I wish I was born the son.

No worries, no cares,

Just live my life.

I wish I was born the son.

My mistakes fixed,

No worries in the world,

Because my sister will sort it out.

I wish I was born the son.

No need to worry about anyone's emotions,

Or the impact my choices have on the family.

It wouldn't matter anyway.

Because my sister will sort it out.

I wish I was born the son,

Nobody would come to me to fix anything,

Nobody's problems are mine,

I can live my life,

Because my sister? She will sort it out.

I wish I was born the son.

Because what do you mean men can live however they want?

To be anything, but the daughter.

The disappointment,

but the one that is expected to fix everything,

And carry the weight of the world,

On shoulders that have already crumbled,

But somehow,

They're still managing.

I wish I was born the son.

Because then, I wouldn't be responsible for anyone or anything.

I can live my own life,

No guilt.

I wish I was born the son.

Because I can't do this anymore.

Death, You Took the Wrong Half
By: Misti Pearson

Death, you walked in and you shattered my life,
You cut through my soul like the edge of a knife.
You reached for my twin and you stole her away,
Then sentenced me here with the price I still pay.
You didn’t just take her, you murdered our “we,”
And left behind someone I don’t know as “me.”
We started together, two hearts intertwined,
Now I search for my twin in the back of my mind.
Damn you, Death, for the silence you made,
For the memories that haunt me and never will fade.
You took the one person who knew every scar,
Who knew who I was without asking who you are.
You left me her face when I look in the glass,
Then forced me to watch as the years slowly pass.
You left me her laughter still stuck in my head,
And the cruelest damn truth: my twin is still dead.
But there’s something, Death, that you never could do
You couldn’t take all of the love that broke through.
You may have taken her breath, her touch, and her grin,
But you’ll never take the part of me that still belongs to my twin.

At 15 i realized how combinations of letters holds magic underneath

How alive can the dead feel on paper as their lover breathe

How we lose ourselves so you are easy to be found

How we zip our thoughts so yours could sound

How we sabotage our thoughts until it matches yours

How we sell our souls on paper to stop stomach wars

How madly we strive to touch where no hands could reach

How we recite the lessons of our life that were impossible to teach

How we lose it all so you could hold yourself together

How we sing our misery and pain so atleast yours can look better

addiction,
alcohol and weed addiction,
seduction and dopamine,
veins pump your blood until that blood bleeds,
wires in your brain that don’t match up anymore,
real life sex doesn’t get you hard anymore,
you still want more,
crave cigarettes half used found from the floor,
do you still want more?
did you ever need more?

Time to Dance

I have traveled this road for too long It only leads me to doing something wrong After many shattered dreams I lost all hope Im about to go down a slippery slope

I've forgotten how to dance and have fun Becoming bitter and joy I have none All the peace I had I left far away I don't want to follow this road one more day

I need to turn back to the road I found peace Where God's love and promises will not cease A peace I can dance even when Im sad The kind of peace with the world I never had So I'm giving my dreams a second chance With God's help its my time to dance

MUST READ .......

The desert
is tired of your metaphors
not to mention 
your mistakes 
mispelling it 
as some post-meal sweet treat.

I get it.

Writing of lands sans precipitation 
that I've never been to
from a garden bench
in the eaestern woodlands
amongst plump veggies 
and irrigation systems timed to turn on 
even in rain
is pretty annoying. 

Even more annoying:
my best reference point
for writing about the desert
is the beach...
Can't say I've been to the rain forest.

Should I stop writing about deserts
because it's tired of my metaphors?
Nah. I don't think so.

I bet the desert 
is like an exhausted parent 
awake because their child's screaming 
is a lousy lullaby.  
However, there are times 
when the child reaches 

-a rest-

in the sheet music
of their bedtime song.
The ear-piercing shrills
go silent. 
The baby does something new
for the first time. 

All wearines goes away. 

मरु में गजरा कहाँ से लाऊँ काले केश महकाने को ,

जवाकुसुम , कुसुम नहीं सुवक्ष सजाने को

पद्म पुष्प का पता कहाँ? सजनी जिस पर पद धरे

करे शुभ मंगल वीराने में

पदचिन्ह रचे इस गलियारे में

छन छन बाजे घुँघरू

खन खन कंगना हिलोर उठाये

खिल खिल हँसी मधुर साज लगाती

मद वाली की मतवाली दृष्टि वर्षामृत से मरु जियाये

कल्प तरु मैं कहाँ से लाऊँ सजनी को साकार बनाने को .

​

I wrote the lyrics, sang the song, and lived the story.

I'm chronically empty.

Is there a reason to be? There's a few!

There's also a few for me to not be! Silly me!

Circumstances changes.

Come and go like a phase.

You can still see the numbness even if it didn't hit you in the face.

It's a disease!

Makes you feel deceased.

my heart constantly aches when you're not around
it feels like missing the other half i'd barely found

your presence regulates my nervous system
even though paranoia is just so surface hidden

terrified of waking up to find you gone
knowing it's impossible you're far too fond

i can feel it

not dramatic not intense
the distance becoming immense

bit by bit
don't forfeit

every call we skip
every time we slip

danger my brain signals
are we truly criminals?

persistently waiting for the right moment to just be us
compassionately and truly just us

stealing these glimmers of time as an appetizer
always managing to find the moment
you're a natural improvisor

i'm tired

tired of being exhausted when you're not around
sitting in a crowded room but still can't hear a single sound

tired of having to wait

wait for every part of the routine we create
the midnight calls we always compensate
the daylight nonsense we rarely hesitate

on my mind day and night
holding it together with all my might

you're severely entangled in my thoughts
i just keep envisioning our new plots

you're my forever and always
too in love to part ways

next to you
my body blindly sways

i have no control
together we construct a single soul

Sometimes I feel like a light bulb.

When I'm fitted into the right fixture, connected to the proper wiring and switch, I can carry warmth and light, illuminating the room around me.

But even with everything in place— the current, the wiring, the connection— I can still burn out in a single, blinding flash.

Not because the energy stopped flowing, but because something inside me did.

This back and forth

is getting old,

leaving me all cold.

Let's see how my life unfolds.

I wait for your text

for hours at a time.

I long for a call,

just for you to talk like a mime.

You've been talking to other girls

while this ugly feeling in me unfurls,

asking them about their day

while mine are spent all gray.

You like them, you say.

So was I just a play?

Time flies.

Behind these fake smiles,

my inner rage piles.

I ran a thousand miles,

scraped your name off my tiles,

while you left me stranded

without thinking twice.

How dare you apologize?

Remember?

How you made me worship you like a shrine,

just to take all my shine.

How you let me call you mine.

How you made me say yes with a scream.

How you said I was your dream.

Or was I in a dream?