How wonderful it is to be aflame
I don't long to be brighter than the rest
I wish I could burn of my own free will
But perhaps this time, death is for the best.

If there is a day when I'm set ablaze
For a brief moment I might glow again
I hope I'm remembered as useful fire,
Perhaps my rebirth will not be in vain.

"What doesn't **** one must make one stronger."
Perhaps I broke that rule- I still feel weak.
Does this mean the struggle will last longer?
I have lost the will to fight anymore
My wounds aren't healing, they've become too sore.
So I roam around earth, half-dead, alive
Dreaming of a future that isn't bleak
Knowing I can't live, I'll only survive.

**** the glass ceiling
It's too high in the sky
I'm still at rock bottom
Only wanting to cry.

Let someone else break it
I'm too weak to move
Maybe this was a mistake
I have nothing to prove.

Hold on, it'll get better soon.
One day you'll find the strength to pull yourself up,
And it'll be glorious
Like moonshine on a rock,
Like the sun over the seas,
Like new waves on a forgotten shore.
You will make your mark, and it will not go unnoticed.
Rise up, stranger. You are loved, and so very worthy of life.

Here's a bit of light
In your darkest hour
You can get out of this
You can do more than cower.
I'm with you, always
Rise up from your knees
Find your way out of the tunnel
Dance along that breeze.
You may not know the steps
You may not hear the song
But your twirl is your own
You are forever strong.

I live on top of my very own tree
Lush and green, just like all my friends
They long for the fall, when they'll touch the ground,
Must I go along with this trend?

It seems so pointless, waiting for autumn
Staring at the sun, playing with its rays
I'd rather be here forever and grow
I don't want to waste the rest of my days.

Alas! This wish was never to come true
I fade to brown, bidding goodbye
I join the wind, that guides me to the earth
In my next life, I'll reach the sky.

If my life were a book, written in ink,
It would tell a tale brought back from the brink
With sentences well constructed with rhyme,
Of inkblots made by wasting precious time,
Of full-stops, colons, and commas galore,
Filled with desire to learn, and explore,
Aging sheets of regret pondering the past,
Some wondering how long the story will last.
Only Death takes away this humble pen
It's just a small matter of how and when-
This book may never be a bestseller
But it will be honest- a truth-teller
That's unfinished and revised endlessly,
Until it joins the pages of history.