When death finds you,
May it find you alive.
Not hollow, or dead inside,
Burnt to ash all sad and blue.

"If it does, then I wouldn't want to die."
I was born dead, not knowing how to live.
Maybe I shall learn how not to cry,
appreciate life, learn to forgive.

Maybe sometimes it's okay,
so death can feel like a welcomed guest too,
We see it as the doorway to doomsday,
But perchance we grew with that darkened hue?

We aren't living, just merely existing,
Stagnating even like trees,
Stuck to the roots we grew from.
Things we enjoyed, now just drifting
away from. And I beg with "Please,"
"Oh, how I wish I weren't so glum."

People may die thrice in their lives,
Once literally, once in memory.
once in soul, living, but not alive.

The constant feeling of dread,
I look around me, and see nothing but tears shed.
Everyone tells me, people's tears will ricochet!
But what if, I just can't bring myself to stay?

The voices in my head do nothing but nag,
and for a while those voices helped me drag
my stay on Earth, along with the suffer.
My therapist says, "It's life making you tougher!"

I'm done, I finally say. Done with it.
It's midnight, my life is draining, bit by bit,
I can see myself getting hurt,
but I don't feel a thing under the dirt of my shirt.

My breathing begins to slow,
I wait until I'm able to go,
to go to the other side,
thinking of the future I could've had,
maybe as a bride?

I begin to think, "Maybe it could have gotten better?"
With my last ounce of strength, I eye the letters,
the letters that they'll find tomorrow morning,
Their dreadful morning of mourning,

That morning would be my first,
I was the only one who knew my worst,
Maybe I shouldn't have died just yet,
I should've let them see my silhouette,

My silhouette, at least one last time,
My mother, wondering why I said nothing,
My father, angry at himself, eyes puffing,
My brother, confused, he'd thought I was ok,
Even my cousin, who felt nothing but betray,
she thought we'd always stay.

It gets ruined by what it was made,
It becomes what it was ruined by,
the abused being forced to change its form,
becoming the abuser thinking it's the norm.

It's born in warmth, experiencing love.
It dies in the cold, broken and alone.
It thinks it's found warmth in someone else,
but really, it's just melting all over again.

That someone else doesn't care what comes of the ice,
so long as they keep tasting good for someone else's taste,
To them, the ice died as soon as they entered,
That soda will always remain self-centred.

The ice wishes it could go back to it's youth,
when it was happier and living it's truth,
not covered in someone else's toxicity,
and watch as they begin to act,
differently.

The rain has a lot to say,
but nobody wants to hear it.
The rain keeps it's emotions bottled up,
and nobody notices when it breaks.

When it does break, everyone stays inside,
they get away from the rain,
not wanting to be affected.

The rain goes to hide beneath the mask of the sun,
and it watches as everyone comes out to enjoy.
Because everybody wants to be affected by the sun.

So the rain shows it's true mask beneath the dark skies,
at night when almost nobody can hear or watch it.
It shows it's true mask, the moon,
and it's shocked upon seeing the truth.

Someone does watch the rain,
They dance in it.
The rain smiles upon noticing the truth,
someone will love it for who it is,
not for being the sun or the moon,
but for being itself.

Never let someone who hasn't been in your shoes tell you how to tie your laces.
Laces are complicated, and they take time to figure out.
If you can't tie your laces, you'll figure it out eventually.
It's okay if you need help tying your laces, we all start somewhere.

Are your laces *****? We can clean them.
Too thin? It'll work out somehow.
Thick? We'll find a way.
If you have velcro instead, that's okay too.

You can't tie your laces in a normal way? We can find another one, even if it's more complex.
If you don't tie your laces, you'll fall in them.
If you do, you can keep walking, maybe even run,
and eventually forget you had laces in the first place.

In the end, you'll realise that,
your laces, messy or neat,
have always been yours,
and that's enough.

Flowers are different. Just like us.
They all have different shapes, but that's what makes them special.
They shine so brightly, in different colors.
They have uniquely shaped petals.
They possess captivating qualities.
And each have their own story, all just like us.

Our stories begin and end the same,
Yet we're all so different from each other.
Every person you see, a friend, colleague, even a stranger.
They all have their stories.

Some flowers live in remotely good environment, others had to fight to survive.
There's also flowers which are well liked for their appearances,
while others get overlooked because they're "unattractive."

Dandelions go far and wide,
Meanwhile mimosa's stay in the same place, although they have potential.
Sunflowers take the easy road, they rely on birds to spread their seeds.
Lotus flowers stay to what they know best.
All just like us.

Sakura blooms are fragile, they die easily,
Cacti have learnt to live independently, without anyone else,
Both die without proper care in the end,
One is just quicker than the other.

We all grow, we all wither, yet our stories live on,
Just like the flowers, always finding a way to bloom again,
Whether quick to bloom or slow to grow,
We all find our place under the same sky,
Reaching for the light.

Love is everywhere,
It's in your friends, in your colleagues,
and even you.

Though sometimes we wonder,
If love is everywhere, why can't we find it?
Why is it sometimes so hard to find that person for us?
The person who seemingly makes our lives "special"
The person who makes us smile and laugh.
The person who makes us feel like the only person in the world?

I've looked for that love everywhere,
but every face I see, has another lying in beneath.
Every love I've found, hasn't seen me as theirs.
I watch as everyone has someone who will listen to all their troubles,
someone who makes them laugh and smile,
someone who makes them feel like the only person in the world.

I wonder, why can't that be me?
Is it something to do with my personality?
Maybe I'm not tall enough, blonde enough, or even pretty enough?
Or I'm just not loveable enough.

I'm always told to be patient, wait for my time.
But everyday I just get closer to the line,
Of hoping that someone I'll love will be mine.