Clad in a chess-covered jacket,

Growing with ferns and moss on it
As I rub my hands,
Covered in chocolate cookies
And tears
Because of worry that I will turn
Into an icicle if they continue
To keep the freezing winds blowing.
But the black moths lead me
To a way that I can escape to,
Will someone burn the night away?
I seem to be afraid,
And the light burning the night
And leaving the stars to fall
Will help me see and wide awake.
A white shirt is bright as I wear it.
Coffee black and egg white,
Tired grey.
Tomorrow’s not yesterday –
Well, hopefully not, oui?
Tuck me in a frame of memories
If the day today is like yesterday,
So that I will not have to be
In a day that is the same.
Same old same,
I am tired of the same things,
Of bears growling at each other
Of the same things over again –
A paper shield will be covered
In my tears too
And my wooden sword
Will be worn from the same battles.
Will my Knight in Shining Armor
Be able to save me from the dragons
That have kidnapped me?
Will my Knight still love me
Even when the walls are still
Around me
Even though I try to tear them down
With my own hands?
Whisper me the answers,
Sir Owl;
Tickle my ears with your feathers
And peck into my stubborn head
The answers of
How to be wise
And not be like a donkey,
But me.
 . . .
A/N: Because He can leap over your walls, the walls that were never meant to be there. He can leap over your walls, He can walk through your walls, He can and will comfort you.

I See the Dandelion Blooming

Dullness starts to settle in,

and I think the whole world
is gray and black
as I feel life leaving me –
and I think how ironic
that I feel like that life
is leaving me,
just as spring comes
and is here.
. . .
I am sitting here,
waiting for something
that I don’t even know,
and I am wasting away;
wanting to wait
for the daisies to bloom,
but the heartache
is still there –
I still miss you.
. . .
I wait for the daisies
to bloom,
but they don’t come.
It isn’t the time for them –
and I wonder,
was I actually waiting for you,
all along?
And was I waiting to see
if you still wanted to be with me?
. . .
The buildings rise up
in the air,
I see that through the window,
but I am still down
on the ground.
I think the world
is gray and black,
the skies being white;
but then I see the color yellow.
. . .
I see dandelions blooming,
and they are in her hair.
The dandelions
are already blooming,
and they are here.
Gray and white and black
are not the only colors
in my world
and that I see.
Am I wanting to not miss you? No, I don’t want that. I don’t want to not miss you. I just miss you. I miss you. And I’m scared as I write this, and I don’t exactly know why I’m scared.
A/N: This was a poem that I wrote two or three days ago. I’m not sure if it makes sense, for to me it almost doesn’t make sense; but this is just something that I wrote a few days ago. Thank you for  reading this if you are, for it means much to me that people have read my writings and read my writing s when they do.

Just something from today:


3 am,
And I’m awake.
I fell asleep for one hour –
For the day,
I am one hour
Of no rest.
The day goes on,
And I am able to stay awake.
I am able to make it through.
I am able laugh
And smile,
Be with other people.
But I miss you.
Then comes night,
And I am able to cry.
And I fall asleep.
Somewhere between asleep
And awake.
I see your messages.
I don’t reply.
I can’t reply.
Because I’m asking myself
How do I live.
And I am crying,
Falling asleep.
Putting my hand
On my mouth,
A pillow covering my face,
Gasping for air
And for comfort,
Looking for answers.
But I try not let anyone
Hear me cry,
Hear me gasp.
Hear me ask for help.
And I think it worked.
I wake up,
And it’s another day.
4 pm,
In the afternoon –
I thought my alarm clock
Was right that it was 3 –
Because I thought to myself
It couldn’t be that late.
But the clock was wrong.
Time had changed
Because it was spring now,
Winter gone –
But discontent still here,
With me.
I told myself that I can’t live
Like this anymore;
That I can’t live like this.
That I don’t want to feel small;
That I don’t want to feel
Like I’m trapped;
That I don’t want to feel like
I don’t belong;
That I don’t want to feel
Like I’m invisible.
That I don’t want to be afraid.
I don’t want to feel misunderstood.
The things I want to say.
The things that I want to let you see
And hear.
Wanting to be free.
Wanting to be unburdened.
Wanting to feel like I belong.
Wanting to be open.
And wanting to be just seen.
And throughout the day,
I think that you should leave me.
That you shouldn’t have
To deal with someone
Like me.
And I think of how stupid I am
For not replying back to you,
For how I’m being –
A dramatic soul,
Seeming to
Always have to dramatize.
And I’m sorry.
I am.
And here I am.
The song
“Try Everything”
Comes to mind
From the movie that we
Watched together.
So here I am,
Trying to try everything
The best that I can
And taking the first step
Of getting up again.



Snow falls in great white blossoms to the sea,
budding slowly as they fall and disappear,
but they turn into stars –

shining in the daytime, as well in the night,
drenched in sunlight, becoming sunlight
in a strange green darkness of sea;

and I lay on an ocean of stars,
on beds of breathing waves,
looking up to something more and beautiful

and seeing paths of gold in the sky,
leading to home, leading to heaven
as the sun sets and dies.

A flower is stirred and a star is troubled,
and useless rage is tempered by patience,
by a great ring of pure and endless light

that blinds the darkness in my heart
and kills inside of me
what needs to be dead, what needs to die.

Eyes are closed and fingers brush the sky,
and a broken heart heals –
hope like an open, eternal flower.


A/N: The name of the poem maybe a bit terrible. I am sorry if it is. If you have suggestions for the name, please feel free to share if you wish to share. I hope you enjoy it.


Second Poem of the Day (1/22/16)

A storm of color

suddenly bursts inside,

and I welcome the cold tears

that cut my face

as what falls is wrapped in hope –

and the door clings to the hinges

that the wind broke open

with its force,

barely holding on

like a paper girl hangs onto her string.


The baggage needs to leave,

am I the baggage?

All I am trying to do, as best as I can,

is to trust in you, God,

and go along with the flow

because it seems like the pattern

has gone back to normal

even though the storm came

and had soaked all the papers.


I remember sleeping in the car,

not knowing how much time has passed.

The cold was still itself,

but I couldn’t go back inside,

just yet.

All I could do was clutch the Bible that I had

and hold onto to you,

and that was all that mattered:


You, my God –

the Perfect Protector.


Sitting in the mud, my friend,

and reaching for the stars,

fingers brushing

the sky –


and disorder comes to order,

peace comes to chaos,

the storm comes to an end.


It doesn’t matter

that weapons stab

at my heart,


and the feeling of being incomplete and hurt

was just familiar

a few moments ago.


Because I am complete –

though, fallen, I have learned to fly,

and star-dust envelopes me now

as I go to you, my God –


the only whom I can go to

and trust when the anger and hurt

are familiar as these broken hands.


A/N: I am sorry that I have not posted in a very long time. A lot happened, haha, sigh; but I am not trying to and do not want to use that as an excuse. I apologize for not posting in a long time.