Change

Apparently I’m too old, an adult now, don’t have a lot of time to be a child.

You’re busy and reality’s got a strong hold. You’re forgetting how the wind feels running through your hair, how the sun shine gives the warmest embrace, how we’d light fires in the dark just to see the sparks.

But if we could get lost, let loose, just one more time, the world wouldn’t seem so bleak.

And moving on, standing alone, wouldn’t feel so painful- it wouldn’t be so stressful.

We’re changing.

It’s scary.

And I just need you to stand beside me, to hold my hand, to remind me that if we change it’s for the better… Most of the time…

We’ll end up in a better place… I hope.

She.

With peace in her heart and only the most positive thoughts filling her brain, she will never be weighed down by the darkness of hate.

She trusts the unknown so easily, is the first to get hurt, the last to show pain, and the first to stand tall and strong in the face of danger.

She soaks in knowledge as if every bit of information were to  be lost tomorrow. The brain is the greatest weapon, and she will never tell you otherwise.

Supportive and understanding; she’ll never stop listening to the words of every individual and will always be there for anyone in need.

She collects friends, all unique in their own way. Judging another is a sin to her; she wouldn’t dare judge a sacred soul.

She has her ups and her downs yet, she deals with each day with the kindest and brightest of smiles.

She is the idealist. 

She is the future.

I Won’t—I Can’t Forget

Travelling room to room,
The dust-filled quiet I don’t—I won’t forget.
From shelving, pick a sorry tower,
Lego-built and losing power.
Pictures, stained and dusty now,
Bring memory of a great adventure.
A tiny locket, craving scour,
For emotions sake, I don’t—I can’t linger.
A light switch nears and here I stumble,
On a little boy’s once speeding car.
Walls, once painted, raging red
Faded down—now dull, defeated.
Dust, I try, but soon move on;
Washing windows, I attempt.
In hope to, once more, visit past,
I change light bulbs—long ran dead.
And watching from a speeding world,
The past no longer seems so far.

Playing House

A seething soul on tiled floors,
White and black and cold.
The lasting quiver of slamming doors
Set by Loathing, uncontrolled.
Panic hiding behind doors and in drawers,
Folded in by triggered pains.
Daring are Love and sweet Remorse,
Playing house, and making claims.
Spite, in humour, opens window’s veils.
Frustration rips them down;
Shredding, ripping, and tearing, he wails,
My mind a damaged crown.