At some point I realised that
I will just always be sad
Yes, joyful too but
I will never get over this
I will always miss you
Deeply
I will always cry
When I remember you
When I miss you
I will always feel the sadness
With every joyful new thing I do
With every memory I hold
It just is
It just is sad

We go out to what is out there
and when
there's nothing out there
we share anyway,

this is social media
letting the others who
have need of ya
get their rocks off
as they feed on ya.

I'm just a humble beggar, with nothing but
this old beggar's song resonating in my soul.
It may seem like there's something wrong with me,
but appearances can be deceiving. Deep down,
I'm content with who I am and the life I lead.

Just like a flickering candle, I find myself blowing away time,
as if trying to defy its relentless passage.
The hours slip through my fingers like grains of sand,
yet I embrace each moment with a sense of acceptance.
I don't long for death to take me away, for in doing so,
the whole world would descend into darkness,
robbing others of the light that I bring.

Though my circumstances may be humble, I find solace
in the fact that my voice can still touch hearts and minds.
With each note I sing, I seek to bring a glimmer of hope
and beauty to a world that can often be cold and unforgiving.

Just as a beggar's song tells a story of struggle and resilience,
my existence too has meaning and purpose.
I continue to embrace my role as a humble candle,
spreading warmth and illumination in a world that is in constant need of both.

While some sleep
the fairies dance
delicate wings holding
pink and purple paint brushes
stroke by delicate stroke
a canvas of beauty they enhance
flickers of pastels spray all over
falling on broken dreams
or abandoned silver paths

oh but if you saw the fairies smiles
sadness would cease to be
they only wish happiness
to befall on people like you and me

Reading is polishing a rusted mind.

Reading is an adventurous journey.

Reading is a memorable confab because all words speak to me.

Going into a mind is like entering a holy place and reading scriptures there.

if I stop to think about it,
look at the words I've written
and sit outside of them, I see
that girl, in a moment of clarity,
and I pity her.

this part of me that picks
up the pen and puts down
her thoughts of insecurity
isn't talking to the rest of me
and I wish she would, she
could use the company.

so alone. on my own,
I wouldn't last long but
I'm not, so why prepare
for the impossibility of
solitude when before me
is a multitude of nodding
heads, accepting me in all
my dread and saying yes
to my existence without pretense.

I listen. I hear what sounds
like whispered kisses and
chuckles at my jokes,
bespoke love packaged
just for me, because
they see me in my full glory
while I only glimpse the
shadow of that creature
when I step outside myself
and observe impartially
the nerve and audacity
I have had to continue living,

and I realize
I'm a marvel.