reach for the stars

you said

but your actions

did not match your

words, instead

you held me down

at the dirt of the

earth, kicking it

in my face as

i lay on the floor

and you called it

“tough love”.

only it wasnt tough

love at all, but i

was too blind to

see it. it was manipulation

and envy and panic

all that i might actually

reach my goals, my

dreams, before you had

the chance to do so for

yourself. and you made me

feel bad about it.

reach for the stars

he tells me

and he means it.

he uplifts me when i

fail at first and praises

me when i finally succeed.

with him, we are in the

clouds, and we call it home.

we are halfway to the stars

now, and if i fall, he

will catch me.

reaching towards

the sun

as she rests

on the string

pulled tight

that is the

horizon

begging her

to start

a

new

day

as we sit

in this stillness

waiting

for

the

wind

to

arrive

There's

a

monster

that

lives

inside

me

and

I'm

forever

reaching

down

to

quash

it

.

I desperately reach out

grasping, for something else

but nothing else follows

not even their shadows.

I often feel lost

in a sea of possibility

reaching for something

that resembles lost fantasies.

Disquieting thoughts lie

they say it’s all futile

but as I breathe...I must also try.

It felt as if a tidal wave of darkens washed over him, and he was getting sucked into the ocean.

He kicked, but his legs just got stuck in the mud-like feeling.

His arms reached out, and he tried to reach for the light above him.

It was no use, he was sinking into the abyss and the light was getting further.

He continued reaching, his hand hardly visible by the light, and he felt as if it was only an inch away from his finger tips.

The mud-like water clouded his vision, as well as forcing his limbs in place.

He tried to move his arms, but it was too thick, and he was left sinking into the darkness, still reaching for his freedom as his eyes closed.

Reaching for that box

That very box

It causes nothing but pain

Pricked by the point of every sharp edge

Every year

Over and over again

Until the memories are hung

My job is done when the box of bandaids run out

And every salvageable ornament is out of the box

Those broken christmas tree decorations

They get me

every

single

year

I need something.

I am not seeing it.

I am not feeling it.

I am not finding it.

I am not very patient.

I want something to happen.

I wait.

I stir.

I pace.

I easily get so frustrated.

I have the means for it.

I waste them.

I lose them.

I drop them.

I use them for something else.

I expect someone's help.

I give hints.

I speak louder.

I get demanding.

I keep reaching to reach.