You thought you'd left the days of make believe behind by the time you were nine.
And yet, years later, here you are
making yourself believe you'll be okay
so you can make your baby believe the same.
Somewhere along the way,
we seem to correlate imagination
with maturity.
But what if it has less to do with growing up and more to do with surviving?
What if it's a defense mechanism?

I love the person I've become/but I hate the person I had to be to get to her/ I wouldn't write the younger years out/for fear of who that would shape her to be today/that is you would find a completely different person/still bathing in lukewarm water/or lost at sea in a turbulent trapped mind/unaware/and yet I wish I could pick and choose/to remove those images, those words, the fighting/not all the bad/but the biggest of these./Who would she be?

In dreams, I've lived. In life, I'll die.
In dreams, I get to say "hello" again.
In life, I have to say goodbye.
In dreams, I'm not afraid.
But in life, I'm terrified.
Terrified of what I don't know. What I can't see.
Terrified I won't be who I'm meant to be.
But what if that's by design?
What if dreams are visions of heaven
and nightmares visions of hell?
I could sit here forever hypothesizing,
so I'll leave you with one final thought.
We tell each other to follow our dreams.
If dreams are visions of heaven,
maybe all of our failures, our efforts,
are not for naught.

5 days.
Wondering if i should cave
But if he loves me?....
maybe hes thinking the same way

Idk what to do
My heart
My mind
Going back and forth
Im beside myself
But if he loves me?...
Maybe hes thinking the same way

I don't see how it could get better.
But I don't see how it could be worse either.
Am I trying too hard or not enough?
What if it's both?
What if all the answers
are in the space between?
We always say there's 2 sides to every story. What if the truth is in the middle?

I hate that what I want from you
Is something you don't want to give me
I hate that I look at other faces
And I graphically dissect what ifs

what if there was a lock with no key to throw away?
what if it could be sealed with no lips having a taste?
what if it held your words with no rope to tie it down?
what if it can be made with just words with no sound?