It’s strung together through the fibers on the back of the lost
Dreams that leave you sweat-stained and hopeful
How dare we doubt ourselves?
In the midst of our mist and making, we think to miss?

in this town
words hold hostages
not meaning.
if i cry i will
bleed, and i will
lose,
integrity and i will
rip apart the frontdrop that has
made my portraits pretty
for (maybe) minutes on end.

What are we here for?
Might there be a purpose that is more?
Maybe only time can tell the true meanings of our lives; it doesn’t lie.
That’s the power behind our efforts that continue till we die.

I am an ordinary school girl,
I have homework,
I have assignments,
I have essays,
and I have tests.

What is life?
Is it the short time between birth and death?
Is it a chance to do something?
If it is, then what?
Do we pursue happiness?
Do we try to help others?
Or are we all here to fulfill a purpose?
If we are, how do we find it?
We don’t.