I turn the pages of this magazine,
Ah, a "Family Circle" to be seen,
Perfect pictures, like beauty queens,
Is there a real family like the magazines?
Every one I know has some dysfunction,
Twisted nuclear folk, crossing at junctions,
Is this magazine fact or fictional?"
All I think is, "Glossy dysfunctional"........

My mother always compared my anxiety to an idling motor.
It runs through my body when I’m not moving or in a complete state of calm,
But then one thing triggers the gas and the motor is jolted into an angry roar.
They say that the body can only panic for a maximum of 20 minutes,
But my body stays in a constant buzzing of anxiety.

Therefore the shadows are seen
I cannot touch them
There is no fixing the invisible
It can only be an illusion
A quiet demand for change
The echoes are getting larger
Larger than what the heart can contain
Who I am can never be known
Only by name
It's too sensitive
Less friendly
You can drop the tears and leave it as ghost
Or rip it out and lose a soul
It cannot be cheated
All it can do for you is hate it
Scary it could be
But all you can do is trust the unkown

Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Known.

Mostly I write,
So who I am is finally shown.

The meekest form,
I know to expose,
My inner workings,
How my heart goes...

I think it's no different,
Than the rest of the world.
I just wish everyone had a platform,
To be similarly heard.

i see what you see
i hear what you hear
we speak with understanding
not of each other
but of fear
you live to be justified
you honor me if i agree
to speak as brothers weeping
a stream begins by the falling rain
and love must trust the words of the sea