I’m writing a book.

I’m creating this world.

It’s full of brilliant and bad people. People who kill and cry and people who smile and die a little inside. It’s full of people you’d pass on the street and people who’d scare the ever living life out of you. And it makes me wonder...

Is my world out there somewhere? Am I a god to those people? I’ve made them. I’ve given them all history and gods and names and stories.

Do they know I’m here? I don’t know everything that happens in their world it’s much too big. But I care. I wonder if they think I’ve abandoned them? Do they think that I don’t exist? The gods I’ve birthed to guide them are the ones who came first? Do they believe in any of it at all?

Is there someone writing a book about the world I’m in? Is that why it’s so strange sometimes and the craziest things happen? Is there someone in my world birthing another one as we speak? Will we ever actually know?

I want to collect weird art

And be friends with funny and kind people

People who are just a little off like me

I want to write books that make your soul sing and sink at the same time

Giving birth to universes that I can make good things happen in for sure

While trying to help them understand why the bad things need to happen too

I want to eat good food in sunny fields after long walks

Food that tastes like melted sunrises and soured seas

I want to look at the people around me and see the love I have for myself mirrored in their eyes

I put myself on this planet to experience many things all at once..

but I’ve decided today instead of doing the many things

I’m just going to lay on this couch with you and be a seat sunken body filled with fits of emotion that will have to be untangled later

For right now I’m not doing anything I’m just being

I was put on earth to do whatever I possibly could with the power I have in my hands. Now I’ve chosen to do good with that power. I’ve chosen to lift others up. But I can’t do that if I’m constantly worrying or trying to have the power other people have. I can’t have their hands I can’t have their power. God gave me my own two hands with the just perfect amount of power and love in them for me. It would be a shame to spend a lifetime shaping them into someone else’s only to find their powerless.

It’s a hard thing to feel

The want to be soft

When you were born a thousand sharp edges

Dipped in steel and raised in fire

It’s a hard thing to know

That you can’t even fake the part

Your eyes glint too harshly

And you smile too hard

I hate how happy you make me sometimes

I hate how much I smile

I hate that you showed me I really am a happy person

Sometimes I could convince myself I’d just been masquerading

I’d been hiding the sad beneath my skin

But no

You stole that little comfort right from under my nose

I can’t pretend anymore

I can’t pretend that I’m faking it

Because I’m not anymore

I was

For a long time I was

And then I got stronger and wasn’t

And yet I still felt like I was faking it

Like it wasn’t real

Until you made me realize it was

That my happy soul was meant to come along and meet someone like you

I’m going to write down my deepest darkest fear

Because then it might not look so big

I’m scared you’ll leave

I’m scared I’ll learn to love you and you’ll leave

I don’t want to keep being left

I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts once again

I almost drowned the first time

I don’t know if could bare the rapids again

But there is a small part of me that knows you probably will leave

In the end that’s probably my fate

But there’s a tiny sliver of hope I’m going to hang on to until my last breath

Until you slam the door of forever in my face

I’m going to keep reaching my finger tips toward your hand

And if one day they meet your closed fist

I’ll probably crumble

But I’ve braved the rapids once and survived

What’s a second time?

I’ve got quite a bit ambition

For someone as simple as me

You’d think I’d learn their lessons

The ones they shove down my throat with glee

But I refuse to give up on my dreams just yet

There’s still too much hope left in this heart of mine

I’ve got a poet’s soul, a writer’s mind and a lover’s heart

A combination that could outlast the last dying star

You know I'd really like to know if it will end

This pounding in my head

The screaming voices that won't quiet

The constant verbal diet

I think for a second I've made it through

And then once again the bottle will unscrew

Flooding all the fears and tears

All the emotions I've locked away for years

You think that you've made it through

But every time there is something new

It sets off the old trauma

Reenacted like a victorian drama

I'd love to say I'm living proof

That you can let go of the things that haunt you

But I know that I'm a sham

Cause I still cling to tightly to my demons

To ever be considered one of the saved