Joy

Some define joy as having everything one wants;

some define joy as being famous or being a hero;

some define joy as not having any trouble throughout life.

But true joy can only come from God,

joy that the world can never know.   

The temporary pleasures of this world, 

such as man’s empty praise and treasures that fade

are never enough.       

But God overflows us with true satisfaction and the joy of salvation, 

joy that words cannot describe,

joy that the world could never provide.    

Joy in knowing that even through the storms, 

God leads and protects us.

Joy in knowing that even when everyone turns away 

and it feels like we’re all alone,

God still loves and never leaves us.

Joy in knowing that even as we fall down again and again,

God forgives us and is there to help us back up, 

knowing how weak we are.

Joy in knowing that although we are unworthy, not one of us righteous, 

God’s unending grace is enough for all of us.

Joy in knowing that at the end of this journey,

after finishing the race,

an eternal life spent with You awaits,

that is true joy.

Where I am From

I am from Korea, Land of the Morning Calm,

where red pine trees stretch toward the sky, 

where green mountains span as far as the eye can see,

where the magpies chirp beautiful songs in the cool, misty morning,

where the clear streams ripple peacefully,

and where the blue ocean sparkles with brilliance.

I am from Korea, 

where my ancestors hardened through a difficult history of fighting and being conquered.

Where my people fought with their lives to achieve independence,

which we sought and dreamed for long.

Where we still yearn of the unification of the Korean people

under one free nation under God.

I am from Seoul,

where my ancestors saw a vision of hope

through the war-devastated remains of the city,

which they rebuilt into a thriving city of technology and innovation,

where high-rise buildings, skyscrapers, and mountains make up the landscape,

while keeping our culture and history alive.

I am from the United States, home of the brave,

a big, diverse nation built upon the foundations of freedom,

a young nation full of opportunities,

where I currently reside.

But no matter where I live, regardless of my history,

I am a child of God, awaiting Jesus’ return, 

when we will finally rest in his everlasting kingdom, praising Him.

And there I will be with Him, at home, where I truly belong,

and where I truly am from.

The Journey of a Pilgrim

I walk on the straight and narrow path

with the Lord with me, guiding my way,

never once looking back,

even when boulders and mountains block my path.

With the Lord with me, guiding my way,

I push on, even when I cannot see the light of the sun,

even when boulders and mountains block my path,

never afraid, for I no longer belong to this world or Satan.

I push on, even when I cannot see the light of the sun.

Countless times I fall down, but with the Lord helping me up each time, I continue,

never afraid, for I no longer belong to this world or Satan,

for my Lord Jesus has ransomed me, I now walk in Christ alone.

Countless times I fall down, but with the Lord helping me up each time, I continue

onward, toward my Father’s house,

for my Lord Jesus has ransomed me, I now walk in Christ alone

until I rest peacefully in that garden with my Father.

Onward toward my Father’s house,

never once looking back.

Until I rest peacefully in that garden with my Father,

I walk on the straight and narrow path.

God

Another word for God is Father.

Father is always with us, teaching and guiding us throughout our lives.

Father never forsakes us, helping us through times of trouble.

Father is there to help us get back to our feet when we fall.

Father hears us when we cry out to Him, and wipes away our tears.

Father gives us newfound strength and hope as we continue our journey alongside him on the straight and narrow path.

Another word for Father is love.

Love never gives up on us, no matter how many times we fall.

Love never abandons us, no matter how many times we turn away from Him. 

Love willingly died for us on the cross, bearing pain and death to pay the price of the sins we had caused.

Love endured death so we could be with Him; through His complete sacrifice, we were saved.

Try as I may, I could search the world, but without hesitation, I confidently shout out to the world:

There is no one like our God!

Until We Meet Again

-For my grandmother-

You were born into this world,

growing up in the struggles

that the war had caused.

As an adult, you married and had a family.

Even through the storms, you stood strong in God,

always trusting.

To every person you met,

you happily shared the joy and the good news of Jesus.

You dedicated your life to His will and His kingdom.

‘Til the end, you remained strong and faithful.

Although you are no longer in this world,

you now reside in heaven, finally at home, with God,

where the sorrows of life cannot touch you.

I see God greeting you at the gates of heaven,

you in His arms, full of joy, finally at home

with Him, who you always wanted to see.

So for those of us who remain,

we now live on with newfound hope that we will see you again,

in that morning at the gates of heaven.

Until we meet again, 

I pray that we will also walk the path that He has prepared for us;

that we will faithfully live the pilgrim’s life,

until we meet again.

Springtime in Allen, Texas meant that

the sun was beaming,

the cardinals were chirping,

the trees were flourishing green,

the air was warm and dry,

and the little streams were gurgling

in the forest woods of Allen.

I, on my red bike with my blue crocs,

would head into the green woods,

toward the little stream 

hidden deep in the forest,

concealed from the outside world.

Once deep in the peaceful woods,  

I would slowly descend down the steep slope,

toward the babbling stream.

There, I entered a new world of nature,

surrounded and blanketed on top by the flourishing, green trees 

and the rock walls of the small valley, 

a world that only I knew about.

I would wade upstream, 

pretending to be an explorer venturing up an unknown stream,

with the water rushing through my crocs and cooling my feet

across the smooth, cream-white streambed.

Rounding bends, 

naming the little rock canyons 

and where the stream bed was as white and smooth as a water slide.

It was a beautiful world deep in the woods,

where it was just me, God, and nature.

We wear the mask

Could be because we like to hide ourselves

So no one taunts us and belittles us 

Even when everything is tumbling down

You smile for the people around you

And mouth with myriad subtleties

We fake, lie, and cover things about us

To impress others

To get attention 

To seek validation when you don’t like yourself.

I have a mask just like everyone else

I have different masks for family, friends, and other people around me.

I hide my feelings from certain individuals 

Though show it to others.

Resulting in others having perceptions 

Perceptions of what the me is in their mind, and what you are in someone’s mind.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

Our cries of wanting connection.

Though fear makes us have the mask.

The mask of hiding

The mask of covering your true self

The mask that covers your insecurities so the day can go on without pain

The mask that prevents you from showing you, the me, to everyone you hold dear.

And the new people you’ll meet in the future.

The mask is a barrier

The mask can cover us

The mask hides us

We are the mask!

Puppeteer

By Arjun Chowdhury

I overheard the puppeteer,
Weaving spells with ancient fear.
Gold appeared, then vanished clear,
Magic fading, whispers near.

In twilight’s grasp, they danced and spun,
Threads of fate, their work was done.
A secret pact with shadows spun,
Their artistry, a web begun.

The crowd stood hushed, eyes wide agleam,
As marionettes danced in moonlight’s beam.
Strings pulled taut, a spectral dream,
The puppeteer wove reality’s sewn.

But as the final note did sound,
The puppeteer stepped off the ground.
Into the void, they were unbound,
A phantom fading, without a sound.

Change

The thing with change is

You can never stop it

I couldn’t stop my parents from 

growing apart

then breaking apart

but I’ve come to realize

that they’re happier this way

that now there’s less yelling and crying 

I didn’t even lose my family

like I thought I might

It just changed

Ocean

There are four parts of cancer;

one, Watching it kill someone you love

-living with the helplessness inside you,

Knowing you cannot help.

two,  actually losing that person, 

When they re gone,

And you begin to think about how the many memories you have,

They were always so sick.

Fighting for their life and living in pain, 

Even when they put on a smile.

three, The guilt,

Stuck believing there was something you could have done to help,

Maybe I could have noticed sooner,

That she was getting worse, 

four  having to accept it ,

It would have been only more time suffering.

Cancer is a thief who takes and takes away, Only giving oceans of grief

Sometimes I drown in.

Sickness is a funny thing

Sometimes it lasts a day

Sometimes it never goes away

The lucky ones only have it for 24 hours While others carry it the rest of their days

Some people have an outsiders view Watching someone slowly fade away

Watching them loose their will to live

While others experience it first person

Feeling the world slip away

Realizing you may not win the fight

my inner child brought me to the ocean

 jumped in the waves 

watched the clouds

you miss me but i'm right here 

she told me to hug trees

 but i got a rash

and an inchworm in my cotton bra

 she told me to be less serious 

but i cried instead 

and mourned her by the beach

and so i began to hate the number 21, 

i don't care if it's an odd number. 

i don't care about anyone who's 21 years old. 

i don't care about any 21st page in a book.

but i care about the 21st day of every month; 

i care about the 21st day of april

and so i began to hate thursdays as well, 

i don't care if it's anyone's birthday on a thursday . 

i don't care if it's a sunny day on a thursday 

i don't care about any appointments made on thursday

but i care about the 21st of april, 

a thursday; 

the day you died

i'm staring at the lines on my palm wondering why i can't reach through this distance

and connect mine to yours. 

i am desperate.

i find myself bargaining with the impossible. begging to see you again.

i want to fly through light years

 past dimensions

and fall in black holes

 until we are stood

in the same existence, 

once more.

a place where you exist again, 

above the ground.

where no hours, minutes, seconds or heartbeats

can separate me from you.

don't know what grief will look like tomorrow.

But I'll face it.

I'll feel it.

As your memory washes over me

One day at a time.

One wave at a time.

For such a love,

Grief is the price of admission.

The cost of the human condition.

So I'll pay it over and over again

Until I see you again

The love was worth it.

i hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child and fell asleep on the couch during a family party. 

i hope you can still hear the infectious laughter from the next room over.

 I like because

Not the because of why the universe works

Because it does and we should just enjoy our pre-apocalyptic life

But instead I like putting a because to my emotions

Because it makes my emotions feel more reasonable 

A because to why I’m mad

A because to why I’m hollow

Even though a lot of the time I can’t find a because

But when I do

The because calms me     

It’s just a few words

you said you’d support me

so why do I have to remind you

of just a few words

I know you can do it

you say gracias instead of thank you

so why can’t you say they instead of

she

why can’t you say child instead of daughter

why can’t I be your emperor instead of princes?  

Sometimes I wish , I wish that life was different,

I wish that suffering and pain would go away.

Sometimes I dream, I dream for a better future, I dream for a tomorrow, a tomorrow better than today.

Some dreams and wishes aren’t meant to be,

Some things can’t be changed.

Still, they aren’t just fantasy, they are small things that can form a bigger picture,

And a brighter future.

The world is made of dreams and wishes that have come true,

And it patiently waits for hopes that have yet to come to be.

Sometimes I wish. I wish that life wouldn’t be as tough, as stressful.

Sometimes I dream for a new day.

Dreams are a part of us. They are one of our motivations, they are what guides us down the dark path that is life.

They are a part of our identity,

And without our dreams, would we really be us?

Dreams and wishes can be as unique as snowflakes,

And as special as the brightest stars in the sky.

Dreams and wishes make us, us, and even if they fade, or we forget,

Our dreams and wishes will always be a part of us.

The present is a thin sliver of time between yesterdays and tomorrows.

It's what separates that which is set in stone, and the unknown that we wait to come clear.

We live in the moment, we don’t live to regret the past or ponder the future.

Time is like a foggy path. We walk down it indefinitely, but we can’t go back, nor can’t we look ahead. 

All that we can see is the ground we tread, and all we remember is the steps we have taken.

The present is the sliver of time separating yesterdays and tomorrows, pasts and futures, and the done from what will come to be.

We live in the moment, filling the present with friends from the past and hopes for the future. 

We will always wonder about the future, and wander through the endless “What if?”s of the past, but no matter what.

We live in the now.

The past is like a stone carving.

Old as time, permanent, unchanging.

Once futures fade into the present, the present fades to the past.

The past is questions,

The past is grief and faded memories,

The past is the lives we have lived.

We store the past in memories,

Snippets of what is done.

Fragments of the world that made us, us.

The past holds many things, pain and suffering sure, but hope, happiness, and laughter as well.

Some questions of the past will never be solved,

And we all have regrets that we have from the past have carried on to the present and near future.

Still, certain things are better left in the past,

And we should live in the present, the now,

Melodies are small realities.

Small bubbles of time and sound, where it is only music.

Melodies are a language,

Weather scrawled across a paper, and signed with a clef, or flowing from brass or wood.

Melodies are a part of us,

A part of our lives,

Our homes,

Our past,

And our futures.

Melodies paint pictures in our minds,

Vibrant, pastel, or vivid.

They can be as unique as snowflakes or as intricate as a spider’s web.

They can be as rough as the ocean current, or flow like a trickling brook.

Melodies come in many forms,

Many shapes,

Many sizes.

Small melodies can make a big difference.

We surround ourselves with joyful thoughts,

We strive to become better.

But the perfection we see is only a mask on what is real.

We create illusions, trying to fool ourselves,

Blissful,

Ignorant,

Cowardly tricks.

We could fool the world,

We could scream it a thousand times.

But we can’t fool ourselves.

Truth may be bitter, but lies are empty.

So keep on shielding yourself with those thoughts…

Just remember it is an illusion.

You hear the screams,

Deep in your dreams, 

What do you do? You run.

In the face of danger, it’s no stranger, but you run and hide.

You live your life in fear you’re a traitor, coward.

You would stab in the back,

Rather than be the one to be attacked.

Shame is prison, but you’ve escaped thousands of times ( not without hurting on the way).

You run you hide, your the bane of my existence,

You tractor, backstabber, coward.

Rather than bite the bullet, you put someone else in the way…

You’ve escaped death, but made a deal with satan…

“ Shame marks your soul, wherever you go, mark my words…

You’re a coward”

Truth is bitter.

Truth exposes us.

Truth stings,

Truth hurts,

And in the end it is unchangeable.

Truth is sharp,and jagged. 

But by covering the truth we create lies.Truth is bleak, truth is painful.

Truth can be hidden,

It can be forgotten,

But it is always there.

Truth is inevitable.

Wherever there can be an answer there can be truth.

Truth can be dangerous,

But in the end it is always told.

Hope.

Sometimes hope is a shot in the dark, a small spark in an otherwise dark void of inky night. 

Sometimes hope is a beacon, lighting our way through the dark.

Hope is what lights our path in life, what lets us look past the hardships to better times.

It brings light to the dark, and good to the bad.

It lights a candle in our hearts.

Hope seems lost at times, but it can be found.

No matter the darkness that awaits you, remember that there is always hope to guide your way.

Hope counts

Sometimes I feel hopeless, like there is no way to change things for the better, as if the world has inverted.

Sometimes, I feel lost, as if I was standing in front of a road with 7 paths.

Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning, drowning in a sea of guilt in despair.

Sometimes I forget hope.

When those moments come, I forget hope.

I forget that it matters.

I forget why it counts.

Hope counts, no matter how small,

No matter if it is a beacon of light or a shot in the dark.

Hope counts no matter how dire the situation, no matter if you think you are lost with no way back.

Hope is a key that unlocks a part of yourself, a part of yourself that lets you be you.

Hope is a spark, a light in your life, no matter the darkness awaiting you, hope will shine through.

Hope matters no matter what, no matter the size or situation.

In your darkest moments, you use hope to find your way,

And in the brightest of times, you can remember and celebrate the path you took.

Hope is a key that unlocks a part of yourself, a part of yourself that lets you be you.

Hope is a spark, a light in your life, no matter the darkness awaiting you, hope will shine through.

Hope makes us who we are,

And I wouldn’t be where I am right now if I hadn’t had hope.

The Division of Arithmetic

Another word for arithmetic is distress

Distress does your equations

Distress aids you in eliminating variables

Distress finds the equation of a line.

Another word for arithmetic is caffeination

Caffeination boosts your stamina

Caffeination holds your horses

Caffeination prepares you for the worst

Caffeination helps you see the blue and the green

Caffeination makes you feel heard, not unseen

Arithmetic takes a toll on your head and your heart.

Flying

In the sky

Where no one can bother you

Soaring through the clouds

Where no one can reach you

Somewhere free

Where you could speak your mind

Where you could sing loud and clear

Where you could be yourself

Where no one can judge you

But in the sky

You’d get lonely 

Maybe you could come down

And try

To be yourself

Amongst other people

Where you’d make friends

Who’d make you laugh

Who’d help you

Who’d save you

From your own 

Loneliness 

Some people don’t fit in to reality

Some people stay in the clouds 

Even when their feet are on the ground

Some people dream

Of magic

Of dragons

Of anything but reality

No crowded hallways

No mean jeers

No cheating

No ignoring

No rudeness

Only magic

“I can’t hear you”

Are you trying though?

You’d be quiet too if you were me

Constant thoughts

Self doubts

Insecurity

All the normal things

“She doesn’t talk much”

But what is there to say?

You won’t say anything if you were me

Self doubts

Insecurity

All the normal things

“Go talk to others, go advocate for yourself”

Why should I?

You would be shy too if you were me

Constant thoughts

Self doubts

Insecurity

All the normal things

“Magic is real” she said

They laughed

Like people often do

“Dragons are real” she said

They laughed

Like people often do

They don’t understand

They don’t see

Because they don’t believe

Magic is in the heart of every soul

In the tips of every finger

In the eyes of every creature 

Magic is in the stars

In the sky

In the ground

In the stories

But they don’t see

Because they don’t believe

Magic is in her mind

Her heart

Her soul

Like everyone else

But the difference is

They don’t see

Because they don’t believe

Lying with my head on the table

Struggling to believe the label

That you were gone

Was I wrong

That I thought you’d be here by my side

Making everyday seem worthwhile?

Rewind 

To the time

Where we stood still

As children who were little

Innocently

Carelessly

Playing fairies until our imaginations wore out

Not that it was going to happen now…

I was reminded

Blinded

By the fact that I didn’t know how hard it was to handle the news

A move

By the time we finished 5th grade for good

My heart sank, and it was as readable as a book

My head, begging for closure

My throat’s gone raw, feeling its exposure 

“Please don’t leave”

“What about all the fun times we’ve achieved?” 

Was what I had thought

Experiencing my memory’s rot

I ran up to you with sorrowful eyes

My own absurd selfishness, I despise

Vans had arrived

I was losing time

Your house was right there, yet, it wasn’t yours

Anymore

Boxes and couches scraping the ground 

Though the only sound

Was my heavy breathing

Heaving

Myself towards you

Knees buckling beneath

The sun’s blaring eyes seared us both in the summer heat

You gasped and embraced me

I hugged you back

It was the last time I could do this act

You whispered and reassured me

That, I didn’t believe

A damp patch of liquid longings were on your shirt

I just wished and hoped that this wouldn’t hurt

As much as it did indeed

Was anything at that point the right thing?

Throughout all these years, when did I learn to stop crying?

When did I release myself from this feeling in my heart exactly?

I don’t know

Yet, even so

I’m still glad I remembered

Rendered 

Memories were back

Supporting and pulling me up instead of attacking

You

I was back to the present because of you

And I don’t regret it

The present is a thin sliver of time between yesterdays and tomorrows.

It's what separates that which is set in stone, and the unknown that we wait to come clear.

We live in the moment, we don’t live to regret the past or ponder the future.

Time is like a foggy path. We walk down it indefinitely, but we can’t go back, nor can’t we look ahead. 

All that we can see is the ground we tread, and all we remember is the steps we have taken.

The present is the sliver of time separating yesterdays and tomorrows, pasts and futures, and the done from what will come to be.

We live in the moment, filling the present with friends from the past and hopes for the future. 

We will always wonder about the future, and wander through the endless “What if?”s of the past, but no matter what.

We live in the now.

Nightmares.

They attack past the 12th hour, when the has long since disappeared into the night,

Leaving only darkness and fear.

Creeping up, turning your dreamscape into a hellish word of terror and pain.

No matter how many times you tell yourself “ It’s only a dream”, is it so much more, 

It’s a nightmare.

The clock ticks by and by, the night sky is inky black, looming over your entire world like a blanket of darkness.

Nightmares are a blight on your dreams.

Nightmares are the shadow on the moon.

Nightmares are darkness.

Nightmares creep up, turning your dreamscape into a hellish word of terror and pain and

no matter how many times you tell yourself “ It’s only a dream”, is it so much more, 

It’s a nightmare.

You hear wings whistling past your house.

It is dark.

The creature sounds large, possibly a bird?

No bigger.

You step outside,

The night air is warm in the Philippines.

You still hear the wings.

The sound seems to grow louder,

You look up but see only the dark and inky night sky.

You hear a rustling of leaves.You turn but see nothing.

You think about going back.

You wonder if it was just a bird.

You feel something breathing on your neck.

You turn and see an aswang.

It has leathery bat wings,

A grotesque and mangled body,

And sharp pointed fangs lining it’s jaw

Far away, someone else can hear your final, ear splitting scream.

The aswang is a Filipino monster. They are kinds of evil spirits. Though there are many different kinds, in many different forms, I chose a more generic version for this poem. 

Panic; The Chinese Water Torture

It started before I moved.

The panic creeped onto me,

Slowly,

That little droplet of water

Dripping from the point

Of the melting icicle,

Landing on my head. 

I was tied down,

Forced to endure it.

As I was reading the Chinese textbook

 as instructed by my grandfather,

Sounding out the words with my shaky vocal chords, 

Him snapping at me for not focusing. 

But how could I focus, 

With both my parents out of the house,

10 hours outside?

Did something happen,

Did they get murdered,

Maybe a car accident,
Maybe abducted,

Kidnapped–

I heard the back door swing open,

And shut. 

My parents were panting 

From the stairs they had to climb.

I sprung up in joy and relief.

They were home.

But it marked the start

The dreadful start of irrational fears

That put its bony, trembling hands around my throat

And squeezed. 

The droplets of the icicle

Accumulated on my head,

Forming a deep dent.

Pain.

My irrational fears of my parents dying

Increased as the days went by.

I could not tell anyone.

I was embarrassed at the thought.

Oh, but why had I not told about my anxiety?

Why had I not screamed for help

When I realized that I was trapped under dripping liquid,

Water that seemed harmless,

But could it cause a nightmare?

Why had I not screamed for help

When I was living the mental version

Of the Chinese Water Torture?

The water penetrated my mind.

A gaping hole in my brain.

I was not dead.

But the pain made me wish I was.

I would demand everyday

“Dad, where are you going?

How long will it take?

Will you be back before sunset?

Please be safe.

Please come home alive.”

I check my dad’s location on my iPad.

I notice that he’s not at his workplace.

I’m in a frenzy.

I sob.

My grandfather screams at me as well,

Yet his words are incoherent.

And suddenly, 

I’m overwhelmed.

The water penetrated my entire mind.

The world is white.

I’m dead, aren’t I?

I’m dead. 

Finally.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

No.

How am I alive? 

Why has it started again?

The next day

I would ask

“Mom, are you going to your workplace the usual way?

How long will it take?

When will you arrive home?”

As I come home from school,

My heart pounds as I scramble

To check the location of my mom.

I sigh.

She’s at her workplace.

Everything’s normal.

But now it’s eight o’clock.

She’s still at her work building –

Why would she be there?

She doesn’t work late shifts.
Something’s wrong. 

Did she die in the building?

I cried again today.

The water goes through my head.

I’m dead again.

My parents are worried for me.

I’m ruining myself.

The stress and anxiety

Are the icicle, 

The source of the water.

I realized this long ago.

But was anyone warm enough to melt the icicle completely?

No.

But at some point,

Someone warm enough

Would come.

Would do it.

And that person

Was my mom’s dad,

My other grandfather.

He was always patient with me,

Never yelled at me when I got worried,

Convinced me with rational thought.

He distracted me

And made me laugh.

Soon enough, 

I realized that it wasn’t just his warmth melting the icicle. 

It was mine.

He had somehow transferred his warmth to me,

And together,

We evaporated the stress and worry

That stabbed through my head

For 2 years.

Backstory + Additional info: I used to be really worried about my parents going outside and dying, or getting into an accident. It was completely irrational, as we lived in Newton, which was really safe. My parents were also extremely careful people. I soon discovered that I wasn’t truly worrying about my parents safety (even though I obviously cared about it), I was actually worrying about having to suffer alone with my dad’s dad, who made my life a little more miserable than it was supposed to be. Therefore, when my mom’s dad came and he left, I started feeling a lot happier and stopped having that much stress and anxiety. 

My hair color is like autumn leaves. On the ground, a week after they fall and are somewhat darker now.

 My hair is like a hash brown, soft or crunchy, light or dark brown, with random pieces all together in a blob.

 My eye color is like a marble, dark brown, shiny, glossy, bright but made out of glass.

My eyes are like a lighthouse, a beacon of light and joy always shining, even in the darkest times, though it should be known that they hold secrets from all of time at all different times of day.

My smile looks like a hug, though it can a cool breeze on your spine.

My smile is something that holds secrets behind it.

My brain is like Google, always filled with knowledge.

My temper is like a match, waiting to light a dynamite.

My heart is like a soft pillow, with a hard brick under it.

My anxiety is like a stream, always flowing, but sometimes it overflows.

In all of us are empty threads

that should have been full

of love and life and brilliant, tangled webs

of happiness, where

nobody

goes to sleep

with their heart empty and

eyes

aimed 

down,

closed.

What we don’t see are our hearts

fluttering open

looking to take in more

than empty threads,

expanding its bright, beating

life

life,

wanting, desperately

wanting

wanting to reach,

 reach

reach

the empty threads

heart-to-heart,

I’m telling you

my heart wants to unknot where

they have said to just 

knot, tie, tie,

knot, but never connect,

knot, tie, tie

touch but never feel.

Empty threads,

so empty, I just want to reach,

and touch the life that 

is there

in every empty thing.

Even in the greatest abyss

and the smallest pocket of nothingness,

there is always

always

something

I just want to unknot where the knots

once where,

replace them,

not connect them,

just leave them there

so that 

someone

out there

can pick up

the empty,

empty threads,

their empty threads

and breathe their own life in

there

one

more

time.

Not their hearts,

but them.

Because only then will I believe we have some semblance of humanity left in us all.

Rage burns

deep within me,

for there is always a burning rage

there.

You just don’t see it

as I stare at you

Look into your eyes.

Nod and agree.

Nod and agree.

But you don’t see

the true rage in my eyes.

How could you?

when you 

don’t 

even want to see 

me.

I hear her

Silently sitting there

Wearing a smile

That dreadful mask

Hiding her truth behind her red lips

And bright eyes

That appear to be sad

She sits there and says shes okay

But deep down she's not okay

She keeps her truth at bay 

To not drive others so easily away

But the truth is hard to ignore

And the pain won't just subside anymore

So she wears her happy crown and her happy mask

And pretends that everything is going to last

She doesn't want to be a burden

Or cause people any pain

So she keeps her feelings inside

And suffers in silence once again

I hear her

Saying nothing

Silent screams

Blister the air like winter

She sits still like cold air

Frozen is sadness

Pretending to be happy 

I hear her 

Because i care

Well i hear her

Because i am her

Two beds where I lay.

Two places that I Stay

Moving, moving 

here and there 

From Monday To Friday, 

I'm basically everywhere.

don’t get me wrong, 

it’s not that bad 

but Often Times it makes me sad

I want to live that nuclear life

 with a happy dad and his even happier wife

A picket fence, a big dog, 

A fire place with a burning log 

But it’s not real,

it’s just a dream

I cannot cry or even Scream

so here i sit with my overflowed backpacks

thinking 

maybe Life would be easier if there were two of me’

The screaming, the fighting

I was just a little kid Sitting on the stairs

Hearing every word that was said

Wishing you would stop

But you never did

I was just a kid

Trying to block out the noise

Wishing for something

That would never happen

i havnt planned my dream wedding

i don’t have a pinterest board suffocating with images of dresses, rings, 

and different color schemes

i have not wondered if it will be in a church, a barn 

or even on a beach

but i have thought about divorce

sitting eye to eye in a courtroom

 dividing up our assets

 that we once built together 

and fighting over 

who’s gonna gets the kids on saturdays

I think that I have gotten used to it

It never bothered me.

How I could feel so lost in one house.

Then be filled with joy in another.

Now I realize 

that I never truly knew what home is 

Or at least what other people think its supposed to be

Maybe that's why I spent so much of my time

Away from them

Because without them

Every part of my life unlived somehow came alive

I was able to see myself

As someone that I wanted to get to know

Someone who wanted to see What the world had to offer But it couldn't last forever

So now,

I am homesick for a home that I have never truly known

Nostalgic for a time that I have never lived

they tell you life isn't supposed to be easy. but they never told you it would be this hard. and how do you start living 

when all you've ever known is surviving. 

but what I do know, 

is that one day 

after all the pain

there will come a sense of peace. 

and once you get there, 

you'll know.

and you'll start living 

and everything becomes

 just a bit easier.

don't wear too much makeup,

 boys don't like that.

but make sure you do wear makeup, because without it 

they wont think that your not pretty enough. don't eat too much, 

boys like fragile thin girls, 

but don't starve yourself, 

because guys like girls with some meat on their bones.

don't have sex,

guys don't want a girl whos already been touched.

but never say no to sex, 

because boys won't accept you if you don't want to do it with them. 

don't dress so scandalous, 

cause you'll be called a slut. 

but don't cover your self up fully

 because boys won't even look in your direction. 

at the end of the day

we are just silly girls trying to please silly boys.

see what we do for you?

do you see how we can't ever just please ourselves?

In the realm where shadows dance and whispers weave,

There lies a tale of boys, lost in their own deceit,

Their hearts adrift, consumed by a hunger so deep,

Using girls as mere vessels, their desires they seek.

With fickle tongues, they speak the sweetest words,

Promises of love, like melodies of a singing birds,

But behind those eyes, a darkness they conceal,

Their intentions masked, leaving wounds that never heal.

They trace the curves of feminine grace, with hands so cold,

Searching for pleasure, their souls tarnished, untold,

Seducing innocence, shattering trust like fragile glass,

Leaving scars on tender hearts, a pain that seems to last.

These boys, they play a game, of power and control,

Leaving girls broken, spirits wounded, taking their toll,

They see not the beauty, the strength within each soul,

Reducing them to bodies, mere objects to behold.

sometimes people are meant to come into our lives 

but not to stay

they are there to teach us a lesson

 and how to not give our hearts so easily away 

that doesn't mean it wasn't real

 that doesn't mean it wasn't true

 it only means

that there will be a love even stronger after you

I am grateful for the pain, 

because it helped me grow

I may have lost you, 

but I found myself

I am a better person now, 

thanks to the lessons you taught me

I used to see the world through rose-colored glasses, 

but now I see the truth

i learned that i don’t need someone to complete me

i am whole on my own

after you i learned that the best love stories are the ones that never happen. 

We surround ourselves with joyful thoughts,

We strive to become better.

But the perfection we see is only a mask on what is real.

We create illusions, trying to fool ourselves,

Blissful,

Ignorant,

Cowardly tricks.

We could fool the world,

We could scream it a thousand times.

But we can’t fool ourselves.

Truth may be bitter, but lies are empty.

So keep on shielding yourself with those thoughts…

Just remember it is an illusion.

Dew drops on your mind…

Delicate, beautiful, precious.

Hold them in your heart.

Never let them go.

Bring them with you everywhere, it’s all we have to show.

Tire tracks in the sand, blown away by the wind.

Scorching, searing, burning, healing…

It’s the only things we know.

Leeches,

Cowards,

Bloodsuckers, I’ve seen them all.

Taking, stealing, hurting, breaking,

They all seem to fall. 

Pulling at your skin, sapping what is yours,

Leaving once they are done.

Every once in a while, we all become one.

Must remain the leader,

Must keep control.

Never ever listen when the pack is going to fall…

We could be unstoppable,

We could rule the world,

We could hide the pain, never ever again…

Death will fear the day, it will meet us here again…

Must remain the leader,

Must keep control,

Hide the darkness, once the pain has taken its toll…

Embodiment of power,

Strength is on my side.

Even with this power, we still need to hide…

Hear my howl, piercing, heard for miles around.

Quiet, nervous, never making a sound…

Alpha everlasting, wolves by my side.

Careful what you wish for, you will be the one to hide…

Hey reader, it's Izzy. I hope you enjoyed the poem. Try reading the lines in one font all the way through, and then read the other. 🙂

Must serve the Alpha,

Must stay strong.

Unseen wolf, hidden by the corpses of my pack.

My allegiance remains, my hope still fighting,

Hoping,

Wishing,

Stupid,...

Denying…

Protect, the week and fallen,

Help my fellow wolves. 

Joyous,

Helpful,

Kind,

Resentful…

Forget the past, it is carved in stone.

After that day, I’ve just been left alone.

My allegiance lies crumbing, my rage now revealed…

Prepare yourself Alpha,

Ready your strongest wolves.

It is already too late,

So watch out, here we come.

Your life  may burn,

Your pack may die,

You got this in return.

Poison melting through your ranks,

Yet this is your concern?

You’ve casted me out,

Stabbed my back,

And left me out to die.

Lowest of the low, weakest of the weak,

And you ask me for help?

You’ve had this coming since that day,

Now watch your world burn….

Sitting in the corner there…

Can you see me now?..

The yellowed box, stained with blood, there all alone?..

Scratches tare through the wood,

Paint peels off.

Black mold growing, like a nightmare would ensue?...

Hinges rusty,

Dark and dusty…

A quivering handle, made of dark oak wood,

Pulling,

Beckoning,

Calling,

Forcing…

The handle begins to quiver,

The box begins to shake.

Darkness floods through the scratches made…

The box shudders one last time.

The lid swings open and-

 Hello, my new friend…

Your mind is a battle,

Optimism, a dead corpse.

Demons swirl through the blood red skies,

Celebrating victory over your own mind.

Anxiety,

Depression,

Loneliness,

Fear.

Filling your conscious,

And drowning all hope.

Your mind is a maze, you trap yourself in,

Walls upon  walls,

The same demons again.

Fight your way out,

But find yourself sealed in, again and again.

Your mind is a puppet show,

And you are a doll, pulled by strings of lies and deceit.

Unable to move, unable to hear,

Beware the hands of the puppeteer.

Your mind is a minefield, each step a risk,

Remember the safe spots and never forget.

Your mind is a cavern, 

On both ends tunnels,

Happiness, optimism, positivity and joy,

Turned into ghouls, taken a toll by time.

Truth and lies,

Bitterness and denial.

The choice is yours, my dear reader.

Back through the rabbit hole,

Here we go again,

Day after day,

Week after week,

Then we start again.

Summer remains a sliver, fading from our hearts,

Old faces pulled from the past,

Appearing left and right,

Give me one more essay and I’ll be out of sight.

I thought things would be different,

I thought things would have changed,

Anger, fear, energy, drama,

And don’t forget crushes.

Things still feel new, my classes still feel strange,

But in some ways it is comforting,

Knowing

Things

Had

Never 

changed.

Meet me at the willow tree, here the skies are clear,

Leaves fall, pumpkins grow,

Red, orange, and brown.

Meet me at the willow tree,

The lake glistens like glass,

Hard,

Fragile,

Cold,

Blue,

Snowflakes drifting down.

Meet me at the willow tree, buds begin to sprout,

The cold of winter, and the frozen lake,

Slowly melting away.

Meet me at the willow tree, the world is warm and bright,

The leaves are green, the flowers are red, and everything is tinted by happiness.

Meet me at the willow tree 4 seasons from now,

Through the trail of fallen leaves, and past the frozen lake, 

Past the red flowers, away from the pumpkin patch,

And so my dear reader,

Meet me at the willow tree.