Suicides Door

“When one door closes,
Another one opens.”

But,
No one ever said,
That when the hallways got too dark,
-Creating spinning labyrinths,
Inside the dark corridors of your mind-
That sorrows pain,
Will reach for any door…
Upon any threshold…
Flickering just one ounce,
Of any God given light.

 

door

 

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Still Learning/Bipolar Tendencies

I’ve learned,
That my sorrow,
Has turned me into,
Dead weight.

I’m learning,
That I need to,
Either let go of this,
Or move on.

Continue to lie still,
Or run wild and free.

Allow this hurt to define you,
Or let it continue,
To misrepresent you.

I think I’m still learning.
I think I have room to grow…
But one thing is for certain,
If I don’t pluck these weeds soon,
I’m going to rot away…

So, yes;
I guess I’m still learning.
But damn,
Wouldn’t it be better,
To live this life,
In ignorant bliss?

I believe I’m still learning.
(Am I?)
-So I say…-

Or am I,
Just pretending…

(I’m afraid.)

I think maybe,
I’ll never know…

 

 

Contradiction

It’s the little things in life-
The blessings,
The hardships,
The act to be still.
How it can shape you,
Into the being that you are.

Even when it feels like,
Your running around,
In a blanket of darkness…
Searching for hope,
Hating how hard life can be,
Knowing that the biggest impacts,
In this screwed up world,
Are going to be the ones,
That destroy you the most.

If you ask me,
Life is one big contradiction.

(And this is what confuses me the most.)

A Novel Idea

And there it was…
All laid out on a pretty table.
The men were always going to close their hearts;
To start a new chapter in their lives.
-Without me-

While mine laid threadbare,
Like an open display of skin,
Waiting for anyone to come around,
And to caress these time worn pages of mine.

I guess,
I’ll always be an open book…
And pretty soon,
I think I’ll start to charge a fee.

Who said you can’t make a living…
Out of broken hearts.

Beautifully Broken

Isn’t it funny…
That when we look for seashells,
Upon a beautiful sandy beach,
We always tend to look for the ones,
That are perfectly complete and whole?

I think this is where we go wrong in life.
We need to pick up the broken pieces,
That are discarded for want of not.
To collect all others,
That are just the same.
A mending, of sorts…
And to form a new beginning,
To show the love,
That is within our hearts.

“For everything that exists,
Should never be disregarded.”

And when the time comes,
We should set them free,
Back into the beautiful ocean,
Like a message in a bottle,
For someone else to find.
So, when they see the cracks,
Of that beautiful withered shell,
Washed ashore,
Upon broken backs;
They will see the power,
The beauty,
How complete;
Broken can be.

I hope they look upon their hands,
Of intact shells collected,
And see that real beauty,
Is made to be broken.

So the next time your on a beach somewhere,
With a pocket full of shells,
Please don’t disregard the broken ones…
Because underneath the fractured,
You just might find a pearl.