Tulip

When a tulip is being suffocated by weeds, we pull the weeds. We discard them in disgust. We do not tell the tulip to grow somewhere else. We do not tell the tulip to be less needy. Above all else, we do not tell the tulip to ignore the weeds choking its life.So why do we tell our children that? Why do we tell our children to hold their tears until they are alone because a bully will stop if there is no reaction? Are our children not as delicate or as beautiful, is that why we watch as there breath is being stolen. I don’t believe we should discard the bully in disgust, but shouldn’t we talk to them, isn’t it easier to stop a river at the source? You wouldn’t let a tulip die because of a weed.

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An Itch

Most people will tell you an itch is an annoying thing that mosquitoes give you. Granted that that easily could be the dictionary definition of an itch (Mosquitoes suck…Pun intended.) An Itch isn’t always bad, annoying, or negative. Sometimes you get an itch to do something that you are passionate about. I have an itch to write. It’s killing me all I want to do is scratch that itch. It drives me crazy, I could write all day, but it wouldn’t stop me from writing all night. That itch drives me to write, and writing drives me to live to the fullest. I guess I’m biased about it, but it does make you wonder why simple words have such negative connotations.

His Little Rose

Rose is such a simple name for such a complicated flower. Maybe that is why it is the flower of love after all love is a simple thing that causes such complexity in our lives. Roses are often underestimated, which is such a sad thing because their beauty is unmatched. Roses can be so delicate their petals soft to the touch, but if you roughly grab a rose you will quickly learn why no one wants to be on the business end of a thorn. Maybe that’s why my sweet lover calls me his little rose.

When You Become One

It is honestly a thrill, especially when it comes from the man you love. Knowing no one else is as close to him as you are, is such a beautiful thing. I felt full like when you are pouring water into a glass and stop right before it overflows. The best part is after. When he just held me, my skin felt calm. I felt like the whole world could bend to my will as long as his hand was in mine. I was without fear. All of the knots that were wrapped tightly around my stress, seemed to be untied as the stress disappeared. When you become one you share something beautiful that only you two can experience. It’s the proof of true love. At least it was for me.

Paranoid Thoughts

I’m so sick of fear deciding what I do. I love my beautiful brown eyed man. I would be lost without him. I know he loves me but that doesn’t stop the anxiety from whispering paranoid thoughts into my head. I keep trying to tell myself that he is just busy, that he is tired because he’s busy, not because he is cheating or because he doesn’t want me anymore. He is my Protector. He and I are one. We both already proved our alliance with each other. The past likes to repeat itself though, and I’ve been with cheaters and users before. I know he’s not either of those awful things. Sadly my anxiety doesn’t. I fell in love with him so easily, I just wish I could let him love me that easily.

Crossing the T and Dotting the I

I’ve been trying to have happy thoughts, but the darkness dyed my heart.

It aches for a man who might not love me.

When did I get so paranoid?

I know I’m pushing him away, but I just don’t know how to stop.

I feel like I broke a promise to myself.

I guess I did.

When did I become the thing I hate?

I’m disgusted with myself. I stopped looking in the mirror cause I couldn’t stomach the sight of what I saw staring back at me.

My wrists itch no matter what I do.

I’ve crossed the T’s and dotted the I’s.

I made my bed a long time ago. It’s time to go to sleep.

White Plague

America never got the black plague

Instead they got the opposite instead they got the white plague.

A plague that fills your heart with greed.

A plague that makes you see skin as defining.

A plague that makes invaders think that they are home,

when in all actuality they are 4,417 miles away.

Everyday you hear about immigrants coming to our country.

Our president says he’ll build a wall.

If only the Native Americans built a wall.

They had been hunters. Traders of pelts.

But all of that changed when the white plague got too big for its content.

The Native Americans were “savages”.

Is that why we caged them, and put them in reservations?

Clearly we like poking the bear.

Even now, we still take and use what we promised them.

The White Plague is a plague that has no cure,

And no end.