I’m always in a hurry because I feel like I’m always running out of time.

It’s like I’m standing in an endless line waiting to get to my destiny.

Except, I don’t like lines and my destination is filled with expectations and declarations of dreams.

It seems like my twenties are flying by even though I’m twenty one.

I always jump the gun because what if the sun doesn’t rise.

What if I never fulfill my dream?

What if I never get to sing?

I’m always in a hurry because I am surrounded by clocks that tick and tock.

They put me in shock because another day has gone by…


People say I have the potential but potentially I could never make it.

And I can’t fake the weight that I feel in my chest when I see what my calling could be.

I’m always in a hurry because death doesn’t scare me, living does.

The longer I take to live the more pain I’ll endure but if I hurry I might just make it out in only a few pieces…

Peace says, ‘be still’ but my mind says, ‘run’.

Run to the finish line so you’ll finish fine.

My body is slow but my mind is fast.

I’m already in my forties and I haven’t accomplished anything.

I never got to sing. I never followed my dreams.

These are the things I think of. My body is twenty one but my mind is twice the age.

I’m in a cage instead of on a stage.

Turn the page.

I’ve died accomplishing nothing. Changing no one. Being no one. Just another wasted potential. Gone.

I wake up as my alarm goes off.

How old am I? Twenty one, still.

Still the thoughts that paralyze me into being too afraid to look away from the clock.

I don’t hear the tick.

I don’t mind the tock.

The Night. The Day. The Fight

Don’t ask how I’m doing unless you want an honest answer.

This depression in my brain is just like a cancer.

Ruthless. Destructive.

Don’t tell me everything is going to be okay when you have no idea what this pain feels like. 

When you get to sleep at night.

Because I can promise you that I am awake scared to death to sleep.

When I sleep I dream of death and when I awake to the sun in my room I cry.

I cry because I didn’t die but then I hear a song or see something so beautiful that for a moment I have hope.

A stranger smiles at me and someone buys me coffee. I suddenly feel like life is okay.

But then as the sun says goodnight I fight the intrusive thoughts.

The thought that I am not wanted. I have nothing to offer. I am not enough.

The thoughts that taught me how to have enough courage to swollow a bottle of pills.

How messed up is it that I have more courage in my attempts, then I do in talking to strangers.

But you see everyday is this battle of dark and light. Night and day. 

People pray for me. They say, ‘stay for me.’

And during the daylight I induldge in their wishes but as soon as night comes I burn those bridges.

Each day is a fight. A plight of life.

What keeps me going is my desire to set fire to the hearts of those hurting.

I know you, my friends.

I see your pain. I feel it myself.

The shame. The guilt. The hate.

I feel those things like you but instead of trying to put out the fire I let it consume me. 

I allow myself to feel the pain and I take it and make it my own.

I harness the fire to light the way to my desires.

My dreams that are way too big.

My purpose that is bigger than myself.

My love for all things beautiful.

I still struggle with living but instead of hiding from my demons…

I fight back.

So cry because you awoke to the sun.

Cry for the all the pain you feel.




Live, for there will come a time where your story will be needed to help someone else feeling as you do now.



A word so sharp so deadly that it can take lives.

Am I pretty enough?

Just a few more pounds and finally I’ll be pretty.

But the satisfaction never comes.

I start to go numb as I look in the mirror crying because I’ll never be pretty enough.

Why didn’t this get more likes? It’s because of my fat face.

I plaster on makeup to hide the imperfections.

I analyze every calorie as it devours me.


Society has taught me that my worth lies only in how pretty I am.

But I hear you whisper to me saying how you made me for more.

I wasn’t made to be pretty.

I was made to be pretty amazing. 

Pretty smart.

Pretty talented.

Pretty funny.

Pretty outgoing.

Pretty kind.

Pretty loving

Pretty is the last thing I was made for.

For I was made to cut the noose off of men and women who are being strangled by their own insecurities.

I was made to bring light into the darkest of hearts.

I was made to be a force that cannot be stopped by being told that I’m not pretty enough.

Because I have had enough of slaving away to what society wants me to me.

I have had enough of comparing myself to a flawless picture that doesn’t exist.

I have had enough of trying to be pretty.

For I was made for more than a simple word that lacks sustenance.



Words. All I hear is words. 

No meaning. No depth. Just words.

Why don’t we choose to say something with meaning?

I’m tired of hearing the sounds coming out of your mouth.

The crashing of symbols resound as senseless tones pound into my brain.

Don’t you realize the pain you’re causing?

A forest fire of destruction. 

An unholy alliance of hate and wrath.

Unfortunately, I was on your path when you decided to embark on your journey for pain.

Filled with disdain my brain started to try to cope with the pain but it was all in vain.

Your words turned to bullets that ripped through my brain.

Words that once had no meaning became my own definition.

The recognition of myself.

Who I was became who you said I was.

The girl in the mirror was on fire.

She was turning to ash as you blew at the embers.

You didn’t want her to see the bucket of water sitting beside her.

You wanted to watch her burn. You would turn out the light and say, ‘look how brightly you shine’

Time after time I would agree. I was shining ever so brightly.

The more I burned the closer I moved to death. You were so pleased with your work.

However, you forgot that I was forged in a fiery storm.

I had been born with the ability to withstand heat.

Just when you finally thought you had finished your cremation.

I burst from the ashes as a new creation.

Your words went back to just being words.

No meaning. No depth. Just words.

A forest fire may destroy everything but it is beneficial to causing a surge of rebirth. 

Everything regrows healthier, strongier, and more beautiful.

There is only one definition for me that can never be changed or petitioned:

‘Fearfully and wonderfully made.’



Just breathe.

Everything is going to be okay.

I have to tell myself this constantly.

Because I would set myself on fire to keep you warm.

I’ll give you all I have and more.

To stand by your side is an honor.

I may be a goner but you have so much to offer.

Brother, take my hand. Let’s show them all we have planned.

Because I would set myself on fire to keep you warm.
I’ll give you all I have and more.

To be your sister is no chore.

I adore you.

Brother, let’s go on an adventure.

We’ll chase the stars and shine bright and you’ll never leave my sight.

Because I would set myself on fire to keep you warm.
I’ll give you all I have and more.

I love you.

My brother. My friend.


Save me from this life

Save me from the strife

Wash me away

Don’t ask me to stay
I’m not supposed to say that I hate myself

But I hate myself

Who am I 

Why am I here?

My problem is that death doesn’t scare me.

It encourages me.

I’m sorry, you probably think I’m insane.

But really there’s just a lot on my brain that feels like it can’t be tamed.

Wash me away

Please, don’t ask me to stay

Tomorrow is another day, maybe my demons won’t come out to play.

Save me.