We hide from everyone
Wallow in loneliness and silence
But we are the only ones oblivious
Blind to our own exposure

Beauty cannot hide worry
We wear our lies like a brilliant mask
Incognito and apparent to everyone
The truth will come out in the end

Time will dig a deeper hole
And in the end it will be buried
But so with it my heart
Because time cannot heal love

Star-crossed lovers will meet again
Time cannot defeat fate
I will wait a thousand years
In the end we must remember that its never to late

i guess i need more mentally disturbed
friends.
i’m feeling lately like the scab that’s been picked off,
forgotten, dried up, designating.
people don’t understand when i say my heart feels like it will
explode out of my lungs, throughmythroat and get caught between
myteeth.
my anxieties need a **** buddy, because making eye contact
is even too
much. and i wish i could stop assuming the worst.
"jesus, you worry too much"
i can’t help that i find the flaws, the nit picky things,
the traits that i want to squish like
blueberries.
i can’t help that when i sit alone in my car,
i think too often of swerving into highways and wondering what a deer
sees before it
dies.
that’s why i don’t talk about this, i never can anyway,
they swell and sit upon my tongue like when you ate that pepper whole
and all i tasted was flames.  
my anxieties and i are the kind of friends where we speak nicely
and are all smiles in front of one another,
but as soon as we turn around,
all we say is venom.

“Who Am I?”

I am, who I am,
Whoever that is,
Whoever I was,
Whoever I become.

Others try to tell me
Who I am or should be,
I try not to listen to them,

Because in truth,
As to who I really am,
I don’t actually know,
At least for now I’m not,
One hundred percent sure.

Is there a Committie somewhere,
That directs such things?
Purveyors of personalities,
Dispensers’ of intelligence,
Measurers’ of ambition and success?
How to look, how to dress?
What is too fat,
What's too thin?

Perhaps some kind of scale,
To measure up,
Or down too?

Maybe there’s some magic formula,
When Mixed and taken,
Makes us who we “should” be?
But then, according to WHO?

As for all those other people,
Well meaning or not,
How can they possibly know more
About me, than I do?

I am a Work in progress,
Until I fail miserably,
Or until I’m dead,
Please have the decency,
To allow me, to be me,
And the time to find out.
'Cause frankly, all your
Premature pronouncements
Regarding me and who I am,
Is some really boring ****!

Lips touching, oh so soft, like a feather
Almost like a dream, finding a treasure
Eyes close gently, we're together almost like a dance
Don't make sudden moves don't take a chance
Just quietly let your breath go on a sigh
Let your tongue touch mine, oh in one try
I have had the perfect kiss it touched my inner heart
It felt  so right, we got scared and pushed apart
I want that one moment back, that one kiss again
And then I'll stop looking, stop wanting, going insane
It haunts me because I've said my goodbye and the best
Life sometimes makes me really angry, I feel this is a test
I don't always understand things, dont know
Could this be a lesson? For me to grow