I'm in a place filled with joyous memories 

And yet when I turn around...

I see those eyes, familiar faces replaced

Turned to a nostalgic place filled with nothing but emptiness

All that's left is the perfect version in my head

Because despite the people everywhere

I'm not surrounded, safe, but somehow all alone instead

I wish I were a willow

Then

No one who question me if I stood alone

Or bowed my head to cry the cold nights away;

I could stand, solitary, far atop a hill

Far away from lashing tongues and trampling feet

And finally breath freely the fresh dew-stained air;

Maybe then

Someday

I'd meet

A lonesome soul just like myself

Who could come to cry

Read,

Sing,

And, unreserved, spill out their joys

Beneath my weathered boughs,

Just as I once did

Beneath my own weeping willow. 

What I remember is warmth.

Warm yellow light and stepping into warmth from the snow.

Candles against deep violet turbulent skies.

I remember the nauseousness of travelling far away,

But your grin and chuckle were always worth it.

And when I'd try to swipe your glasses

You'd click your tongue and shake your head 

but smile all the same.

And when we'd talk and joke

You'd tell of your adventures half-way 'cross the globe.

Then you'd be surprised when I started saying something

That sounded like it came from someone a decade or two my senior.

But I still kept up alright, so it was fine. 

One day I remember wondering why a "stroke" was dangerous.

Did you get in trouble with the person in charge for what you wrote? 

No.

Turns out, and I still remember,

"it's when blood cells get stuck on the wrong side of the little strands in your brain."

I remember half-wondering why we couldn't just push them back.

Then everything would be normal.

But even then, in my youth, deep down, I still knew.

You couldn't mess around that kind of thing.

But when you couldn't remember us anymore, I wished we could.

I didn't cry.

I never do.

Even when things deteriorated 

You were pale and strapped to a hospital bed yet again.

They said you wouldn't be at church anymore, or go out to restaurants either.

In fact, you... wouldn't really get to do much of anything

Ever

again.

Even now, when I remember;

Life feels so different. 

Now I live in a world of dry throats

Achy eyes, deadlines and dreading post-it notes;

Of shifts and diplomas and payday never seeming to come,

In a world stained by those ominous grey clouds 

That can never decide whether to rain or stay put for their rum.

But they're always looming, threatening to pour at just the wrong time.

Yes, I live in a world of struggles, late nights and balancing acts

But sometimes I can't help but dryly remember

The days filled with warmth and candle wax.

Left unsaid

“It’s better left unsaid,” he said.

Yet he launched into the story of their love

And you just sit there

Envying

Quietly

What they’ve done.

Help.

That was all it said.

But help came too late.

Things had already spiralled too far

Out of control

Hurt

Lost

Away

And there was nothing anyone could do

Now the last words engraved on that soul

Would be a desperate cry

"Help." 

The real one

~~~~~~~~~

I might be here

In front of you

Plain as can be 

For all to see 

But in reality

I'm spiralling 

Away in a land

Far away

I'm gliding onwards

Towards an island--

Undiscovered, undisturbed--

Alone, but free

Rocketing away

To distant galaxies

Breathing fresh air

Against all logic

Probing a sea

Full of curiosities 

Fleeting through snow

And whisking over mountains 

Exploring old castles that only exist

Deep within my little world

As I lay down my pen

That is one the real one is doing. 

I think...

I will will be laying down my pen

Today.

Too weary of things cascading

Over the

Falls of "passed" and history.

Too

Underwhelmed with my own

Creations.

Too sick and tired of a world

Filled

With pain and sorrow and atrocities.

My mind

Is that of a cynic after all.

So maybe

Tomorrow I just won't. 

I won't 

Pick up my mechanical pencil with a 

"Click."

Or fly my fingers over those keys.

Or 

Wear my eyes achy squinting through screens.

Or

Flex a wrist, muscles cramped from my scribbling.

Maybe

Writing is just not for me.  

Should

I say goodbye? 

Uh so I saw a friend from preschool/summer camp who I haven't seen in like a year or two and idk if she recognized me but I didn't say anything and anyway I wrote a poem about it:

~~~ 

Today we crossed paths

For just a moment

That moment was enough to spark a million thoughts

Because I wonder

Did you recognize me?

Or did you just see another middle school girl

Walking home

With pale pink nail polish

White converse padding rhythmically on the ground

Brown hair always getting in her face

Backpack that was cute in elementary school, but now just stands out 

Face mask patterned with constellations

Looking at the ground like her head is weighed down

With a million thoughts

Because it is

Trying to be small, even though she wants to be big

A million scenarios rushing through her head

Looking as if she's trying to assimilate, to be like everyone else

Even when she wants to be unique, to be herself

Because she is

And I can't help but wonder

If I'll see you again

If one day we'll cross paths again

And we'll both recognize each other

And say

"Remember?"

~~~ 

I also wrote a song called "Emergency Starburst" but I doubt anyone wants to hear that XD 

My life is lacking inspiration. Does anyone have any poetry prompts/ideas?