after the rain....:)i was standing in my garden,barefoot,feeling the sun on my face.......and reflecting on how c came into my life.Suddenly it was cloudy and it rained cats and dogs.i .......just stood dr , let d rain flow ovr me, through me.................................................................And then it was all ovr....i felt the warm sunlight again on my face.The only difference was that my clothes were heavy....wet ; and my bare feet had mud clinging on to it........just like those sweet memories of her...........clinging on to my heavy heart........
.tell me a lie_she said, "Lie to me" he said, "I love you"
I Have NeverI have never quite forgiven myselfI have never felt like I deserve betterI have never felt so depressedAnd I guess I have never felt loveI have never had a smaller hopeI have never had so much faithI have never cried so many timesAnd I guess I have never felt so lostI have never ever been so thoughtfulI have never in my dreams grinded so wideI have never lost my faith in youBut I guess, that's why it hurts
read when you feel drainedThere will be dayswhen your thoughts overflow,teeminglike hot teain the kettle of your mindand you may feelsteeped like a tea bag,as everyone extractswhat you have to offer,and you're s l o w l y becoming drained but just rememberwhen you're put in hot water:you have the strength to change it into something greater.
portrait of rosaliemy grandmother devoursphoto albumslike Tolstoy novels,mémoire aprés mémoire aprésmémoire.she tells me the same storyabout her first jobwithout a carfive times over,looking awayto anotherworld,black & white to me,but full-color to her.alzheimer's is a language.like french, it isjust another part of her.she does not rememberconversations from a week agoor to turn over laundry,but she remembersbus rides in the south, pre-1964,white weddings ingrey cathedralsthat are shopping malls now.i have learned to translateher repetition,the ways she can tellthe same memoryagain and againlike it is the first time.for this, too,is language:the new inflections in her voice,new details,the tears that frequenther glassy eyeslike uninvited guestsshe lets in anywaymy grandmother'salzheimer'sis a neologist,changes the waywe communicatenow.trauma is passedthrough generationslike hand-me-down clothes.c'est héréditaire.my grand
AddictedYou ignore the warnings, the pleas of the people around you Because you know what's right for you.You start with one but it's not enough.Then comes along two, then three and you're still not satisfied.As the people around you fade, you don't care.You have what you want, what you crave, what you need,Because you know what's right for you.As your frame of mind begins to change,The numbers begin to spiral, You aren't doing it for fun anymore; it controls you,It becomes a part of your routine.Twenty-Seven.. Twenty-Eight.. Twenty-Nine..It all feels the same,You wonder what happened. But you listen to yourself, assuming it's nothingBecause you know what's right for you.The people you once loved hate you.This virus continues to consume who you were,who you are,who you wanted to be.This is no longer a game.The addiction is killing you, from the inside out.But it's far too late now,Because you thought you knew what was right for you.
cry for...cry for...the girl who sees fatin all the wrong placesand wishes for a wayto eliminate it quicklythe boy who strayedpopping pills like candynearly drowning in sorrowand creating a single red linethe girl who feels deformedno matter what you see in herhow lovely she truly isshe's convinced it's all liesthe boy who has to hide himselfand holds more secrets than you knowbut let's me see inside his heartand stays strong for us boththe girl who just wants lovebut keeps doing it the wrong wayshe may not see it but i canand she needs help before it's too latecry for us, strangers to youbut not to othersfor we are the young onessuffering in silencebegging to be heard
an apology to anyone who'll listen It begins with a wishand ends with a sigh.I am in love with boys whodon't exist and girls who I sometimespretend are myself. Spineless,spiteful, and one hundred percentsporadic, I'm becoming undone.When I wasyounger I thought itwas a sin ifyour parents didn'tlove each other. Now Iknow that it'sjust the way this world works. And hell,I need you right now; to tell me that gaining four pounds in three days is typical to tell me that living in a dream every second is perfectly okay to tell me that I'm normal, that I'm still sane, that I'm not going to close my eyes one day and never open them again.Don't look at me. Please, just don't lookat me. I can't remember the last time I had no regrets.
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dearDepression isn’t real.It’s just a silly tragedyYou’ve forced yourself to feel.Anxiety is fake, my friendYou wonder why it’s there.But others have it worse than you!Stop forming false despair.Cutting is dramatic, love,It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.Why not just get over it?Is the attention fun?Suicide is stupid, dear,And selfish, if I may.Get over yourself, darling,Can you hear these things I say?Why aren’t you replying, love?Oh, where could you have gone?I never meant to hurt you, love,Did I say something wrong?Why aren’t you replying, dear?Depression isn’t true!…Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...Just maybe not for you.
AnxietySometimes,Sick isn't somethingYou can see.When I'm standing there -Sweaty palmsHeart racingFists bracing -Absolutely terrifiedFor 'no reason at all',I hope it makes youFeel big and tall,To tell me I'm being stupid.When I can't talk to someone -Because my throat is dry,And I feel sick,Like I can'tCatch my breath,Like I'm going to cryLike I'm hurtlingTowards death -Don't tell me to'Get over myself'.When I'm crying -Can't breathe,And my kneesGo weakAnd I'm too scaredTo speakAnd every heartBeatMakes me jump -How can you tell meI need to 'grow up'?When I can't get on a bus -Because so many people,So many eyes,And my mind is force-feedingMe so many lies -Don't tell me I 'think I'm betterThan everyone else'.I'm trying my hardest.Really, I am.Would you tell someone with a broken legTo just get up and walk?Would you tell someone with no tongueTo open their mouth and talk?Would you tell a wingless angelTo fly?No.So tell me why -When it is