Sometimes I think I'm dead.

I'm breathing,

I'm moving,

I'm laughing,

I'm smiling,

I'm doing all the things someone alive would do,

but there's this feeling,

like mold on a bathroom floor,

or the smell of ***** dishes and trash,

or rain coming down in showers on your birthday,

the feeling that, no, it's not going to be okay.

That feeling is worse than being dead.

Because if your dead, at east you can escape the feeling.

c.r.k.

What if our whole entire universe is on the smallest petal of a sunflower?

Or on a measly blade of grass?

On the thumb of a giant?

What if our whole lives are played on the television for someone in another dimension?

What if they watched us go through heart ache and love?

Or our wedding and graduation?

And when we die the movie ends?

If you think about it we are so minuscule.

Like a flea on a dog, or a fly in a fruit bowl.

We are like the stars in the sky, and the pebbles on the ground.

We are a force of nature, and a mystery to the unknown.

We are people, that think they are big.

But really, are very small.

c.r.k

Her body was tattered and scorned,
tainted by the words of hatred,
and bruised by the ones who said they loved her.

Nobody saw past the warped exterior,
nobody peeled back her layers of armor,
hardened by the tormenters,
nobody wanted to love the girl that was damaged.

If they did peel back those layers,
if they did become rightful to her inner beauty,
they'd see an angel, an angel who has fallen.

They would see a butterfly, with vibrant wings that demanded attention,
they would see a gorgeous rose, who's petals have been frayed,
they would see her for who she really is.

They would see her as a women.
A women of many hardships.
A women strong enough to move oceans,
and fight wars.
They would see a women so strong,
not even the mightiest of blades could slice through her armor,
she was a women of gold.

c.r.k