they say people who swear

are more verbally affluent

and intelligent

than those who don’t

they are more honest

and express their feelings

without hesitation

more open and powerful

their words legitimate

well no sh*t

anger is contagious

making others uncomfortable

a kind of sinister approach

to pleasant conversation

but sometimes when

I drop a wine glass

or get a rejection

I let everyone know

swearing is a certain kind

of letting go

I need to know that true love exists

that when I grow just a bit older than I am now

I can find my person

and he will complete me

love me,

make me feel alive

infinite

just like the stories say.

Some days I feel as though everything blends into one and my feelings are churning like oil and water, those days are the hardest. Constantly being told what to do, what to achieve, how to live, is both a safety net and a nightmare. Battling between being lazy and scared or being over worked and trapped is suffocating, yet the loss of oxygen makes me feel alive on the right day. Do you know how it feels to be at war with the most inner parts of yourself while the exterior puts up a façade so excellent you almost forget the thunderstorm happening inside your own mind? Maybe I'm just being dramatic... or maybe I'm not. I haven't figured it out yet. Do you know what the stranger in the mirror looks like? How they look at me? They look like a shell of my former self, an expression painting their mug with such disappointment and pity, making me want nothing more than to fit her once more. Do you know what that's like?

False confessions mean nothing.

A coerced tale may ring true,

But it wasn't meant to be so.

Perhaps it wasn't intended for your ears

Wasn't crafted in my heart to be spoken at all.

You may think you help

And I will be set free as a bird

But all you set free is resentment.

I built this up inside for myself alone.

These words are not meant to be shared.

They are not meant to be squeezed out of me

Along with bubbling tears and hiccuping sobs.

My soul should not be bared out of shame

Left shattered in pieces on a kitchen table.

A beautiful thing such as this

Was not meant to be wrenched away from me

And laid for all to see

Leaving me in shambles.

Was I built only to be broken?

Or do my words mean nothing

Unless accompanied by hysteria.

You could have waited

Until I was prepared to share myself

But instead, you assume that this confession

Was how it always was.

That it was never a beautiful and careful story

Slowly readying itself for the world.

A forced premature birth.

I crafted these words for me

And anyone I would choose

Not to be falsely rearranged by you

And wrung out of me

Dripping out of my mouth along with any chance you had

At having anything but my

False love.

She is met with a quiet that tugs on her languid eyelids, which break to meet his waiting above her.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers, voice frail, cracking.

He nods, forcing a smile upon his dampened cheeks.

“I know, my love.”

He drags his red hand up to her hair, brushing it out of her face.

That face.

That face that echoed the most beautiful laugh in the world.

That face that wrinkled and bent under its own smile.

That face that he felt so lucky to call his.

That face slowly draining of color, draining of her.

“Is it okay if I rest for awhile?” she asks so innocently.

That face that he fell so desperately in love with.

She asks for permission to go, and with a sob, he gives it.

Her eyes pull closed

and so does her novel.

He flips through the pages, searching and scanning every inch of the binding for any sign that this isn’t the end of her story, but no matter how many times he checks, there’s nothing.

His eyes burn into the final words: The End.

His book is much longer than hers, he realizes. He has more chapters to fulfill; a plot to complete.

The painful truth is that she is no longer a character.

And so, with one last kiss pressed to her cooling forehead, he continues on their path alone

and she embraces the most peaceful rest she’s ever had.

Supposed to be a happy day

A happy life, the happy way

Mais 사실은, it's not that way

I don't enjoy a single day

Some people are born with joy

때로 I just wanna destroy

This illusion, this picture, destroy

Dans ma vie, n'est pas de joie

What to do, what to do?

I shut my eyes, it's only you

Tu restes dans mes rêveries, tu

외로운...what to do?

제가 바람을 들어요

하자, we really need to go

Run, you say, just let it go

C'est votre vie, follow the flow

Chase the 흐름 de votre coeur

Fly, you whisper, like a bird

Je veux être, want to be the bird

走る après ma coeur

Je détestes mon fait et ma vie

It's not what I wanted it to be

The dream girl, the real me

Where is she? C'est moi, je suis...

망가진...

* * * * * *

Supposed to be a happy day

A happy life, the happy way

But in fact, it's not that way

I don't enjoy a single day

Some people are born with joy

Sometimes I just wanna destroy

This illusion, this picture, destroy

In my life, there is no joy

What to do, what to do?

I shut my eyes, it's only you

You stay in my dreams, you

I'm lonely...what to do?

I listen to the wind

Let's do it, we really need to go

Run, you say, just let it all go

It's your life, follow the flow

Chase the flow of your heart

Fly, you whisper, like a bird

I want to be, want to be the bird

Run after my heart

I hate my reality and my life

It's not what I wanted it to be

The dream girl, the real me

Where is she? It's me, I am...

Broken...

Favor is mine.

At all times.

I embrace myself and all my flaws.

I battled my demons and house them behind plated glass.

I keep them in sight, so I can see what I’m fighting for. So I don’t lose myself.

I‘ve done my self care,

my self reflection,

my affirmations.

And then,

my mind goes swimming in a pool of self doubt tainted with poor life choices and a hint of transgressions.

And so it goes…

Write without a plan.... sure no problem.

After a full day of teaching, where I've had to plan several steps ahead throughout the day all day....

....And yet still encountered curveballs I wasn't expecting, writing without thinking about a plan sounds nice.

Usually I like to continue storylines I'm working on through these challenges, but I've already got plans for all of those fictional folks.

Maybe create a new story, with new characters?

Sounds good, but my brain is kind of fried.... maybe on the next Pen To The Paper.

My son is playing the Attack On Titan game, the music in the game has a nice flow to it.

Is this piece flowing nicely? Not so sure really.

But whether this gets a shout out at the rewards show or not, it doesn't matter.

Writing is really amazing, even something like this that I'm hoping finds its way.

I'm thankful to be able to write, and share it here.

Even if I'm not sure I'm saying anything that will be relevant.

I'm putting part of me out here, and all of you writing are too.

And no one can deny, how awesome that is.

Guess I should get my coffee - my work day may be done but parenthood is not.

But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Keep writing folks, your stories and words matter.

You matter.

I live in one of those developments where every house is identical – the layout of the house, the colors, even the landscape. It was a cheap build, but the location was perfect, and I couldn’t beat the price.

Between work, the gym, and whatever other odd errands I have to run, I’m typically out of the house, and therefore the neighborhood, all day. My house is really just a place to keep my stuff, sleep, and occasionally eat. The HOA deals with the lawn upkeep, so I don’t even have to do that. I just walk into my garage, get in the car, pull out, and drive away. I guess that’s why I didn’t think it was odd that I never saw my next-door neighbor.

Well, that’s not true. I did see them, or I saw someone. It seemed like every time I looked through the window at the house next door, there was someone standing there, looking at me. Even if it was just a glance, I would see them. It was always behind a sheer curtain, so I never got a good look at them.

I admit I was a little creeped out at first. But I knew that this neighborhood was full of retirees and older folks. I just assumed that this was some lonely old lady bored out of her mind, and people-watching kept her entertained. I shrugged it off and went about my life.

I had lived in that house for almost two months before I actually had the opportunity to stay home all day. Well, was forced to, anyway. My washing machine was on the fritz, and I’m useless when it comes to home repairs, so there I was, waiting for the tech, who could show up any time between 10 and 4. I kept myself busy with little chores here and there. I even tried to sit down and read a book, but that didn’t last long.

Before long, I got so impatient that I actually started pacing through the house from one end to the other – kitchen to living room and back again. On the fourth or fifth lap, something out the dining room window caught my eye, but I walked past before I got a good look at it. On the way back, I saw it again, and this time I stopped in front of the window. Once again, through a sheer curtain, I saw someone watching me.

Maybe it was the impatience eating away at me; maybe my neighbor had just done it one too many times. Whatever the reason, I got annoyed. I pulled back my sheer curtain to get a better look and display my own irritated expression.

As I pulled the curtain back, they did the same. I squinted at my neighbor. Our houses were far enough apart that I couldn’t see details, but the woman looked much younger than I expected.

That piece of information sent me from annoyed to angry. A lonely old woman people-watching was one thing, but this person was no old woman, and she seemed intent on watching me.

I had had enough. I strode out of my house, down the sidewalk, and up to my neighbor’s door. I raised my hand to knock, but something out of the corner of my eye stopped me. In the flower bed next to the door sat a little stone frog. That frog was not on the HOA’s approved lawn ornamentation list. How did I know? Because I had the exact same frog in my flower bed next to my front door. I brought it from my old house and had to fight the HOA to keep it. I had seen it in my flower bed when I walked out the door, so I know my neighbor didn’t steal mine.

Was my neighbor copying me? Did they have some weird obsession with me? Were our houses not identical enough?

Truly pissed off now, I banged on the door with my fist. Each knock echoed slightly as if someone was knocking a millisecond after me, but there was no response. I banged once more, yelling, “Hello?” My voice echoed off the house's brick wall, but there was still no response.

“I know you’re in there!” I shouted. “I saw you looking at me through the window!”

I waited another second or two, but no one answered. Finally, my rage took over, and I reached for the handle. To my surprise, the door was unlocked, and without thinking, I pushed it open.

On the other side of the door was . . . my house. It was a perfect copy – my furniture, my curtains, my area rugs, my pictures, my décor.

And standing in front of me was a perfect copy . . . of me.

I had a dream that Brandon Sanderson put $654,789,421 in my bank account.

Why does my subconcious think that he is the richest man on the planet? I dunno.

He transferred that into my bank account with a note that said, "So you can know how it feels."

I had a dream that I was in a crowded place and trying to escape and the one person I wanted to talk to, to be with, I couldnt find.

I had a dream that I had to sneak through a summer camp where a black window faces you wherever you go. Behind the black window is a vindicative man. If he saw me doing anything he didnt like, well... I dont want to know the consequences.

Im going to college soon. Maybe my brain knows that I want and need money, wish to escape people, and feel like someone is always waiting to see if I mess up.

Dreams are weird.