I'm angry so I write
I'm sad so I write
I'm happy so I write
I'm scared so I write
I'm confused so I write
Although nobody knows how I feel
I've let it all go
Through my fingertips

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Don't love me to love me.
Love me to never lose me.

Hold me to never watch me go
and kiss me to never say goodbye.

Keep me only yours
*and I will keep you only mine.

I slept in the darkness, it was lonely
And it was silent without you
One look out my window
I traced your face in the stars above
But the day chased them away
What is this love?
I don't feel the same
And you forgot our love
Like you forget a daydream

And we all fade to gray

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?