When achieving your dream becomes anxiety and failure becomes guilt, remember: it is okay to leave the pressure to find the passion.

2. You cannot force yourself to love that boy, even if he is perfect. It will only break his heart.

3. When the right boy enters your life, he will be far from perfection: a beautiful blonde mess even your band teacher labels a bad idea.

4. It is easy to be seduced by a picture-perfect image of success.

5. It is impossible to stay practical and balanced when falling in love. Ignore your mother’s advice and let yourself be swept away.

6. A high school diploma represents more than hard work and passing grades: in those four years, you grew into someone you can be proud of.

7. Treasure the present instead of waiting for the future.

8. Don't forget to be yourself even when you are changing.

9. Sometimes, you explode. Do not stop yourself from experience all the ugly emotions.

10. Never rush recovery.

11. Expectations don't always understand that healing takes time.

12. Trust this: you will be okay.

Life is the hardest thing to love though it is the worthiest. Even on those days when the sickness blinds you, life is beautiful. Even on those days when the temptation of kitchen knives and the pill bottle on the second shelf of your mother’s medicine cabinet pull you to pluck your pulse in perfect pizzacto, you must let life remind you: you are worth it.

I was sitting on a train with my pad and a pen, trying to write a poem. I had no title, but I had written down the first line

...I was sitting on a train with my pad...

A man sat opposite me.
After a minute or so of scanning his paper and throwing cursory looks in my direction
he enquiried "What are you writing?"

"I'm trying to write a poem about a man trying to write a poem on a train
who gets asked by a stranger 'what are you writing'.

"Can I be in it?", asked the stranger opposite.

"You already are", I replied.

The train pulled out of the station.

You found me dangling by a breath,
on the edge of some unknown redemption.

I swore that I would never let my something old,
affect our something new.

And I know;
through those gentle brushes,
of strong hands against weak arms,

That you promise to hold me together,
when all signs pointed,
to me falling apart.

you don't understand at all do you
not truly
you think
I'm a liar
that I still hold the knife
that
stabbed you in the back
[and in the heart]

kinda speechless
that you feel that way
think that way
believe it
untrustworthy? misleading?
false emotions?
can you not read?
here let me try again
maybe I can make it like braille
feel the words

it's like when the clouds stormy eyes
welled up and let fall the
tears of weekend rain
soggy, we laughed along with the thunder
and under our waterfall we let the windows
fog
tell me I lied then

or picture if you will
standing by the tree I
always parked by
it was a starry night, but we didn't see it
we were too focused on our faces
except
why is it I was the only one
drowning in the sadness that overtook my eyes
shaking with each strained, choppy breath
clutching that gray shirt like a life jacket
do you think that was all
for show?

haven't you looked at
my collection of black and white
silly letters scribbled down as fast as possible
trying as hard as I can
to leave it all
on the paper
but it's as if each word I write
is a tattoo
slowly invading every part of my skin
it's sinking in, it's staining everything
do you think this agony I speak of
is fake?

if so
if I am that liar with the knife who
led you astray and "******* you over"
let you down, kicked you around
if you can't seem to
open your eyes
and notice
just how much I love you
just how much I always have

then you don't deserve it

ill run miles for you when I know I only
have the strength for one
but don't you
dare
watch me run
if you don't even grasp
that I stabbed myself in the back
led myself astray

you have a right to
hate the wound
but if you can't see
what I feel
one day
I will learn
that I have to let go
and I will

then all these silly letters
all for you

well. go ahead and throw them away
on that day
they will carry no life
anymore

Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new;
And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none.

Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains;
And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away.

Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs;
And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke.

Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd;
And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a *****.

Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance;
And I'm a ***-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death.

Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one;
And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce.

Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines;
And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell.

Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt;
And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick.

Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop;
And I'm a plastic party cup melting away.

Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery;
And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop.

Love is a huge pink eraser;
And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight.

Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk;
And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner.

Love is meant for fish;
And I'm a bird.

we never write as much when we are in love
and if we do write as much, we never write the same way
we get so much more boring
we could write a sad poem every day
and it would be much more interesting than an
everything-is-perfect poem
happiness has very little substance
have you ever noticed that most mainstream music is
aggressively depressing?
we write when there's something missing
or when we feel cold toward the world
and want to stick it to the man with a good 'ol *******
a writer in love will only produce a masterpiece if who they love
doesn't love them back
falling in love with someone that loves you back feels like having
everything you need
and there becomes no reason to write because there is no need to write
most people feel misunderstood when they're sad
and people only want to soak themselves in art if it makes them feel
understood
so, art has got to be sad too, hasn't it?

i imagine
it's morning
that wonderful time
where you aren't really awake
but you know you aren't dreaming anymore
where everything's a bit blurred
and only the important things are
impeccably clear

i imagine
that on this morning
the blinds are closed or open
i can't tell
everything's a haze
the cat's probably asleep by our feet
the sheets might be orange
they might be red
but your eyes
they're crystal clear
that wonderful light green
so different from the seas of brown i'm used to
then that little smirk
that's always on your face
those lips
those collar bones

i imagine
that in this moment
the little infinity signs
i've traced a thousand times
are real
tattooed onto your chest
the smirk is only a smile
for me
those eyes are only crystal clear
because they're staring right into my eyes
and those lips are mine for the taking

i imagine
that this morning
is real
that is lasts forever
that it will happen one day
it's times like these
that i imagine
you're mine
all the ******* time.