As good as it gets

What if this is as good as it gets. What if right now, that's it. That's all you get. You might get more money, or find love, or win a car or buy a boat or have some kids. But for happiness, that's it. You're topped up, no more overflow, thanks for playing, now you can sit down. What if you're not even all that happy anyways. What if you forgot to be happy when you were supposed too, and now it's too late.

Love - the worst drug of all

Love is great when we fall for the right people
Your circle of friends grows with like minded people
Your days are filled with joy and wonder
But love isn't always so convenient
Sometimes you just fall for the wrong damn people
Sometimes you love someone who's gay and you're not
Sometimes you love someone who's in a relationship
Sometimes you love someone who is usually your perfect person, but happens to love ecstasy too
You can't help who you love though
Love is an asshole

High

You never forget that one high
The one that was just so perfect
The world seemed so beautiful and peaceful
And nothing had ever been wrong and could go wrong
These days that's all you're ever looking for anymore
And the closest you ever get is just numbing yourself enough to forget how miserable you are
Because that high wasn't because you were high
It was a moment when life itself was beautiful and you mistook it for a chemical in your brain
And now you're just chasing rainbows that will never come

Melancholy Tea

I write pretty sad and depressing sounding things a lot. It's not because that's how I am in general. I'm not some sad sack who can't even be bothered to form a smile. I've realized every time I write something down, I lose a little piece of what I'm writing. It gets captured into words and leaves my own mind. And every shred of happiness I have, I cling to as much as I can, and share with those I love. But the sadness mostly stays with me. And so I write it all down in hopes that with each written word it will slowly evaporate from me until it is all gone.

Changing with the seasons

You don't see the changes you've gone through. The beauty you exude, like new roses blooming after every long cold and dark winter. Each blossom the result of seeds planted long ago, each a new and wonderful and dizzying dimension added to your life. You don't see them and yet it's reflection is there for you to see every day. The very fact that you think the world has gotten more lustrous and vibrant and full. The world stayed the same, what's grown better is you.

By Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping.
Which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
Sleeping.
I would like to sleep with you,
To enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head.

And walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of blue-green leaves
With its watery sun and three moons
Towards the cave where you must descend,
Towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver branch,
The small white flower,
The one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream.
From the grief at the center.
I would like to follow you up the long stairway again and become the boat that would row you back carefully.
A flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me.
And as you enter it as easily as breathing in.

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only.
I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary. 

I like to write the poems I love over and over again. Typed out or by hand. And really immerse myself in it as I'm writing it. And I believe for just one moment that perhaps I could be capable of producing such beauty too.

The strength to carry on

Some people have called me strong. That I'm brave to have dealt with my life with such calm. I feel like a fraud for it. Strength isn't the reason I can keep going, and treat my trials as if they're nothing. I can deal with it all because for once in my whole damn life, I stopped caring. I stopped caring if I live or die, if it's easy or hard, if it's wonderful or not. I still don't really care. I just do whatever I need to do to feel normal. That's all I ever do anymore. I stopped trying to have aspirations and dreams and fears and nightmares. Every day I wake up and all I want is to feel normal. I go through extra effort, and I exercise, and I drink down bottles of pills and shoot hormones in my veins not to live, but just to feel normal again. Just to feel like everyone else. My radar has shrunk from the decades ahead of me to just the next week. The next day. And what I'll have to do to make sure I don't stick out. That I can make it just one more day without people feeling sorry for me. Without having to feel like whenever I go there's a huge mongoloid following behind me screaming and shouting and throwing a tantrum to draw attention to me.

The downtrodden

Don't give us pity. Nobody wants to be reminded constantly of the things that make our life difficult. We have our own moments when we're alone for that. Give us care and attention. Just treat us like anyone else. Don't be a savior, just be a friend. It's the greatest kindness you could possibly show.

The Silence Between The Notes

I used to think about dying every day. But not exactly thinking. And not exactly dying. I thought about dying everyday in the same way you think about living every day just by breathing. Just by eating and drinking. You do those things just to continue to exist. And similarly at the back of my mind, for everything I did, for every joy and every pain and every excitement and boredom, there was always one question. Why? It's easier to forget to ask why when you're happy. Or at least forget to care. But it never truly leaves you. And at night when all your physical needs have been met except for sleep, it's the only thought left in my head. Why? Why am I here? Why can't I just be sucked into my bed like the rest of my dead skin and hair. Just cease to exist. Why can't I go to sleep and just live there. Not in dreams or nightmares. The time after your eyes shut and your brain flickers off but before your imagination begins. Where you don't exist to the world and the world doesn't exist to you. There's no pain and no joy and no future stretching out in front of you and past weighing you down. As nothing as the space between the stars hanging in the night sky. Eternal and stateless. 

Generation α

With each passing generation, we try to pass on the hate we have for each other. Our ignorance and our insecurities. We load it up on our children like backpacks for their first day of school. But somehow, with each passing generation, they learn to drop some of it along the way. They learn to live with more acceptance, more tolerance. We don't see the change amongst ourselves, but it's there. Across decades, across centuries. It's the only evidence I've ever seen for the redemption of humanity. To keep alive the belief that one day we might just be okay.

Tree Rings

I wish beauty wasn't defined by genes and makeup and exercise. But by how beautiful your soul is. And not the idea of goodness and badness. But beauty of the soul, which is a purely different idea. That you got dimples in your cheek if you really happen to love knitting or going cave diving. That your eyes would become deep pools of black ocean water if you knew everything there was to know about astrophysics. That whenever you smile, you'd have another laugh line for every dog and cat you've ever owned. Or your cheeks would flush if you happen  to be really good at listening and keeping secrets. Or your hips a little rounder, breasts a little fuller for all the years of maturity you have, not the years you've lived. It feels like physical beauty ends up being the opposite of all those things.

Hospice

There are people that are so pure of heart, gentle of soul. People who have been dealt unlucky hands. They're born without sight or hearing. They get cancer or AIDs. Their organs and muscles just give up on them. But they still give do much. Have positive spirit and strength. It's so easy to see why they deserve more. Why they deserve all the help and attention we can give them. But what about the people who aren't so nice. That are just not great people. Just sort of nobody's. They lie awake and alone in hospital rooms slowly dying in their husks. Strung up with tubes and wires. With resentment and anger in their hearts and ignorance in their veins. What do they deserve.

Be still, be calm

You shouldn't worry. Even if you're unhappy now. Even if you're upset, jealous, or angry. That you can't find love or you can't hold down a job or your mother hates you or you have no friends. That somebody, everybody, has it better. Because they don't. They're dealing with the same dumb tired bullshit you are. They have nothing and it's not enough. They have some things and it's still not enough. They have everything and just because they've grown numb to it, it feels like nothing. It's in our nature. It's humanity's way to never have enough. To always struggle. If you've had no hardships, you'll find them. We all have a capacity for heartbreak we need to fill. A quota for despair. But we can only take so much. And we ignore the real worry. The real fear. And so the earth continues to slowly die. And our ozone continues to erode. And the animals die and turn to radioactive dust and the trees turn black and suffocate. And we go to sleep with the same petty shit living heavily in our hearts. So don't worry. We're already dead. We're already in our coffins, and we're being carried those last few steps to our grave. 

Pieces of Heart

I wish I loved you more than I do, or not at all. The world is so much easier in black and white. It's the little crushes that pass you by that make you wonder what if. What if you had pursued it a little more. What if you had just stopped fantasizing. What if they were the one, but you were too chicken shit to just embrace it. What if for every time you break your heart, you're leaving little pieces for someone to come find you.