Walking down the street with heavy feet. My mind starts to realign those feelings I get inside when I'm reeling. For those goals. The ones that I strive for, but never seem to reach. Even when I feel the heat, breaking down all my beliefs. Like a languid attack to distract my head from facing credible advances. That look too much like dances. One's that I can't replicate, just like my ending fate that I'm trying to escape.Then creating another world, one with a different point of view that you and I have never seen: Discreet and belated, completely unforeseen. Deleted by the queen that sits up in her thrown, making orders through the phone. Providing for subjects that listen without knowing that their necks are on the chopping block next. Which is why this doesn't make sense to me, how this could even be. With people like Ghandi who stressed the word 'Free'. And made us all see how the world could make a difference, how we could all grow up. Not lowered by economy, dirtied and corrupt. Now I'm not saying I could do better, especially when we aren't together. Cause there's strength in those numbers we all dismiss, like an an underground resistance. We just need to stop the current and deter it it and demand out lives to be our own. Instead of beings drones all alone wishing we were better, or at least having some nicer weather. But every moment's worth a million in the end. And to spend it all so precious on stress, forgetting nothing is a test. Just learn from those mistakes and move away from being fake. Pray for what is good, and hold a strong facade. Lay down the winding path to truth, and step out of the hidden cage.

 (brief explanation. After watching a documentary on teen depression, and just growing up in general, it struck a chord with me, and I wrote this.)

-------

so much beauty in this world, that I will never see

those things that I long for

too distant to be true.... I know that. God knows I do.

yet suffering seems to be constant

battles of the mind... inside, outside.

problems that never seem to cease.

to the point that I  fall....

I feel pointless.

Ugly.

Diseased.

too jam packed with these never ending faults

that an explosion seems unavoidable,

necessary even.

and they say to make a difference. 

to go out and change, be persistent, don't let anything hold you down

don't be shy, don't be anxious, don't worry

but I can't stop doing those things.

it's part of life... our life.... my life... as a human.

being human.

except my woes extend farther into streams, and piles of overbearing weight

that my weary dreams only lift high enough

to let me breath.

how can I stop this?

this insignificance, this complex

this obsessive and anxious nature 

that engulfs everything. 

that makes me want to disappear, to cry, to just ask '... why?'

there is no real cure

the only way... it seems... is acceptance. 

to step forward blindly until you strike something valuable

like a fountain of oil, or a cluster of gold

only greater 

will things ever fall into place?

all together so I don't have to worry

to spend each waking moment with another bug eating away

at my mind?

until that day comes

my feet are planted down

determined

to move forward, to enjoy the moments,

to just try and survive on this planet we call earth

(so small, insignificant, a dot in the universe, invisible) 

for those things we take for granted, and looked past

are often miracles we miss...

Forgive, forget

Forever, for less

Fortune, failure, feats, and fate.

Lead you to

the golden gate. 

And through the

heartless

ballad they do sing,

forgetting all

but everything.

Slumbered hopes, and

fruitless wishes;

clinging on by distant

kisses. 

The earth is all that we really know.

It's big and round, and extensive. 

Never will one person see everything in it. Every nook and every crany... It's impossible.

No one will touch each rock, each stone, or grain of sand. Which lay so small against your fingertips when you touch them.

It seems un-important. So easy to step on and ignore. To realize it doesn't exist.

Yet, if you look upwards into the sky, into space. And fly forever outwards, you'll see that earth is really just a grain of sand. Floating in an existence of millions of others, soon to be out of sight. So quick to disappear.

And you, yourself, are a piece within that tiny blue grain. Yet, you exist. You breath, think, and move. 

Who's to say that there are only mysteries in the cosmos. Why not here? On a blade of grass, or water dropplet, or even a flower?

Just remember that things are just the same big as they are small.

And Horton, well, he really did hear a Who.

I wonder sometimes ,you know,

If there really are others like me out there.

Who haven't had their first real kiss.

Who stare at the stars in wonder.

A 'romantic', a 'dreamer'. 

Or so they say.

There are supposed to be a lot of us out there, apparently.

But, then, why haven't I met any?

Is it Gods way to keeping some sort of ironic mystique?

Some cosmic joke I just don't get,

or was never let in on?

I'm not sure.

But then again, maybe that's the whole point.

You can't discover if you can't imagine.....