How ironic that the expectations they stack upon us only weigh us down,
like sacks of rocks upon our shoulders;
but we stand tall and refuse to be crushed underfoot—
These burdens will be our boulder.

Breathe in deep, remember this:
We are human beings;
even the first of our kind were at once evolving—
we were made for dreaming.

What is the
             appeal
                     of a
                         foverever
                            ­     drowning
                                             in silence?

Many times had I sat
At the base of that old tree
With its gnarled roots
And hanging branches


Dozens of happy memories
Were irreversibly linked with it
I couldn't help but smile
As I looked to it out the window


The sun had begun its descent
Spreading its golden rays
Through the branches and leaves
Of that lovely tree


I saw my daughter sitting
Reading under the tree
That I had come to know so well
And I nearly cried


But I stopped myself
I would have to be strong
For everyone
But for her especially


Before I lost myself in thought
The front door opened
They were ready
But I wasn't sure if I was


I looked one last time
Out the back window
To that ancient tree
Before putting my hat on


I still wasn't used to being bald
But I knew I had to do this
After all,
I have many more fond memories


To make under that tree

Two in the nest
And twelve in a box
Cold winter morning
Thick wool socks

A sunrise song
Red against white
From snow covered trees
Their maiden flight

Out the window
It may seem cold
Yet the world is full
Of stories to be told

I kick and scream
On the inside, nowhere to hide
My fate has been decided
I sit frozen, filled with grief
As they deliver to me my suicide weapon
I put them on, the cold accessory
In comes reality with gleeful laughter
The dream fades with a sigh
Forever lost, nevermore

I was told I'm the problem with society.
That the baby in my stomach was a mistake
and that I should be ashamed.
People cast their eyes away
...or they stare.
The judgment on their faces
and the whispers in their voices
cut my heart to pieces,
But none of their looks
or words
can make me love this baby any less.

I know that I'm young,
but it is part of me
just like it would be if I were older.
They say age is just a number
only when it comes to certain relationships though,
because if you're 17 and pregnant
age becomes important
and people become judgmental.

I was told I'm the problem with society.
That the baby in my stomach was a mistake
and that I should be ashamed.
But I'm not
and yes this baby was unplanned,
but that doesn't mean it is a mistake.
This baby is my happy accident
and my  life will change,
but I do not and will not regret
my beautiful,
happy,
accident.