Wait For Me

Your hand hit me. I was alone, cold, it was dark, but I could see it all. I saw the blood pouring from your heart onto the crisp leaves of last autumn, but it all disappeared. I heard a noise and turned to examine it, but you'd gone. Where, I don't know. The leaves turned into snow and soon became a home for a beautiful flower pushing her weak head through the morning dew. My arms were covered in marks, a secret language, I'm sure I recognised it.

I followed the river, watching as birds flew along with the ever changing winds. I was sure they had become one with nature, but I was wrong. I needed to get to the other side of the river, but it was far too deep to even attempt to cross it. But I tried. A sharp pain surged through my body when I took my first step, followed by a scream and I was gone.

They followed me for a while, looking at me. They were confused. I was the first person they had seen. Air, finally. Gasping deeply, I found a rock to hold on to while I tried to catch my breath. It vanished, the water vanished, everything vanished.

I was alone in a white room, it was big enough to walk around in, but not big enough to find a way out. Everything went dark and I could no longer feel a thing. Floating away from my home, my heart, my life, I let out a cry. I was gone.

You held out your hand, and I found it.

Their Expectations

They didn't believe in me,

I didn't believe in myself.

Everything I did was in vain,

but they continued to let me.

It wasn't until a few months later

that they believed, 

pushing me to keep going.

From no pressure came immense pressure,

expectations of perfection

and punishment for failing to do so.

The punishment was never physical, 

but mental. 

They'd castigate my achievements

when I tried to make fire under their water.

With their continuous high goals set for me,

but no rock on which to build a home,

I simply began to fly.

I never flew high, always under the radar.

But the day came.

The day I was beaten and bruised

with the power of shattered harmony

tearing open my heart,

and leaving me to suffer.

I did not see the wound,

as it did not bleed at first.

But others saw it, 

and picked at the injury,

beseeching my downfall,

and oh did I fall.

I fell so far down the mountain side

that I never imagined 

that I'd be able to once again reach the top.

The fear of falling, 

the fear of them throwing rocks to make me fall,

the fear that my hands would give up,

and I would fall. 

But I didn't fall.

I pulled myself up

with what little strength I had left,

and when I finally got to the top,

I held my head high,

knowing that I had done the impossible.

They wanted to claim responsibility for my success.

It felt like they had slapped me in the face

with a stone in a bag,

pounding me to the ground

to steal what little good they could see in me.

But I guarded what they wanted 

and never gave it to them.

They never wanted to see 

just how much I needed their help.

Maybe if they did, 

things would have been different. 

The Fireballs

There was a day that I believed,
when I looked up with hopeful eyes,
only to see fireballs falling towards me.
You looked up too,
but you just saw the sun and clouds above us.
Why was it that only I could see
the impending doom coming for us?

I never actually saw your face,
for I was far too focussed on what might occur
to even consider looking anywhere else.

Years passed and the fireballs grew closer,
but they projected no heat
and their light was too dim to notice,
but I still saw them.

The days and nights went by slowly
and I'd lie on the ground outside
staring up at the sky.
I found a strange comfort in these fireballs
as they felt like the only real thing around me.
By this time they were getting closer,
to everyone else, the sun became brighter,
but I knew the truth.

Some nights I'd break down into a panic,
knowing that any day now I would die,
and I knew it but no one else did.
The thought made my throat tight
and my breathing shallow.
Tears would gently fall from my eyes
and onto the paper I was writing on,
making the ink run.

I didn't know what to write,
or who to write to, but I tried.
I wrote about my childhood
and the stories I was told
at a young age.
I wrote about science and religion
and anything else I deemed important at the time.
But I tore up the paper each time
and would just cry.

I knew my tears served no purpose
other than a release of my fear
but I couldn't stop myself from crying.

Time passed and my life continued
as an empty human being
waiting for death to come.

It was that day that the fireballs hit.

I remember lying on the ground
emotionless
watching the fireballs come
and the people run around.
I stayed there until my time had come,
and just as it all began,
it all ended so soon.

The Mysterious Book

There's a desk lamp in the corner of the room,

resting on a table with many books and pens,

all closed except one, it was old.

As I approach the table, I see the pages of the book

are yellow and worn, but something surprises me,

this page is empty, no words on it.

This puzzles me, as I cant help but question,

why is this book lying open on a page with no writing.

I reach my hand out to turn the page,

I see names. 

And again, 

more names.

I hear footsteps getting louder, I thought the house was empty.

As I start to move away, the lamp breaks.

I'm left in darkness and in a panic I start to search.

I find a candle and a match conveniently resting behind the book

so I light the candle. 

The footsteps stop and the door begins to open.

I blow out my candle in the hope that I can sneak away in time.

In walks a shadowed figure wearing a black cloak with a hood.

It turns to me and that's when I see

two red eyes glaring out at me.

It's too late to run,

it already has me. 

A new name has been added to the book. 

Sofia

We all have a tree inside us,
we are the mighty oaks,
but still weep like the willows.

Our seeds were broken
the day we were born,
but through this destruction
came the beauty of growth.

As one tree grows,
another must fall,
but a fallen tree still houses life
for years to come.

With her roots spread deeply,
some will always remain
in the soil of our hearts.
And the light she projected,
will keep others going
through their darkest times.

Although only a sapling,
the tree within Sofia
will continue to grow in others.

Pretty Little Flower

Pretty little flower, your petals so bright,

you stand slouched in the soil. 

Every morning, you extend your stem,

trying to reach towards the sun,

with no success yet.
The trees are in your way,
stealing your light so that you become weak
and struggle to stay alive.

Pretty little flower, so cold and dry,

your petals fall slowly and leave your bare face. 

It's not too long now before winter arrives,
and your struggle will come to an end.

Pretty little flower, can you see the leaves fall?
Let the warmth of the sun energize you
as you repair yourself.

Pretty little flower, can you believe it?
Be proud of yourself, you made finally it. 

If I Didn't Have Anxiety

If I didn't have anxiety,
I'd hold my head high enough
for me to smell the fresh air
unavailable to restrained minds.
I'd breathe in so deeply
that I'd feel my lungs fill
as a  relaxed smile
slowly took over my face
remaining there for most of my life.

If I didn't have anxiety,
I'd speak up.
I'd let the world know
of any issues that
I may have solved.
I'd make myself heard,
and show people
that I am more capable
of greatness than they could ever imagine.

If I didn't have anxiety,
I would be the person
I know I could be.
But as time goes on,
I become who I should be
more and more,
waiting for the day that I can say;
'When I had anxiety,
this is what I dreamed of'.