

I'm afraid of people that tell me the truth because I know that it's not always true.

I'm afraid of what people tell me to believe; they're just feeding me different lies.

I'm afraid of what people tell me of others cause they are lies.

I'm afraid of what people say about me cause I know that they lie.

I'm afraid of what people think about me, and if they've been told these lies.

I'm afraid of people that care about me cause I know it's just a lie that is held onto longer.

I'm afraid of people that love me cause they lie in order to protect me from the truth.

I'm afraid of people that hate me cause they tell lies to the one's that still love me.

I'm afraid of the truth and how many lies I've been told cause I've been told the truth hurts.

I'm afraid of the innocent bystander cause he lies to me when he has a bad day.

I'm afraid of my teachers cause they lie, and are required to teach me these lies every day.

I'm afraid of the law cause it lies to me about what I can and can't do.

I'm afraid to tell the truth and be different cause the law states that everyone is equal.

It's not true freedom if it has restrictions, but we are told by the government these restrictions help us.

I'm afraid of the government cause it lies to me about the rest of the world.

I'm afraid of the world cause it's full of lies without ends.

I'm afraid because the only time lies end is when they are sealed with spilled blood.

I'm afraid that I've been taught to lie cause telling the truth is rude and not how we're meant to behave.

I'm afraid that if I tell the truth people will get hurt cause I don't believe them.

I'm afraid that if I tell the truth people will worry that I'm so concerned.

I'm afraid that if I tell that innocent bystander to tell the truth he'll go shoot up a school to release those suppressed emotions. 

I'm afraid that if the government tells the truth we'll be the real villains depicted as heroes, and be forced to continue in these wars that we fight for the innocent bystander.

I am afraid of people because they hide things, and I am afraid if I tell the truth people will just think it's another lie.

Picture

Life cannot be captured in a picture.

So why do we take so many pictures in life to try and explain it?

Why do we create memories that are life changing or breath taking, but can't seem to connect with them unless we have physical proof?

A picture.

Why can't we just remember them?

Did they not mean enough?

Were they not as important?

What makes a memory have greater value over another?

Can't we all agree that watching a 3 year old slip on ice is a lesson learned to be more careful around things we don't understand?

Even tho that 3 year old remembers a lesson learned not to step on that cold white stuff.

How we choose to remember something is what makes it important.

How we remember that experience is what gives it value;

And how we reflect on that experience, or memory is what makes it have great or little value.

Alive

I AM ALIVE.

I feel the subtle breeze chill my hands to a stinging numbness.

I feel the cool air fill my lungs as I inhale.

I feel the warmth of my breath that brushes my lips as I exhale;

letting me know that my heart is still beating on fire.

I can feel the sureness of a bench that holds me in place telling me that it will never let me fall.

I can hear ducks begging to be fed making the noise of their groaning stomach.

I listen to the sweet song of a bird calling for company as I sit here unwavering.

I notice the grit of sticks and rubble beneath my feet with my brain telling me which one I'm feeling.

I feel the scrape of a branch across my cheek with a tree telling me not to leave so soon.

I feel the heat of the sun as it illuminates the entire world above me, and remembered to keep me warm.

I smell the sweetness in the air that the woods use to comfort me when alone.

I feel the grip of a  muddy whole around my foot telling me that it's always ignored, and just wanted to be noticed.

I know that I am alive because other living and nonliving things acknowledge my existence.

Expectations

Right this way to your dismay you'll never meet your expectations.

Like robots that try to feel or penguins that try to fly we all have limitations.

As a robot we do as we are told and expect exact results;

The problem is that we short circuit, or come up short cause we all have our faults.

Robot's that turn cold and grow old of not feeling complete or satisfied. 

We need upgrades, we need updates to compete with the other guy.

Our faulty equipment needs mending and new parts do to the vacancy of a heart.

Never knowing what emotion is occurring we fill the vacancy w/ restarts, reboots and troubleshoots.

Trying to correct our problems and find a connection, but never meeting the expectation.

As a penguin we try to fly, and learn how to fall properly. 

Our short stubby legs don't waddle fast, but have found other ways to move swiftly.

We fall or slip, then slide on our bellies to avoid head trauma.

We males must sit for months to hatch an egg, and deal with baby drama.

We are in the cold, but keep our hearts warm.

As we grow old we reflect on what we were, and weren't able to do; with what harm?

How we didn't have much, but did what we could with what we had.

Took care of our babies and made sure they had full bellies, even if we missed lunch as their dad.

It's hard to reach expectations when our arms don't reach above our head.

So why do we set ourselves up for failure with expectations to high to grab? 

It's what keeps us going, keeps us reaching, and keeps us attempting to fly.

If we reached our expectations our motivation to truly live would surely die.

BRICKS ARE HEAVY

My bones are bricks made of lead; My skin is just the sticky stuff holding them together.

Bricks that weigh me down and collapse into a pile at the end of the day.

Bricks that make me feel heavy, like there's an unbearable weight on my chest.

206 bricks in my body with each weighing 6 pounds making me 1,236 lbs of emotional weight;

206 bones in my body with each weighing less a pound making me 130 lbs of actual weight.

How can I only be 10% real of the other 90% I feel?

10% is what you see with 90% below the surface.

90% is the barrier bricks build around real feeling with a trap door inside sending you down a spiraling staircase of emotion.

Emotion so raw and unseen too powerful to release; Concealed and never forgotten these nagging emotions never do cease to let go of their hold on me.

Tearing me down brick by brick my wall of insides left with empty holes only to be filled with chilling winds.

My wall begins to stagger, then crumbles and falls.

Each brick as motionless as before, my wall lays broken and in pieces on the floor.

People don't stop to rebuild me, and instead walk over that 90% of me that lays broken and exposed.

That 90% of me is ignored the same as when I kept it hidden from others.

So what's the point in hiding anymore?

Drained

I've been drained of my energy, nothing left but a slowly beating heart for you to listen.

I've been drained of my thoughts, no longer thinking of anything except for you.

I've been drained of my smile, no longer happy unless I see you happy too.

My soul feels drained of life, left empty and dry without you.

My arms drained of their strength unless they get to hold you.

My legs are drained and tremble to walk, but for you I could run.

Drained of my appetite, my stomach groans constantly, whose hunger only you could satisfy. 

Drained of my fear replaced with hope and cheer for you and I.

Drained of my peace, with you my thoughts never do cease to manipulate my emotions.

Drained of my sanity, with you my brain can't see the difference between flaws or perfection.

Drained of my smoothness, when I'm with you I trip over and over again on my two left feet.

Drained of my love for others cause when I'm with you I give it all away.

I am drained of everything, hoping I can drain the same amount out of you to be full again.