“Willfully blind,” the paper said
and all the world knew it was true
though so many refused to acknowledge it
even to themselves

And so the once proud country
now caught in the gears of machinery dedicated to power and party
domination and debasement
slipped ever more closely
circling, spinning
toward the gaping maw of obliteration

You are a soft diamond
in the rain and morning light,
spectral at the surface
as dragonflies in flight,
delicate and beautiful
as blown and brindled sedge,
a rippled, dappled stream of light
I watch from water's edge.

I am a survivor
But I don’t feel like a survivor
Survivors are supposed to be brave, strong, and lucky
Survivors are fighters
Meanwhile, I’m scared, weak and I don’t ever feel lucky
I am a survivor but I am not a fighter
When people ask me how I feel or try to congratulate me, I start to break down inside
Even though I feel like my life is crashing down, I have to smile and act like everything is okay
Because when people think of survivors they think of them as heroes
I am not a hero, although everybody thinks of me as one

What If I could...
be rain to refresh you
with a small drop of hope
to wash away the sadness of say
be a rainbow after
the April shower to create
a colorful scenery in your paint
to bring a shining light into
your life with an ebullient smile
entertain you with a melody song
to cheer you on the dancing toes
bring you a magic wand
to grant what your heart
is wishing for
ease away the sorrowful day
to embrace you in a delightful way
To set you free from suffering
with a burden of pain

Be it gentle breeze or raging gale
Wind has always touched my soul,
To understand the tales of wind
Has always been my goal.

I've known the wind to give and take
I've known it to betray,
But I've also seen the gifts it brings
Lifting wings with gentle sway.

Some might choose to curse the wind
As they walk against its force,
Always seeming to fight some cause
As they struggle down their course.

Hello.

So soft the feathers.

Could I lie down and ask for the,

answer.

The only love I had known was like a bee to a cactus flower
So just as a bee, I dug my stinger in as far as it could go
trying desperately to attach
in return
I got ripped apart

I turned into a wasp
I can finally sting
without suffering greater
but little did I know
wasps
were a matriarch

Mothers
the backbone of society
yet some of those women
turn comfort
to anxiety

Red is the color of the chair that execute.
On the chair sits a prisoner,
while I stand and look him into the eyes.

He screams but no louder than I step onto the floor.
Could his scream ?

Forgive the murder.

If I could wind back the hands of time.
And reach the things
I've left behind.
I'd find the child
A troubled girl.
I'd catch her
Before she unravelled.
I'd hold her hand
Whilst she travelled.
I'd help her find
An Ear in which
She could confide.
I'd cut down
Those brambles
To clear a path.
So she would have
A different past.
The teen would send that application
And succeed in her vocation.
The single mum
Should have left,not run.

She'll never know the pain that I feel,
The loneliness that's all too real.
A mental health center she'll never see,
Friends always there, begging for her company.
She'll never feel the urge to end it all,
Or suffer from parents' abuse, now long gone.
Stealing and cheating, she'll never do,
She'll have a perfect life, it's true.
My mom says she's the favorite child,
With more friends than I had in a while.
She'll never disappoint, like I seem to do,