

MaturationIs adolescence the cause to misery? Or does it just open our eyes to what was always there?Maturation
When we were children we had no worries and sadness was temporary we had no worries of nuclear war or the countless tactics mother earth has empolyed for our demise
When he was a child, he was a silly boy we told jokes and laughed our high pitched laughs and we sent each other to talk to the girls we were afraid to confront the same girls that now have us dancing on the precipice of insanity
What changed from then to now?
Childhood is synonymous with the good


TurmoilWhy must my emotions defy logic? Why is the heart an ignorant organ?Turmoil
There is no good reason for this disphoria mother and father love me and my white picket suburb is devoid of crime the only time i go hungry is when i refuse to eat and the only pain is self inflicted
So why cant i suck it up?
Father says you can decide how you feel i would like to beleive this but deciding i am happy doesnt change that i am not outside factors are wonderful but the internal ones override
She cant even cure this not that it is her fault for i


s h a k i n gI cant stop thinking about you I lay in my bed s h a k i n g wondering if you think about me toos h a k i n g
Your face is drawn on the inside of my eyelids and your scent is burnt into my nose
everything i see reminds me of you everything i hear reminds me of you everything i smell reminds me of you
My senses are overloaded and my mind is filled with memories of the last time we touched
I hope you feel the same although i doubt you do
Mabey one day we will watch the sunset and wonder why we never did before Mabey one day we wi


ScarThis scar on my knuckleScar
it is a painting it is a journal entry it is a song it is a poem it is an expression of my emotions
i know how it got there and im not telling
it is a fossil it is a heiroglyph it is a monument it is a museum's exhibit it was a rash decision
it tells a story if a time long ago when the scar on my knuckle was a cut on my knuckle
it was a door way it was a window it was an open book it was an article in the New York Times it was a releif
But now your hand is on
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