“There are two types of people in our forsaken world. Prey or predators. Fighting for power. I believe that the prey are more dangerous. For they have nothing left to lose, but everything to gain.”


some things aren’t poetic.

There is no

poetic metaphor

or fitting analogy

to describe how I feel.

I cannot compare

my lack of motivation

to the rising and setting of the sun.

I cannot juxtapose

my loss of direction

to the drops in the ocean.

I cannot collate

my need for happiness

to a growing sunflower.

I am not a metaphor.

I am not an analogy.

Or a comparison,

or a juxtaposition,

or a collation.

I am me.

I lack the motivation

to go on sometimes.

I am not sure

which path to take in life.

I would like to be happier

than I am right now.


There is no

poetic metaphor

or fitting analogy

to describe my life

because my life

is one of a kind

just like everyone else’s.

  • m.f.

thoughts and stars.

I think as many thoughts

as God put stars in the sky.

Some are big and flaming,

thoughts that make me who I am.

And when those stars end in a supernova,

a part of me dies inside too.

And when an explosion makes way for a new star,

it changes my outlook on things.

Other thoughts are shooting stars,

fleeting and unimportant.

Thoughts that I don’t keep with me for long,

comets that have a quick death.

And then there are billions of other stars,

not named and not found,

thoughts that haven’t been thought yet,

and thoughts that I don’t want to think again,

and thoughts that I don’t share with the world.

I think as many thoughts

as God put stars in the sky,

so while my mind might be as dark as the night,

my thoughts will shine as bright as stars

as long as I am breathing.

  • m.f.

learning isn’t fun anymore.

Six years old,

bright eyed and bushy tailed,

excited to go to school.

Then we got there

and we scribbled all over our papers,

and colored outside of the lines,

and we were reprimanded

for being too excited

and too carefree.

They told us to color in the lines

because it looks nicer,

because that’s why the lines are there,

because they want everyone’s

to look the exact same.


Sixteen years old,

tired eyes and stressful lives,

learning is no longer exciting.

But we still go to school everyday.

And we’re still reprimanded

for being different,

for thinking outside of the box.

They reject our ideas

and tell us our dreams

aren’t realistic enough.

They tear us down

and say it’s our own fault.

They told us to stay in line

because it makes things easier,

because that’s what rules are for,

because they want everyone

to be the exact same.


Twenty-Six years old,

lifeless eyes and crushed dreams

work was never exciting.

Here we are,

coloring in the lines

painted by society,

too scared to be creative,

to think outside the box,

to color outside of the lines,

because we’d been reprimanded

for doing so all our lives.

So we obeyed the rules

and paid close attention to the lines,

and now we’re all

the exact same.

They chipped away

our creative souls.

They oppressed

our creative minds.

They destroyed

our creative hearts.

And they stifled

our creative breaths

until we were all left

with lifeless eyes and crushed dreams

instead of

bright eyes and bushy tails.

  • m.f.

shards of my heart.

They tell you to follow your heart.

They say it’ll lead you in the right direction.

They say it’ll guide you.

But what if my heart has been shattered



three times,

and now it lies in pieces,

dozens and dozens,

of shattered little pieces.

Which part do I follow?

The shard that tells me

to go back to him?

The piece that shouts at me

to run away from my troubles?

The sliver that demands me

to rise up again?

The part that whispers at me

to just give up?

Or the shred that encourages me

to follow my dreams?

I find trouble

in deciding which of these

is my right direction,

my guide.

Because I have no heart to follow,

do I even have a right direction,

do I even have a guide?

Or am I destined

to wander through life,

clueless about what my fate should be

because my heart is too broken to tell me.

  • m.f.


The First Kiss

The first time his lips touched mine

The first time her lips touched mine

I felt something new.

              I felt alive.

I felt like a kid on Christmas morning.

I felt like a kid on Halloween night.

I felt like the person that laughs too hard at a joke.

I felt like that person who never fails to smile.

I felt like someone playing with their new puppy.

I felt like parents seeing their child for the very first time.

I felt like a girl having her first kiss.

I felt like a boy having his first kiss.

I felt happy.

I felt weightless.

But I had to warn him of dangers ahead.

But she foretold of reckless waters.

I told him my lips were good and bad,

She said her lips were both light and dark,

That I used them to tell lies,

Used to twist reality,

But they’re the same ones I use to apologize,

And used to save a life,

That I use them to say hurtful things,

That she used them to tear down,

But also to tell him how he makes me feel.

But also to build up stronger than ever.

I tried to use them to warn him

She used them to try and save me

But he threw caution to the wind

But I’m too far gone inside her beautiful brain

And kissed me until my lips held no hesitation,

And I kissed her with everything in me,

Only happiness.

Especially happiness.

Have I known you forever?

  • e.o. & m.f.


I haven’t got a story. All I have to show is a broken life with shattered pieces littering the floor in my wake. My father told me I needed to write everything down, said it would clear my mind. All it’s done is cloud it with all of the things that have gone wrong. I’m not strong, not anymore. I’m broken. The world broke me. Wherever I go, death follows. I’m the girl with the dead boyfriend. The girl with the dead sister. Dead mother. Dead family. All they did was try to save me and all I did was watch the light fade from their eyes. Is there a way to be forgiven for all that I have done to get here?

Maybe one day, when all of this is said and done. 

Maybe one day, when I can make all of the wrongs into rights. 

Maybe one day, when all the power I never wanted could be used for good. When I can be good. 

I’ve been told that everything happens for a reason, but why do bad things happen to good people? I never wanted any of this to happen, I never wanted to be responsible for all the deaths littered around me. 

Yet here we are. Everyone is looking at me to save the world. To be a hero. I’m no hero. I never was. I don’t know how to control or how to do good by anyone. All I know is that I can destroy without a single thought. I can destruct without breaking a sweat. And I’m not afraid of the blackness that may follow. 

And that terrifies me.

  • e.o.