The Question

A life lived wrong
A life lived long
My life that came to an end
There were no pearly gates
Or hell cell mates
A question awaited me instead
On the day I died
They asked me where my passion lied
I thought and quietly said,
"It was within the torn out pages
The iron cages
And the loud thoughts within my head."

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I know it's been a while.
Bear with me.
I've been waiting for the right words to come but I've felt nothing, known nothing and therefore, had nothing to say.
Until now.                        
I long for change, constantly, and when it comes I never know what to do with it. Over and over again I get what I want, yet nothing is ever enough. It's as if I'm waiting for something to happen, something spectacular, something unrealistic. I've placed my hope in a dream I can't remember, and I wake up every morning thinking this world is hell.
Now I'm faced with another decision that could drastically change the next two, possibly more, years of my life. I don't know what to do, I don't know who to talk to, and worst of all, I don't think I care. I couldn't care less what happens and that scares me. I think I've let the indifference consume me and I think it's left me in a very dangerous place. I'm alright, but I'm always alright. I'm content, but I'm too content. Nothing excites me anymore and the only hope I have is in my dreams. I urgently need something to make me want to come back to reality.

Cyclists

I dreamt about bicycles last night. Logic would tell me that this is because I've been riding my bike for the past two days straight, so of course it would make sense for me to have that on my mind. But logic isn't always the most comforting, so I decided I would look up the meaning of it in a book a friend lent me. It reads as follows:
"Bicycle: You are being set in motion to move on or break bonds with someone or with a familiar situation. Doing so will be easy or difficult according to the ease or difficulty of the bike ride."
I found this to be of no help considering that I was not the one riding the bicycle. Instead it was a group of passer-bys getting their bikes from the bike stands and riding off. I brushed the dream off and continued with my morning routine.

I used to be okay with being alone. I accepted the fact that I had nobody but myself. I chose to stay as detached as possible, even if it meant I would have friends that would forget me the second I was gone. It was easier that way. Or at least that's what you think, until you see everyone riding their bicycles without you and you're left there alone wondering how long until the next group of cyclists will come in for a quick stop at your station. And you're hoping that maybe this will be the group that will ask you to come along for the ride, because you're tired of being between the stage of being able to say hello when you pass them in the hallway but not being able to call them when you're in tears ready to give up. The thing is, that wall I built up is getting harder and harder to maintain, and I'm sure that a simple blow will knock it down. Is having someone to call when I'm at my lowest worth the possibility of getting hurt? Maybe not, but I'm so tired of watching people come and go and this time, I don't think I have the strength to continue wiping my own tears.

Young Rebel

I. Renewal 

Young Rebel, stop running from the world

You'll try. You'll fail.

The world is cruel, but worst is hell,

And scars do not heal quickly if they go deeper than the skin,

And Neither the world nor hell will act kindly to the fear you have within.  

II. The Fall

So you think you can run, Young Rebel?
From all your hidden fears?
You can run, Young Rebel, but they'll always be near,
In the back of your thoughts, in the depths of your heart,

Why choose between Rebellion or fear when both will tear you apart?

III. Broken

Look what you've done, Young Rebel,
You've let them see you cry.
Now they hold your strength, and they control your pride.
Is that you within the shadows? Did you use the dark to hide?

You're still recognizable, Young Rebel, despite your disguise. 

IV. Freedom

Poor Young Rebel
You don't know why the caged bird sings
You've been told you can reach the sky
But you won't even spread your wings
How can you expect to fly
If you won't attempt to leap?
Young Rebel, you think you're a risk-taker
Yet you're living another's dream.

White Walls

If the walls could talk, would they tell you that you were insane,
For spending hours in the mirror repeating your own name?
Will your name live forever? Or will it's destiny be the same
As all the unknown souls? Gone and forgotten. What a shame.
"Give up. Give up." You'd often hear the walls whispering.
But still you won't hush, because someone out there is listening
And you see your potential, and feel the burn in your shine
So you let the wall be your canvas, and let your art be your life
Write, my darling, write. Tell them what's inside
A star like you is too bright to hide
Unused passion will surely die
So with every brush stroke you make, make your art come alive 

White walls
White walls
The world is a white wall, 

but you can spark change if you're willing to risk it all.
Now's your time to speak up. You'll fade if you wait for your name to be called.
Artists of the world, tell your stories on the wall.

Curiosity Killed The Soul

Curiosity killed my soul, but was kind enough to spare my mind. If that is all I have, then is it enough to maintain my well-being?

Our sun is small in comparison to the massive stars that are born and die before their light even reaches our skies.

Still, our sun is enough to sustain an entire planet of life, but how can I compare my mind to the sun?

I feel dim, but would a soul brighten my life or burden me with the guilt of watching my flesh win every battle?

A star that Burns too brightly only brings destruction.

A mind without a soul only brings confusion.

So what am I left to choose?

Cup Of Sorrow

I cry vodka
I drink away my tears and find pleasure in my sorrow

If only it was that easy

My cheeks are stained black
From my running mascara
My heart is racing
My head is pounding
My thoughts are focused on one thing

The hour is late and I should be asleep
But the weight on my eyelids just doesn’t compare to the weight on my heart
Tears fall off my cheek and onto my notebook
Making my words intoxicating
and somehow dangerously pleasurable

“Cheers to life” I said
As I held up my cup of sorrow

The Voice of the Unknown

I want to be

The loners voice when they’re too afraid to speak
The timid roar

You can hear in the heart of the meek
The courageous being

Who’s strong enough to stand up to the worlds critique
The soul that grows old

But will never grow weak
I want my voice to unite 

The unknowns of the world
I want my wisdom to be worth 

More than diamonds and pearls
This passion has been brewing 

In me since I was a little girl
So have no doubt, 

One day, 

My voice will be heard
And you’ll have no choice

But to listen to my each and every word.