Death doesn't like his job,
anymore than some of us like ours,
and when he calls forth the gentle flowers,
to answer for their lives,
he hides his tears.
Do I Dare?How....
Am I even allowed to ask?
Because it feels as if I'm not supposed to.
How do I live with this depression,
when it's caused by the very people,
who call me friend?
The QuietI'm not a loud person.
I laugh and cry and smile,
and I am happy and I am sad.
But I'm not loud.
I hold my emotions close and I deal them out like cards,
only when someone asks and never....
never when I think they aren't ready.
Though I'm a terrible judge.
I'm not loud, not really,
I curl up in a corner every afternoon to do my homework,
and it's loud sometimes,
and I can't stand it.
I love silence.
The stillness that isn't broken
by the roaring noises of sisters,
I've never been loud.
But I learned to be,
I used to be the quietest of my siblings,
so quiet and so observant,
I was so observant that I observed
that people didn't notice me.
They didn't see me or pay attention,
I was a wall flower and I didn't want to be.
I was sick of being pushed aside and
treated like I didn't exist so I became loud.
I learned to be loud.
I learned to be loud,
in life and in love and in saying,
I learned that people don't listen very well,
and they don't have good hearing,
Brace for ImpactIt is not the fall that hurts,
or the dive.
It is when you hit the bottom,
the bottom of the ocean or the dry
hard, brick of land.
Everyone knows this,
in their hearts and minds,
but who prepares us?
Who tells us?
Instead they say,
rather than telling us just...
how to put our bones back.
How to stitch our skin over
the holes that have been created from
splattering against a hard surface,
or how to empty our lungs of the water,
that has filled them this entire time.
There are two kinds of falling as well,
through water and through air,
one slow and sinking and you cannot escape,
no matter how hard you want to.
The other is quick, like a dive,
and at maximum velocity,
it all depends on how high up you were when you fell,
on how hard the landing hurts.
As the fall happens,
some don't realize it.
They only know not to fall and haven't been prepared,
to fall or to dive or to live with what has happened.
They weren't told how to brace for impact,
or how to think.
Things ChangeThings evolve,
they change and look different,
even though they are essentially the same,
and each time they look a little different,
fewer people notice.
It's like we're used to change,
the ever twisting fate that is our bodies,
and as time goes on we see only little things.
If you look ten or fifteen years,
down the road and past the time,
it turns out that you see all the differences.
Like the difference between your baby picture,
and the picture you take at the end of high-school,
when you're not quite an adult but you're not quite anything more...
and college rears its ugly head and things turn different than before.
It's weird looking back even just six months,
because six months is all it took,
to take away my happiness,
and now I'm just a gaunt version of myself,
fatter in some ways but dead in others.
Go MadWatch the clock tick,
and you'll go mad,
but what if you watch it tick,
and you don't go mad at all?
Perhaps you've always been mad,
and no one took the time to notice...
How Do I Learn to Cope?Learn to cope?
Learn to cope?!
I wasn't taught how to cope.
I had mathematics and English shoved down my throat,
and science pushed in my ears,
and history smeared across my eyes.
How the hell am I supposed to learn how to cope,
when I had politics bubbling into one ear,
and emotions bubbling out the other,
and I was told to have some 'self-control'
and to not express what I feel because this
"is a learning environment".
How am I supposed to understand,
how to deal with pain and loss,
when I'm told that I should always be happy,
and things like this should just be
gotten over as if they didn't happen.
As if they didn't matter.
I've been taught how to graph a parabola,
and how to sketch x to the third.
I've been taught that money matters,
and I'm getting no where unless I manage to get a job.
I've been taught that I had better be able to read
and to write or I'm not getting into college.
I've been taught that I better understand my country's history,
but that world history is a small se
My own problemsYou know I care about her,
she's my friend,
I'm curious to learn about him,
but leave me now,
I have my own problems.
tsoris.how to live with an
at four, wear the dress she bought you
and promised to hem
and let her touch your hair when she's
sober and crying; tell yourself
that mommy is sick and mommy is sad
but it will get better, because that's
daddy said. watch her pack her things
into cardboard boxes
she will never have the guts to retrieve from your
father's garage. tell yourself
that mommy needs to go on a drive in that
big red van and then
she will fix the dress and then you two will
go on a drive together (because
that's what she said).
when you start school and see
all the girls come to class
with their hair in
pretty braids, try not to miss her– ask
your dad to braid your
hair and do not cry
when he struggles to pull it into a pony-tail
that is too tight. do not cry when
you cannot go to the
mommy-daughter girl scout
sleepovers, because mommy will be home soon;
she told you that on
the phone (but you couldn't understand
what she was really
Silent SpacesBeneath a double moon
misting over with clouds
waves wash a mourning
over jagged rock silhouettes.
Space sits idle--
stars lost, no lights to follow home,
wind-bent palm trees
instead of reading them.
Birds shape strong feathers
through silent breezes,
beaks empty--songs forgotten.
The planet lives and sleeps silently;
on a beach abandoned, littered with shells,
a lonely glass jar smears the ink
down an unread note
with sweating tears.
twenty-fivei burned through this summer
like a pack of cheap cigarettes.
all these snowflakes in my lungs
keep chaffing the burns.
It's Not a HobbyNot just a hobby
Not just for fun
It’s a passion
Its beat and you are one
Not just a hobby
Not for when you’re bored
Is so much more
Not just a hobby
It is part of you
Something that keeps you going
Like people have no clue
HumanAll of us are born human.
But not all of us die human.
Some of don’t die at all.
A human recognizes their brethren
Without having to ask any questions.
They can tell who you are and what you are
With confident accuracy.
A human will shed a tear
Whenever the clock strikes twelve.
It doesn’t matter if they see it or hear it,
They know when it happens and that it must.
A human will accept the fact
That time is continuous.
They know that the world won’t stop for them,
And that they cannot stop for the world.
A human bares two hearts
And perishes when one of two ceases.
No heart can beat forever,
And nothing can change that.
A human has three voices
That cannot be silenced.
A human has two eyes
That cannot be blinded.
A human has two ears
That cannot be deafened.
A human has one life,
That cannot be ignored.
A human is regarded as a human
A human is thinking, breathing
A human has rights and freedoms
And ceases to exist once they g
And Then She Was Born and Spoilt It AllThey say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
But sometimes - I'd rather say, often - beauty becomes the synonym of perfection.
Either perfection or nothing.
Imperfect result is equal to zero result.
All criteria must be accomplished, or it all is a flop.
There are seven criteria.
There could be more, but I'll stop here.
Doesn't remind you of anything?
"Please tell me if she has brain pathologies".
"Why do you think so?"
"She got a B. And she knows it well that she must only get As".
"I've got an impression that you had a plan of her development before she was born..."
"Yes! And then she was born and spoilt it all!"
Every moment is precious.
By the time she's one, she is to be able to speak frequently, and two languages at least.
By the time she's two, she must be able to read and write.
By the time she's three, she is to begin studying at school.
Preferably not with snot-noses from first grade.
By the time she's f