Nancy loved Bobby,
And Bobby loved Stacie,
And Stacie was confused since she loved both simultaneously.
What a strange shape we’ve built.

The angles weren’t adding up,
Bobby’s was way too much,
Since he loved Stacie more than she loved Nancy.
How pitifully confusing.
Lines drawn with guilt.

What is one man to do?
Trapped between two girls,
One who’s confused.
These feelings, so deceiving,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose.
This obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.

Nancy found Bobby making out with Stacie,
And ran off crying in a hurry.
Stacie felt guilty, but Bobby was just too lovely.
The hypotenuse forgot the rules.

Nancy and Stacie both vented their heavy hearts.
They destroyed their friendship, and the words left nasty scars.
All the while, Bobby was standing not too far away.
He found Stacie crying because Nancy had called her a heinous name.

But what’s a girl to do,
When she’s emotionally confused?
On the one hand, she has a guy who’s cute,
On the other, a woman who could heal all her wounds.
These feelings, so fleeting,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.

In the end, none of them remained friends,
They made a pact to never speak to each other again.
They figured it would be the best thing to do.
Bobby, Nancy, and Stacie,
Feeling so blue and so lonely.
I guess they’re lucky,
That there’s always more fish in the sea.
No use to spend all their love,
On someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

But what were they to do?
In the game of love, they were new.
They thought they knew,
Who their heart belonged to.
Fate demanded to be paid his dues,
It seemed they were destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom…

The blood on my hands has begun to dry,
Along with my eyes, no more tears to cry.
I did what I did, I don’t regret their demise,
So why do I feel so conflicted inside?
I go into the bathroom and walk to the sink.
I pour myself a cup and take a small drink.
While deep inside, I’m boiling to the brink.
And if I don’t let it out, I’m destined to sink.
I look in the mirror, and all I see,
Are two eyes freezing cold.
I don’t remember who’s staring back at me,
I’m still not used to this mold.
I used to be a coward,
My will to speak overpowered.
While everyone around spoke so loud,
I’d sit at my desk and not make a sound.
But I made a vow to speak louder,
No longer will I be a coward.
I’ll say what I mean and mean what I say,
I’ll be a good man to my dying days.
I’ll find my hill and make my stand,
Holding on tight with my bloodied hands.
I stare into my two cold eyes,
My guise overwhelming my surprise.
I wash the blood off my hands.
I hope this was worth it in the end.
Since it takes a lot to change an identity,
I gaze in the mirror at the new me.

Voice cracks,
When I feel overwhelmed.
Like a mental attack,
With no hope to defend myself.

Voice cracks,
When I feel nervous,
Because I have a presentation,
And I can’t seem to speak,
And my words slur.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
I ponder,
Would I remember,
When I wondered,
If I would remember,
When I was younger,
And my voice cracked?

Voice cracks,
When I feel anxious,
Wondering if I’m worth it.
Since it feels like I misuse the gifts I’m given.

Voice cracks,
When I feel passionate,
Doesn’t happen often,
But when it does, I struggle to let go.
Even when it hurts my soul,
And I wonder why I didn’t let go.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
Would this matter?
Would I regret,
Not making sure that it mattered?
Would I pray for a chance to turn back the clock,
Back to the days, when all of my worrying came,
From whether or not my voice cracks?

Voice cracks,
When I feel overwhelmed,
And I wonder,
Why do I do this to myself?
My biggest critic,
My greatest asset,
My only friend who’s guaranteed to me till the end.

Voice cracks,
When things just seem a bit too much,
And I want to hide away,
To return another day.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
Would I be satisfied,
That I lived my life,
Instead of watching it pass by?
Though people came and went,
Faces and names smudged by time.
Did I do what I wanted to do?
Or did I disappoint you?
It wouldn’t matter then.
I think I’d find,
Myself longing to go back,
To the times,
Where all I had to worry about,
Were my voice cracks.

This summer, I’ve thought a lot,
About how I’m in a liminal standstill.
The crossroads of life,
Childhood to the left, and adulthood to the right.
Which way do I go?
I don’t have a choice.
The only way to go,
Is forward toward the void.
I must go on,
Listening to the songs that spark my envisioning,
Imagination bleeds into reality.
I must accept,
That there’s never enough time,
But that’s okay.
I’ll water her flowers and try not to complain,
Because she means the world to me.
The singer and the lyricist,
Moved on from their precipice,
Perhaps I can do the same.
I’ll rise, like a daisy,
Even when the world is feeling hazy.
I’ll remember what the Wendigo told me,
And what I learned from Dracula’s kidnapping.
It’s humbling to find,
That I’m at the world’s whim as much as it’s at mine.
Just a change in my paradigm.
I’ll make sure I won’t be like Vain,
Or like Russel, used for his brain.
I’ll overcome my fear and drive,
And leave my other fears behind.
Acne won’t entrap me forever,
There’s always another summer,
Though the heatwaves might be a ******.
I’m all in,
Avoiding artificial interactions.
I’ll try to see what they see,
And overcome this anxiety.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey,
But I’ll fight through the haze.
I’ve seen,
That the last summer of reprieve,
Is as much of an ending,
As it is a beginning.

Whenever my family and I,
Prepare to embark on a fair drive,
I grab my phone with my playlist along with my headphones.
Filled with excitement that nobody knows.
We set out on our excursion,
I put my headphones in,
I turn on my music,
And let the symphonies enter my head.
If I close my eyes,
I can visualize,
An ancient city filled with song and dance,
Amidst a sacred feast with the finest band.
I see the dresses swirl, and I smell the wheat in the fields,
Along with the fresh bread that they created with their yields.
The song changes to a more melancholic melody,
I envision a final stand, one with honor and dignity.
The knight fights its hardest, but is overrun,
The piano’s keys, haunting me, as it dies under the setting sun.
Another change, more upbeat, a comforting, catchy symphony.
I wish to dance, but I am confined to the car seat.
I open my eyes and look to the right,
At the sprawling landscape we’ve been passing by,
But instead of farmland and trees, guess what I see,
The same mind-boggling envisioning!
More songs play, various tones,
From joyous to somber, sacred to monotone,
Threatening to empowering, all on their own.
The drums beat to the piano’s keys,
As a rare mandolin strums in harmony.
A glorious symphony,
An undertone for creativity.
Oh, the power of envisioning!

Few dared to date Medusa,
For they feared being covered with contusions.
Those who did wore a blindfold to hide their eyes,
A blind date with fate and a disguise.

One of the braver men,
Who thought he could apprehend,
Medusa, his name was Trent.
He didn’t last long,
He took his blindfold off,
And like many before him,
He turned to stone and wasn’t heard from again.
Another challenger’s name was Wren,
Like the bird,
Medusa thought that was the strangest name she’d heard.
So, out of spite,
She reached across the table and exposed Wren’s eyes.
He gasped as his skin turned coarse,
Mouth open wider than a horse.
Medusa pushed him over,
Watched as he shattered,
And smiled to herself,
Even though she was lonelier than anyone else.

Medusa didn’t mean to be so cruel,
It was the consequences of her being used.
By a man to do things she didn’t want to do,
Unspeakable and terrible abuse,
She was the only one to lose.
So, she became a viper,
Her gaze became a noose.
Asphyxiation,
Righteous indignation.
She wouldn’t let herself be used again.

Finally, a man named Hunter arrived,
He tightened the blindfold around his eyes.
He sat across from Medusa, the table lit by candlelight,
She blushed, for he was quite a sight.
He reached across the table and shook her hand,
And he asked her if she had any plans.
She was taken aback, her mind rolling off the tracks,
Lost in a flashback, she babbled about tasks she had to do,
None of which was true.

Hunter laughed, a sound so sweet,
It made Medusa nearly fall out of her seat.
Was this the one she had been searching for?
Or was he just another liar?
Authenticity tends to hide,
Just like the scars Medusa had on her thighs.
One of her snakes whispered in her ear,
Advising her to ignore what she wanted to hear.
The snakes only wanted what was best,
But for whom? What was the purpose of their quest?

Hours passed by like comets,
First date turned into many happy moments.
Before Medusa could catch her breath,
Half a year had passed,
And Hunter had asked,
To see Medusa’s face.
She insisted that he didn’t,
But she knew he wouldn’t listen.
He lowered the blindfold,
As teardrops glistened,
Medusa thought she had just lost,
Her heart…

Hunter had heterochromia,
Left eye green, right eye a shimmering blue.
Medusa’s eyes were both red,
That pulsated in blossoming hues.
To both of their surprise,
Hunter didn’t turn to stone.
He captured her lips in a kiss,
Both of them were alone.
Medusa found the one who could see her,
She no longer had to hide.
Hunter loved Medusa,
It made her cry.

The world is filled with hurt people, like Medusa,
Who may push you away and leave you in contusions.
But underneath that deadly gaze,
Is a mountain of pain…

Occasionally, I feel like,
I’m being buried by a landslide,
So I go into my room and turn off the lights,
Play music to drown out my plights.
Suddenly, I feel a bubbling,
Deep inside my soul.
It’s been bottled up,
My dam isn’t enough,
And I’m about to lose control.

The truth is,
Sometimes I cry.
When I’m tired of bottling it up inside.
A deconstruction of pride,
Fractured fragments left behind.
My dam can’t hold back,
The tsunami that’s on the attack.
Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,
It can feel like I’m drowning,
In a pool of sorrow,
Of my own making.
It’s hard to stop it,
So methodic,
It keeps on coming back.

Pathetic, sympathetic,
It’s difficult to control it.
Cathartic, ironic,
How do people deal with this?
The waterworks are a virus,
That everyone’s contaminated with.
Can’t show weakness,
Got to keep a straight face,
A mask from the pain.
Let the pillow be the bucket for my sorrows.
Let the tears dampen the fabric of the case.
Let my blankets cool me off, calm me down,
And help me change my frown.

Sometimes all we need,
Is an emotional release.
Perhaps, that’s the way,
To inner peace.

I am realizing that the times you spent with me,
Were more of a worry than they were any reprieve.
I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty,
I wish I had seen it sooner so that I could leave.
Now I’m questioning,
Did it mean anything?

What defines a friend?
What separates them from an acquaintance?
I don’t know anymore;
The ones I thought were my friends are strangers,
That I’ve never met before.
Perhaps, there were good times,
But they’re clouded in the grey.
Now I’m left with ambiguity,
To haunt me for my days.

Those times that you laughed,
At a joke I didn’t understand.
Dividing us further by our clear differences.
This lone wolf was meant to hunt on his own,
Dancing with solitude in the comfort of his home.
But the lonely monarch grows tired of his throne,
He’s frozen with fear, for he doesn’t know where to go.

So, what’s next?
How does the second chapter open?
Would it be simpler to just forget?
Or act bitter and broken?
I walk the trial-heavy road,
Of finding new friends.
I wish I were a bloodhound,
To sniff out genuine people,
Who could invest in me.
Authenticity is a rarity,
Amidst all of the fallacies,
Filled to the brim with irony,
And patronizing apathy.

It’s a painful search,
That leaves me questioning my worth,
But I won’t stop looking,
Statistics assure me,
That there’s at least one friend out there, somewhere.
I just have to find them wherever they are.
A friend is as rare as a perfect pair,
And they can be covered with fool’s gold.
How is anyone to know?

Book smart with no common sense,
Genius with physical labor absent.
Can’t remember strenuous actions since,
Well…I guess there hasn’t been much of it.
They say brains and brawn are a good mix,
But what if you just have one or the other?
Pure brawn is overrated,
But I wouldn’t mind having them both together.
I can remember the lore of Star Wars,
But I couldn’t tell you how to change a tire.
Algebra two’s not that intense,
However, driving just makes me stressed and tired.
Isn’t it ironic that one can have straight A’s,
Yet, feel so incompetent?
Peers far surpass me,
And overlap me,
Still got to expand my toolkit,
And the trial and error that comes with it.
Book smart with no common sense,
But I could give you your change along with all your cents.
There’s a pressing question I need to overcome.
In the real world, is book smarts enough?
In the real world, will I function?
In the real world…can I overcome?

When people compliment me,
I feel a crisis of identity.
Was it I whom they were referring?
Or was it someone more fitting?
If I saw what they see,
Perhaps I wouldn’t be,
So self-deprecating,
Maybe…
If I saw what they see,
I could confidently,
Lower my walls and be me,
So much uncertainty.
I’m not one to accept compliments lightly,
I consistently convince myself that I’m not worthy,
Of their praise or their appreciation.
Cursed self-deprecation.
How could I accept such an honor,
When I look in the mirror,
And see,
Someone other than what they are praising?
If I saw what they see,
Perhaps I wouldn’t be,
Filled with anxiety,
About whether or not I’m being true to me.
And if I believed,
That I was what they see,
Maybe,
I’d feel happy…

I went on a jaunt through the park,
And found a man dancing underneath the stars.
Two-step, and he spun around,
His feet were so graceful on the ground.
He looked toward me and,
Extended his hand.
I didn’t know what to do,
Was this too good to be true?
Of his motives, I was unsure,
But he had this strange allure.
So, I swallowed and decided then,
To reach out and take his extended hand.

We danced in tune,
Of a melody no one could hear.
We danced throughout the night,
And though he was a stranger, I had no fear.
We moved together like we’d done this before,
But, I swear to you, this was new.
I didn’t want to go despite my intuition,
Before I knew it, the sun had risen.

We met over the course of the month,
Same spot, same time, and if that wasn’t enough.
We’d dance for hours, starting at the setting sun,
And we’d remain till the next day, when the morning welcomed us.
I never saw his face; he hid behind a mask,
But if he didn’t want to tell me, I decided not to ask.
I asked his name, but he merely shook his head,
At the time, I didn’t bother to question it.

We didn’t care if people watched,
We ignored their remarks as they gawked.
He spun me round, up and down,
Lifted me high and I touched the sky.
I was alone, but I was found,
I felt connected and like I had a crown.
Our waltz was all we focused on,
His hand in mine, things were fine, or so I thought.

One night, I was at our stage, all alone.
I had been waiting since the sun set long ago.
He was gone; all he left was a note on the ground.
I walked over, looked down, and then looked all around.
I picked it up, saw what it said,
And I finally knew who I had been dancing with.
It said a name,
One, I am ashamed to say.
Solitude,
Had left me destitute,
Now I was truly alone.
He had gone,
Left me behind,
All I had was my own.

I stood up, laughed out of spite,
And gazed up into the night.
Had I done something wrong?
Did I step on his foot or dance to another song?
Either way, he ran away,
Solitude had ruined my day.
So, figuring I was at a new low,
And needing a moment of respite,
I decided to continue dancing solo,
Throughout the night.

Today was tomorrow, yesterday.
If that isn’t enough to make you go crazy,
Then, how about a year ago, today felt like forever away,
Yet, by tomorrow, it’ll be gone, nothing left to say.
For nothing gold can stay,
But, isn’t time a tyrannical little thing?

We can’t change it, nor stop it,
We’re purely at its will.
We can’t see it, but its effects,
As our world is encompassed by its silk.
It’s all around us, yet it eludes us.
How can we be so blind,
But, bound by brutes who bellow from the night?

We watch helplessly,
As the world changes constantly.
Partly, by our hands,
Purely by time’s demands.
Puppets on sharpened strings,
Dancing to a tune that someone else sings.
I wish I could sever the strings,
But we’re all dragged along by time, continuously.

It’s heartbreaking to watch such beauty fall apart.
Friendships die, people cry,
Dust yourself off and keep on smiling bright.
Rise up, like a daisy,
Otherwise, the world gets too hazy.
How am I supposed to see?!
Sometimes, it feels like things are crashing down around me.
Time laughs as it claps,
Dust myself off and keep on walking straight,
Suffocating under the weight.

People keep growing older around me,
Meanwhile, I’ve felt the same since I turned fourteen.
Eventually, I’ll have to put on an act,
Like I have any idea what I’m doing.
Pull it all together and keep on moving.
That’s all that we can do.

Oh…I fear the future.
Most may say I’m delusional,
But I like control.
I like my day to be predictable,
No surprises for me.
And when my routines break,
Anxiety takes the helm.
Why wouldn’t I be afraid,
Of something that affects me every day?
Why wouldn’t I be terrified,
Of something that’ll affect the rest of my life?
All based on decisions I make,
What if I make a mistake?
The last thing I need is more pain.
From the tyrant who controls everything.
Tyrannical time,
I don’t understand how people turn a blind eye.
I wish I were ignorant,
Since that seems to be bliss.
Instead, I think, perhaps, too much,
About things I can’t ever touch.
That’s my curse…

Sometimes when I look outside,
And see the Sun drowned by dark clouds,
I can’t help,
But feel my mood being dragged down.
Some days are shrouded in a,
Monochromatic shade of grey,
And at times, while it might not be ideal,
It’s okay.
The Sun will find its time to shine someday.
However,
When that melancholy grey takes over,
I can feel my heart take a dive,
Darker thoughts creep into my mind.
“Are you being proficient at life?
Or are you wasting your time?
Your accomplishments mean slim to none,
In the grand scheme.
It won’t help you run,
From the inevitably closing gap between,
You and responsibility.”
It comes fast,
It lasts,
It doesn’t just come to pass,
One lap.
It stays,
And it won’t ever go away.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey.

Everyone’s the hero of their story,
Everyone believes they’re in the right.
Unless they hate themselves,
So they push away everyone else.
See the sights and hear the sounds of sonder,
It’s honestly refreshing if you take a moment to ponder,
How everyone is aware like you,
Though they may not see the world like you do.
How I wonder,
All thanks to sonder.

Sometimes, when I,
Attempt to talk to others,
It can seem like,
AI is on the rise.
AI,
Artificial interactions,
Superficial,
Never gaining traction.
What’s the point,
Of such forgettable discourse?
Small talk,
Exceptionally bores.
The same simple assortment of questions,
Like I’m being read a script.
I leave the conversation,
My desire to connect stripped.
Yet you have to jump the hurdle,
To have a genuine connection,
But sometimes,
These artificial interactions,
Make me wish that I were,
An AI.

Two words were all it took for his world to shatter.
Two words said were enough for him to question if anything mattered.
Uttered so thoughtlessly,
A waste of vocabulary.
Two words were all it took for him to shut down,
Two words whispered in his ear, causing him to frown.
No one cared about his feelings,
Or how those two words could carry a darker meaning.
Two words were all he needed to make a mistake,
Two words meant everything and caused him to break.
Said by someone cruel,
But all it takes is one fool.
Two words repeated in his mind.
Two words dictate what he should leave behind.
Two words hurt him, summoning a pain in his side.
Two words…

Envy tells me a story,
One, he was told by my friends.
He tells me about their happiness,
And how it never seems to end.
How their lives seem to be so perfect,
While I’m crumbling apart.
I wish Envy would leave me,
But he’s adamant to break my heart.

Envy whispers triumphs,
Another crushing defeat.
I should feel happy for them,
Instead, I feel weak.
This world is passing me by,
While I stand frozen in time,
Perhaps my chance to shine,
Passed long ago.

As I look in the mirror,
Envy tells me my inadequacies.
He points to the acne,
And the glasses on my face.
He isn’t kind to me,
And he calls me a disgrace.
I beg him to stop,
But he only laughs at my expense.
Oh, how Envy hurts me,
But, oh, how it makes sense.

The snare of comparison is tight around my neck,
It won’t come loose, it’s like a noose,
Except wrapped inside my head.
Like a rabbit in a trap, I’m trapped,
With no way to break free.
On those days, I feel, oh, so lonely,
I guess I have my good friend Envy.

Am I a horrible person,
To feel this way?
This envy is constantly darkening my sunny days.
I’ll just look at my word search, as I search,
For the words to say,
And how to say them.
While Envy watches and lurks,
With a subtle smirk,
As I break.
Oh, I envy…
I envy them.
My joys seem,
Arbitrary in comparison.

Envy keeps telling me his sweet stories,
As I consistently demean myself for not being so lucky.
He’s a poet, too,
And he knows what to do.
He never feels restrained or contained.
Envy, he’s crazy, but so captivating,
Showing me what I am missing.

A boyfriend,
I hope it goes well,
And doesn’t meet a bitter end,
Like many stories tell.
Junior year,
Only two more left to go.
When our paths veer,
Will I end up alone?
Envy’s torturous words,
Uttered with malice,
Gathered together like herds,
Feeling inadequate.
Like a knife in my back,
A personal attack,
Against myself,
Highlighting what I lack.
He paints me a portrait,
Of things I’ll never have,
Throw it to the fire,
And watch it burn to ash.
Gather all the remnants,
And add it to the stack.

Pain, heartache, isolation,
Stirred to the surface due to one emotion.
Outsiders might say I have no reason,
But this envy is just like an ocean.
Its waters are so frigid,
Not even Posideon could stand it.
Occasionally, there are ripples,
From little tiny drops.
They’re let out,
And it’s hard for them to stop.

Envy’s villainous gaze,
Would turn Medusa to stone.
I’ll be the lonely monarch sitting on his throne.
I’ll watch from my tower,
As people live in the world below.
Envy by my side, all alone,
In my merciless, envious home.

So, I’ll envy…
A fleeting sense of control.
I’ll envy,
The noose taking hold.
Envy,
My sweetest friend.
Envy,
The one who’ll stay till the end.
I can’t help but envy my friends.
He’s whispering again,
His voice overtaking my head.
I envy…
Oh, I envy them.

I may mistake the modern day for Salem.
We seem to be mirroring the crazy then verbatim.
Back then, the hysterical banter was of witchcraft and bewitchment.
Now it’s plotless allegations with no plausible way to prove it.

Someone accuses another of a devious deed,
No trial, no proof, I guess that’s no longer a need.
Just escort them, with haste, to the center of the stage,
Light the fire and burn them alive,
Leaving the liar to tell another lie.
The only witchcraft that I see,
Is how people, so thoughtlessly,
Get so passionate about events so petty,
That they become a mob, a stormy sea.
It has nothing to do with their lives,
But they see a cause and sharpen their knives.
A primitive desire to antagonize,
What we believe to be bad, but based on lies.

Truth has become subjective,
Despite its definition, objective.
I can spur a web of lies,
Witchcraft in disguise.
No need for evidence, it doesn’t have to be airtight,
Just enough to incite the urge to fight.
Isn’t that a sorry sight?

“Burn the witches!” They’d scream in Salem.
“Cancel them!” Is the modern verbatim.
They don’t deserve to tell their side,
Just shut them down and ostracize.
Guilty until proven innocent,
Dripping with bitterness and discontentment.
It’s a lose-lose for the accused,
At least they don’t meet their end at the end of a noose.

Perhaps the witches we need to burn,
Are the ones who accuse without evidence to confirm.
Why is the burden of proof on the accused,
And not the ones who defame and misuse,
Justice for a few moments in the news?
Burn naivety, which says that people always tell the truth,
And understand that, sometimes, people are just cruel.
Send the liars out into the center of the stage,
State their case, their proof, and who’s to blame.
Due process, not this foolish nonsense,
Based on feelings used against us.
Before we’re all bewitched by passion,
Which overcomes our reason.

In every field of roses,
There is one that is golden.
It shimmers and glimmers in the light,
From the Sun in the morn, and the Moon at night.
Its petals are glamorous.
Sometimes they reside inside a forest.

There’s always a bee,
For every golden rose.
The hive sees nothing,
Only the chosen bee knows.
A game played since time began,
The game of love, where few seem to win in the end.

He had found his golden rose,
They had grown rather close.
Her golden hair sparkled in the light,
Whether throughout the day or at night.
She was…glamorous,
And they bought a house near a forest.
Life seemed to be going well,
He had her and never thought of anyone else.
But sometimes bees cheat at fate’s game,
And the golden rose was a victim of this plague.

The bee came home one night,
Light emanated from the bedroom.
The bee opened the door,
And he lost everything that he could lose.
His golden rose was with another,
They had been together all night.
Evidence all o’er the floor and the king-sized bed.
They were in the bathroom,
Showering with the new, pristine shower head.

The bee had been played for a fool,
False gold covered the rose he was devoted to.
All at once, her shimmer faded away,
Her petals wilted as they decayed.
The rival bee held onto the rose,
As he kissed her on the nose,
The fool had been planning to propose,
To his supposed…golden rose.

For every bee there is a golden rose,
But there are many fakes, covered in fool’s gold.
They crush the bee, make them lose their wings,
And leave nothing but heartache that stings.

Built-up frustrations and transgressions have come to a head,
You’ve decided that enough is enough.
You carry your newly filled gasoline cans,
Can’t believe that this is how it ends.
You pour the gasoline,
All over the wooden, fractured planks.
And as you douse the bridge with kerosene,
Some of the boards groan and even break.
You light a match and stare at the flame,
Contemplating everything.
How your friends stabbed you in the back and ran away,
How they treated you like dirt, but you took it anyway.
How you were desperate, and it caused you pain.
How you never felt like you belonged with them either way.
So you flick the match,
And listen to the satisfying crackle of the flames.
But don’t feel bad,
Sometimes bridges burn, and that’s okay!

I know a girl named Daisy,
She wears a smile on the daily.
Even when the world is feeling hazy,
She sprouts up like a daisy.
I don’t know how she smiles,
And hides all her pain.
I don’t know how she talks,
Like everything’s okay.
I wish I knew her secret,
About feeling bliss,
Despite all the melancholy,
And the darkness.
But nobody knows,
What it’s like at home.
When she’s all alone,
Does she cry into her pillow?
She wakes up the next day,
Puts a smile on her face,
How does she deal with the pain?
She brings joy to every room,
Things feel less like gloom and doom.
Even when morale feels low,
She makes me feel less alone.
If she can smile despite,
The things that occurred in her life,
Then surely I,
Could be a daisy too.

Most have a monotonous mountain of molasses,
And, I hear they’re returning in masses.
Always viscous and vicious to prevent one’s escape.
We’re all just pawns in their grand game.
To bind us, tantalize us, and break us repeatedly.
Lie, bribe, and shatter our fleeting sense of security.
To lull us into a slumber meant for us to lose our dreams,
And then wake up and wonder what we’re meant to be.
It comes in many forms, and it’s called by many names,
All of them referring to the same sordid pile of shame.

Try as we might to escape unscathed,
Only to be bound and beaten until nothing but a husk remains.
The molasses surrounds us, pummeling us into the ground.
As we cry for help, but there’s no one around.
For they’re dealing with their own malicious mount,
Gagging us with worries to drown out every sound.
We struggle, although muffled, we try to overcome,

But even if we win, the battle isn’t won.
When we defeat a mountain, another swiftly takes its place.
This new one could be worse, as it grabs you in a devouring embrace.
You’ll overcome it; it’s a given, as many have before you.
But these battles, rest assured, will take your will to see them through.
These monotonous mountains are tenacious and cruel,
The molasses, so viscous, an evil witch’s brew.
Don’t think it’s honey, it isn’t nearly as sweet,
And don’t have the audacity to accept defeat.
It won’t be easy, after all, it is a war,
But one you can win with your shield and sword.

So, when you see a monotonous mountain of molasses,
Take solace, knowing full well you have the tools to surpass it!

Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who’s sane,
And maybe stating this is all in vain.
I look around at my peers, and I swear we aren’t the same.
Completely different faces and completely different names.
It’s not a profound declaration,
Or a shoddy improvisation,
And no amount of medication,
Could treat this impersonation.

Too much noise leads to vice.
That’s not even complicated advice.
If you leave people to their own devices,
You’ll find,
That’d we’d be better off leaving them all behind.
When they’re taken away,
You’re left with the glitchiness that remains,
Spouting the funniest thing,
That they heard in every sentence they say.

Perhaps I’m just an alien,
In an atmosphere I don’t belong.
A tree receiving acid rain,
A singer without a song.
I start questioning.
Does anybody think?
Or do they say whatever thoughts enter their brain?
Or if they do,
How many filters do they put their words through?
Are there harsh words I haven’t heard,
Because someone thought it’d be absurd?

Sometimes, it seems as if I’m the only one who’s sane,
But I know my thoughts, sometimes, can be rather deranged.
From fruitless worrying to self-deprecation without blame,
Perhaps, all of us are a tad insane.

If I had to think of one phrase to describe me,
It would be: “I feel…deeply.”
Happy to sad,
Melancholy to glad,
The good days feel amazing,
And the bad days feel…bad.
But I feel…deeply.

Sitting in a room full of people I’ve seen,
Talked with, greeted, and shared some things.
Yet, I still feel like a stranger,
Who wandered somewhere I shouldn’t be.
This lonely feeling,
I feel it…deeply.

Friends who’ve moved on,
Without a second thought,
Leaving me to fend for myself.
“Who needs anyone else?”
I’ll say to myself to muffle my grief,
But I still feel it…deeply.

Helplessness, entrapment,
All fueled by anxiety.
I gnaw at the ropes,
Trying desperately to break free,
With what little I control,
I guess I just go with the flow.
As I weep,
Because I feel…deeply.

Perhaps, I’m too different.
Perhaps, I’m not enough.
Perhaps, I’m just forgettable,
Perhaps, that’s all I ever was.
These fictitious thoughts creep into my reality,
As I feel…deeply.

I wish I were normal,
I wish I fit in,
And I wish I wasn’t abnormal,
But a normal bystander instead.
I know there’s only one of me,
And I should be the best me I can be,
But sometimes, it feels like,
I can’t even be me…right.
This, I feel…deeply.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t think,
Sometimes I wish I were less advanced.
Would it be easier,
Or would it be harder then?
Why does everyone around me seem to function like they’re fine,
While I’m struggling and crumbling on the inside?
Life never said it was going to be fair.
I just wish I didn’t care.
But instead, I drown in an ocean, searching for meaning,
This I feel…deeply.

What am I to do?
What am I to say?
“This is who I am.”
And go on with my day?
Sometimes I hate how I am,
My biggest hater is myself,
And no one else.
Though it’s easier to assume they do.
Even if it’s not the truth.
Sometimes I wonder how my life would be,
If I didn’t feel so…deeply.

I’m not afraid of heights, but of the fall.
I’m not afraid of addiction, but of the withdrawals.
I wish I could stop these circling thoughts,
But they keep on spinning.
I’m not afraid of imperfection, but of failure,
Miserably luring me,
To an askew belief.
If I fail once, was I a failure all along?
Can I do anything right?
Just add it to the tally,
Ever growing.
Another note to my somber song.
I’m not afraid to die, but of saying goodbye.
These thoughts, while dark sometimes,
I’d give everything to think of them one last time.
These fears remind me that I’m alive.
I’m not afraid of people, but of being judged.
Anxiety plunging me,
Into fictitious security.
Perhaps, I’m better off on my own,
All alone.
But you lose the chance to form connections,
To enjoy the people that surround you.
Perhaps, I should stop playing this game,
And admit that I am very much afraid.

Pluto floated somberly in his orbit that was askew,
Pondering the privilege that had been taken from his view.
He once was a part of the cool kids club.
Now just a floating rock.
Pluto remembered it vividly,
The moment a human discovered him initially.
Oh, how it filled him with such glee,
If only temporarily.
Jupiter was the biggest bully,
Chastised Pluto for his size,
Not that he could help it at all.
It gave the planets a point to talk.
Saturn and Neptune rolled their eyes.
Who was this ‘moon’ trying to join in on their fun?
Mercury screamed its disproval,
As it was blinded by the Sun.
Mars and Venus were indifferent,
And Uranus was Pluto’s one defendant.
Finally, the humans on Earth gave their verdict.
Pluto didn’t meet the criteria to be a planet.
He was immediately shunned,
His dwarf planet status had begun.
Not even the light from the Sun,
Cared to reach him at the edge of the solar system.
Pluto started to cry,
When Eris and Haumea floated by.
They lifted Pluto’s eyes.
Perhaps being chastised,
Was a blessing in disguise.

Vain loved his vanity,
From which he gazed at his vanity,
One might call it insanity,
Or self-centered depravity.
He loved the color in his eyes,
The prettiest blue, he surmised.
He praised the scar on his left thigh,
Despite its fracture in his picture-perfect guise.
He took another selfie,
To boast about his vanity,
But little did he know,
All he had to show,
Were about a million fans who loved his body,
And turned that into his entire personality.
One day, Vain woke up,
There were no comments on his post.
Something was amok,
It was as if he were a ghost.
Someone new had come onto the block,
A gorgeous girl named Guinevere.
Her post had put him into shock,
As his body shook with fear.
He quickly posed and took a selfie,
His fans rushed back only temporarily.
If he lost his purpose,
That meant the voices weren’t wrong when they called him worthless.
How could he deserve this?
Vain’s vanity was one of his biggest curses.
Guinevere won in the end,
She got the fans, the money, and all the fake friends.
Vain was gutted,
His heart was broken.
Was this preordained?
Was all of Vain’s vanity in vain?

I once was kidnapped by Dracula,
He took me to his castle in Transylvania,
Which, by the way, is in Romania,
In case you didn’t know.
He chained me to the wall,
Slapped me, cutting me with his claws,
Before he decided to withdraw,
And sit on his throne.
I said,
“I think there’s a misunderstanding between us.
This bad blood isn’t anything serious,
Sure, I was wrong for being too envious,
But, please, don’t do anything heinous.
I’ll apologize,
Just spare my life,
Is this quarrel worth a fight?
Let’s rationalize instead.”
Dracula laughed,
Lightning cracked,
Followed by a thunderclap,
As if the world were terrified.
He walked over and held my face,
Squeezing it tightly, causing me pain,
He smiled, showing off his bloodied fangs.
I started to cry.
He said,
“You think this is just bad blood,
Like when a loving couple breaks up?
You’re tempting me with that smell of strawberry,
And I’m fighting the urge to feed on your blood.
This isn’t some game you play,
You said some awful things,
But when I bite back, you claim an attack,
And suddenly I’m the one who’s deranged?”
He laughed,
I didn’t talk back.
He was right, I was wrong,
I had been all along.
And now I was face to face,
With the monster I created, due to my mistakes.

Russel was given the nickname ‘Knowsy’,
Because he knew just about anything.
If the signs weren’t apparent, like the glasses on his nose,
Russel was a nerd, and believe me, Russel knows.
Whenever someone needed help on a test,
“Russel knows,” and he dealt with the rest.
When the **** needed to finish his homework,
“Russel knows,” and then the **** forced him to work.
Oh, the curse of knowledge,
How the nerd turns from a laughing stock to a precious commodity.
Reduced from a human,
To a know-it-all without an identity beyond his brain.
Russel hated how he knew this pain.
Haley needed a favor,
An assignment was due,
And she couldn’t afford to fail.
So she went to Russel,
Not knowing about his crush,
Would his heart prevail?
He was skeptical,
Why was the prettiest girl in the world talking to him?
He had envisioned this in his head,
But it was only hypothetical.
Russel knew that it was too good to be true,
When the first words she said were,
“What did you get on number two?”
He was being used…again.
Russel knows how it feels to have your smarts be used against you.
Russel knows how knowledge can wound you.
Russel knows these things to be true.

Ouroboros lived in a forest,
He could’ve been like anyone before us.
He lived his life filled with pride,
Masking plenty of issues on the inside.
Ouroboros always believed he was in the right,
Despite the many times he was on the wrong side,
He lived his life filled with pride.
A constant cycle,
In the shape of a circle.
He never learned from his mistakes,
He just brushed them off onto another day,
His friends and family wished he would change,
But he remained the same.
Ouroboros lived in a forest,
He convinced himself that it wasn’t due to his poor choices.
He could’ve been like anyone before us,
Poor Ouroboros.
A constant cycle of believing you're constantly in the right,
A never-ending circle consistently spinning because of pride.
Is it worth it to throw everything on the line,
Just because you can’t accept that your side,
Of the issue isn’t the only one on people’s minds?
Poor Ouroboros,
A somber chorus,
And the poor forest can’t ignore his cries.
All this strife due to pride.

Flora loved the fireworks, though she couldn’t hear,
Feeling anticipation growing as the day approached that year.
Fire condensed in controlled explosions,
Full of color, optical wonder,
Flashing sparks and views that rivaled stars.
Finally, the moment arrived,
Flora set out on her drive,
Fear and reverence on the inside,
Focusing on her mind,
Feeling joy that now was the time.
Flashing colors across the sky,
Flora covered in many different colors,
Fauna running to their mothers,
Fawns falling from the shaking of the booms.
Flora felt like she was flying,
Fascinated by the sparkles that were shining.
Flora realized,
Fireworks are more than just a recreational display we shoot in the sky,
Fireworks are memories burning bright!
Flora may not have been able to hear them, but she reasoned that was all right.

In her eyes, he saw the sea,
A mighty ocean staring back.
When she told him she wanted to leave,
He could feel his heart crack.
When she said that it was over,
Felt like he was swimming underwater.
He thought he would drown,
All this pain, hidden behind a frown,
As he sank deeper down.
In his eyes, she saw defeat,
Not to mention all the pain.
When she told him she wanted to leave,
She ignored the rain.
When she said that it was over,
She took the first step out of the water.
She wasn’t going to drown,
She was tired of sinking down,
Even if she had to make him frown.
No amount of therapy,
Could save them from the raging sea…

The singer wrote her pain on a page,
And sang her songs on a stage.
She was going to be engaged,
Till her boyfriend left in a rage.
She wrote another song,
Feeling like she had been dragged along.
She wished he hadn’t been so headstrong,
Perhaps her heart had just been wrong.
She never quite moved on,
Though she found another guy,
One who truly loved her, one who made her heart flutter,
She still had him in the back of her mind.
One day, she and her new fiancé,
Went on a date, and she saw him with someone new.
She knew it had been long ago,
But when she saw them kiss, her heart fractured in two.
Her fiancé didn’t know what to say,
As she ran away, overcome by pain,
She found herself on a stage; she wanted to flush the memories away,
So she opened her mouth,
To an empty crowd,
And she sang.

One day, I met the Wendigo,
It told me things that I’d rather not have known.
My family asked me, “Where did it go?”
Who was I to tell?
It visited me later that night,
It gave me quite a fright,
It said, “Scream and I guarantee you won’t survive!”
So I closed my mouth and didn’t dare rebel.
It told me,
“People hunt what they don’t understand,
They can’t even decide who they want to be.
They act like they have this massive plan,
But in reality, they’re afraid of becoming a nobody like me!”
I asked meekly,
“What do you mean?”
It snarled its teeth,
And said to me,
“Some people believe that identity,
Is solely based on how they feel.
But it also has to do with society,
And the people they are around,
And how they are seen,
Not just what they believe.
They think that they can hide,
From the person they try to bury,
Under estranged beliefs,
So they consume whoever they see,
Who doesn’t believe their facade,
And they become like me.”
The Wendigo left,
Quiet as a mouse.
I set up on my bed,
And contemplated the truth I found.
I am me,
But when I talk down to myself,
Try to believe I’m worth less than everyone else,
That isn’t my identity,
That’s an askew belief.
Identity isn’t solely based on me…

I went on a walk,
I found a tree,
In its branches,
Was your face staring back at me.
I began to cry,
I couldn’t stop,
It made me realize how much I miss you,
Since you’re gone.
I know it’s been years,
But it still burns,
I find myself shedding tears,
As the world continues to turn.
I still hear your voice,
Playing on repeat,
In my head,
In a desperate plea,
To convince myself,
With a placebo,
That perhaps,
You didn’t leave us alone.
But it’s getting faint,
As I forget,
How your voice once sounded,
But I don’t want to lose you yet.
How can I move on,
From someone,
Who touched my heart,
Now that you’re gone?

Acne,
Such a pain, reminding me,
Of my imperfections.
Please leave me be,
This insurrection.
Entrapping me,
In captivity.
Such misery,
Every time I look,
In the mirror,
Another reminder.
Such imperfection,
Fills me with trepidation.
Why must you torture me?
Why can't you just leave me be?

Summer starts soon,
Junior year is on the horizon.
Childhood dried up by the drought.
I believe things will turn out well,
Yet, I doubt.
Just stop thinking and enjoy,
The last summer before life starts for real.

The casino owner,
Loved taking money from others.
Just set a million-dollar prize,
And everyone is surprised,
So they flock to the casino,
To ruin their lives.
Not that the owner cares,
Money in his pocket,
To pay for all his affairs.
All of the money,
Anyone could ever want,
So he spent it,
To expand the gambling.
More bills rolled in,
Which he used to pay the bills,
Of the growing establishment.
No amount of money,
Was ever enough,
And eventually,
The casino owner went bankrupt.
The people were tired of being lied to,
So they started a mob,
And robbed the casino.
They burned it to the ground,
No more money to be found.

A trusted advisor,
A friend,
Someone you can rely on,
Through thick and thin.
Someone to hold out,
A guiding hand,
Someone to cheer you on,
When you reach the end.
There’s something special,
Knowing someone believes in me,
Despite everything.
It gives me hope,
That perhaps one day,
I’ll become something!
All because of a few words said,
From a mentor, a trusted friend.

Sometimes,
My mind,
Decides,
To scare me.
Feeling,
Indifferent,
All-consuming,
Apathy.

Letting go is just a way to cope,
With the truth that some things are just out of our control.
We can hope that things get better,
That it’s just some unpleasant weather,
But in the end, it’s best to just let it go.
No need to drown in “What ifs?”
A waste of mental resources.
Multitasking,
And balancing,
The grief,
While remembering,
What we had,
Seems like an eternity ago.
I’ll bury those times,
Beneath a tree,
And plant a rose.
In the end,
It feels freeing,
To just let it go.

Inside the insane asylum,
That I go to five days a week.
Straightjacket tight,
I can barely breathe.
Listening to all the inmates,
Contemplating all their mistakes,
I can’t even sleep.
They continuously repeat,
The same lines over and over again.
When is my reprieve?
Better be soon, before my mind turns to a ruin.
“Blah, blah, blah.”
That’s all I hear.
Their voices, drowning out,
Every other peaceful sound.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah.”
I feel the blood flow from my ears,
As I look to the ground,
And fade into the background.
Can’t believe I still have a couple years.
When I break free, will my fears control me?
Sometimes it feels like I’m surrounded by,
Sheep that would just follow the crowd,
Till they died.
Am I going crazy…?
Or is it just all hyperbole…?

Optimism can be,
Very much fulfilling, or,
Exhaustingly bland.

Pessimism makes a,
Darkened cloud cover up the,
Shining, blinding Sun.

Cynicism blurs the,
Line between friend or foe 'cause,
Everyone’s corrupt.

Altruism means that,
I should help others without,
Pondering the cost.

I always find it funny,
How some people relish judging,
Others, when their own lives aren’t,
Perfectly pristine.
Would it be so hard,
To keep those thoughts within?
Instead of putting another down,
With foolish whims.
Who are you to decree,
What’s morally okay,
Or what’s socially acceptable,
When you’re broken in your own way?
Stay in your bubble,
Sometimes it’ll keep you out of trouble.
If your life is a mess,
Then I don’t need you telling me how to live mine!
But, I digress…

The arsonist burned everything to ash.
He’d already been hurt in the past.
Due to his fear and lack of cheer,
He’d burn the world down,
Back to the ground.
He’d never let anyone touch him,
Their fingers would be set aflame.
Who needs companionship?
The arsonist thought everyone was the same.
They’d all burn him,
So he’d burn them first.
They’d all hurt him,
So he’d make sure he’s the worst.
So no one will bother,
As he pours the kerosene.
He lights the match,
Stares at the flame,
Wishing that his heart could take the pain.
She left him for another guy,
And he always wondered why,
She betrayed him after he had promised his life,
And stabbed him in the back with a knife.
He flicked the flame into the fuel.
Heard the symphony of crackling.
He’d take the whole world with him,
As it all burned down, he was cackling.

Is the villain just,
A broken, bleeding, hurting,
Human, or not?

Perhaps their pain is,
Justified. But does it clear,
Their slate, leaving crumbs?

Do they feel remorse?
Do they feel any regret, or
Are they too broken?

Listen to their tale,
You do not have to agree.
Show them empathy.

Such a simple thorn,
Suffocating my nose and,
Clogging up my brain.

The hill I will die on,
Is that most battlefields aren’t worth dying on.
Some people see a mob,
And grab their pitchforks and their torches,
Without even understanding,
What they’re fighting for.
Perhaps they love the bloodshed,
Perhaps they love the gore,
Perhaps they feel righteous indignation,
And are adamant to settle the score.
It could be some primal need to fight,
Or some could be sure that they’re right.
Either way, I don’t see the point,
I understand that sometimes a war is just,
Most times, it feels like a bust.
A waste of money,
A waste of time,
A waste of precious human lives.
All for what? Some measly land?
How greed corrupts the righteous hands.
So the hill I will die on,
Is that some battles aren’t worth fighting,
That they aren’t worth the pain.
The lives they ruin,
The families they break,
The friendships covered in contusions,
The human souls that are broken and bruised.
All for what?

Waiting for the one,
Single perfect moment when I,
Finally, feel free.

When I breathe and it,
Feels like I am alive and,
Everything is fine.

When that moment comes,
Appreciation will spread,
Smiling happily.

Sometimes when the world feels too bilow,
I cover up my ears.
I fade into the shadows,
And wipe my dripping tears.
Nothing ever seems to be policanary,
Always moving further on,
With no destination…
Tune out the jabberwocky.
Ignore the noise.
Maybe I’m a crybaby,
Or am I poised?
Listening to all the shouting,
Drowning in all the loudness,
Shuddering at my plonious thoughts,
That fuel my fears.
What am I to do?
I must continue,
To push through,
This kilomuny, trepidary,
Oligarny, relinbary,
Foolish jabberwocky.