Life is like riding a Bicycle
We just seem to be able to do it,
Bike riding I mean.
You start slowly, on training wheel perhaps,
Then they’re taken off.
Two remain, and it’s all on you now,
How you balance,
And how you pace your peddling.
Go too fast, and you’ll hit a wall,
Go too slow and you’ll hit the ground.
Most of us, we’ve pretty much mastered bike riding,
Others.. well, they’ve either just begun,
Or ar’nt brave enough to lose the extra wheels.
Who am I to judge though?
I haven’t mastered bike riding yet either.
I’ve seen silhouettes that ride upside down,
They’re hands behind they’re backs,
Maybe a leg up in the air.
I’ve convinced myself,
I could never.
I’m not brave enough to control a one wheeled contraption.
I’m not strong enough hold myself up while looking graceful.
Im not adventures enough to even try.
the little things
If I write here and write about you,
it will stay here forever.
I won't be able to escape it,
even though, this is my only escape.
I can say what I need without you knowing
and ther'll be one less heart break;
To love and care so deeply,
but then to have the greatest pain
because of you is too hard to bare.
There are scars from what you have said
and how you have spoken,
but there won't be a scar tonight.
I've barley managed to erase one of the two
that were already there.
I'm battling my thoughts day in and day out,
if only you would listen to my silent shout.
I've noticed it's the little things
that stir up the biggest arguments,
and in those moments I stay still,
say nothing, beacuse...
it's little, it doesnt matter.
this will blow over.
But it doesn't.
and I need you.
I’m so sorry Mama...
I'm so sorry Mama
I said something wrong.
I really didnt mean it
You just misunderstood, thats all.
A little while ago
I said I was hurting.
You were offended that I thought
You wouldn't understand.
You got mad, but you stayed,
You let me explain.
But then what I needed
Was a hug from my Mama.
I shouldve said, I know.
Now we're here,
Behind closed doors I'm still crying,
Afraid to say something wrong.
You say I've become
A little emotional,
But maybe I'm hurting that's why.
Have you forgotten?
Cuz you havn't asked how I'm doing
Ever since that dark night.
I'm so sorry Mama,
That I'm acting this way.
I'm scared and afraid,
Just trying to stay sane.
I know you love me,
I love you too,
But I'm terrified of speaking,
Speaking the truth.
It's exhausing and draining,
But I'm trying to be brave.
I don't want to hurt you,
And for that,
I'm so sorry Mama.
I Still See You.
Through the window on the right
I see a million shiny yellow lights.
Thoughts in my head,
All the wrongs
All the rights.
Things that should be history,
On and on
In my mind.
Through the dark sky,
Wishing to the stars
I'll be able to say
Now wheels on the ground,
Back to reality.
Though still in my mind,
I've been meaning to talk to someone about what been going on lately, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I guess its because the times that I've tried speaking up, I was heard and then forgotten about quite quickly. So here I am. Writing something honest and true.
I've always enjoyed writing, it brings a certain calmness. Recently, I came across a journal that looked familiar, but it wasnt until I opened it that I relaized it was mine. Many pages from the front were torn off, but one. I had written about how diffiuclt the year had been for me and how much of a toll it took on me. Now, I understand people go through ruogh patches in their lives, however, I wrote in that journal several years ago, I might not even have been 12.
I have always encourage myself to write about my day in my journals, but none of them have ever been filled out. I begin with writing the positives but it is not long after that I write about how I'm struggling and how I find each day a challange. So I stop. I stop writing and I stop recording my life. I don't wanna know years later about how dark my days were and how empty I felt. Even now, the journal that I've kept for the past three years is barefully full because I can't seem to find things to write about that truley make me happy. My journal is hidden and tucked away, becasue I don't want anyone to know how I feel. How I think and what I think about. There are no secrets in there, just misery.
I want to belive that this is just a phase, that I am going to feel better. But it's not. I don't look forward to much anymore, don't know what I want to do or who I want to be. I can't see my self five years from now and I can't bring myself to take bold moves.
During the course of the last for years, I have suffered from potentially severe health issues, which doctors claim could be stress related. I've broken down and been extremely happy because I felt like I needed to be for the sake of others. I've been exhuasted doing nothing and have been feeling so lonely. I fall asleep by watching videos online so that I distract my restless mind from thinking and worrying.
I worry, I stress, and I tend to over think. Every. Single. Little. Thing. And I feel guilty for feeling the way that I do, because I don't know why I feel so sad and doubtful of myself all the time. I've been raised very well and have so much love and support around me. I have guiding figures and trsut worthy hearts at arms length away. However, I can't bring my self to discuss the details of my thougths with them.
Freedom is cruel.
She only comes when our throats have been scraped from screaming so loud
and when our feet have been bruised from ruuning so fast.
Freedom may seem so beautiful and bright,
but she'll only stay if we hold on tight.
Freedom brings comfort to situations damp and cold,
but she'll slyly slip away for things your scared to announce.
we will never truley be free,
never from ourselves.
A few years ago, I woke up with a feeling I had never experienced before. I was happy and at peace. My heart was racing a million miles a minute, yet, I had never felt more calm.
Slowly, images of my dream flashed into my mind forming a tear that slipped down my cheek and onto my blanket. As I sat still, I held on to things I had seen when I was asleep. In my dream:
I stood on a beach in the south of france at the crack of dawn. A few feet away from the water, my feet were planted on the warm sand that smelled of sweet cinnamon. I bent down to scoop the sand as then let it fall from my finger tips like liquid gold.
I stood back up as I watched the sun rise from the horizon, casting its ember rays onto the water that danced to the elegant melody of the breeze. Tall waves, taller than I, began to gracfully meet the shore. As if the waves were my emotions, they were synced to my breathing. The deeper the breath, the larger the wave. Piercing through the blue glassed water, the sunlight carassed my skin and beckond me closer to the sea. I walked forward till I felt the soft foam reach for me.
Blending into colors I never knew existed, the sky held the sun as I stood frozen and enchnated by the beauty of a moment so precious, I forgot how to breath. Knowing that I had to leave, I stepped into the sea and tilted my head up to witness a wave so great, it challneged to touch the stars.
I spoke of this dream to my mother, but I could not contol the tears that fell so easily.
To this day, I have never seen a sight so memorable of felt such pure bliss as I did in that dream. This place has become my get away, it is a mental escape because the waves have always seemed to help me find my peace.
I've made new string,
To sew a better life.
I've made just one,
But it won't break this time.
I've made sure
It has the stregth,
Of a dozen.
Hold on dear,
I'm almost there,
I've just opened up stiches
that no longer hurt.
Wait for me steady
In the thread of time.
Because I'm precise.
I'm sorting though loose ends,
Which to trim,
Which to tie.
Life is Like...
Life is like a child,
it wants more and more,
it cries, keeps you awake.
Life is like a hormonal teenager,
it doesnt care, puts you down,
but has a good heart, love it more.
Life is like a young adult,
discovering new things, making new friends,
becoming its own.
Life is like a middle aged nobody,
over worked and tired,
dragging its own wait home.
Life is like a retired old man,
at peace, sometimes maybe lonely,
but satisfied and content.