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It's funny

It's funny how something small can do so much, and something big can do so little. Its funny how something that doesn't effect you, shatters someone else's world and someone can entirely ignore something that shatters your heart. What is nothing to you can be everything to someone else, and what is too much for you couldn't be enough for others. Funny how words spill and thoughts sink and hearts break and memories die and promises fade and life goes on as if it never had. Funny how everyone matters, no matter who we are. Funny how no one knows that. Its funny, isn't it? Or is it just sad?

there's days

There's days the world just seems grey. Grey like gun metal, like asphalt, like an overcast sky. Days where your favorite person can't make you smile, where the birds don't sings, where the sky isn't blue and the grass isn't green. Days where everything tastes like chalk, that same choking chalk of daily pills that no one wants, the taste of ashes falling to faked cries. There's days when the sun is pale, pale as rope, the color of an old letter no one saw. And sometimes there's days when everything is angry, the cars are the angry red of an accidental cut, the flowers  the same pink of an irritated injury. The things that no one notices, the twitches and the winces and everything going too fast, and the days where you can't breathe, like there's a hand on your neck. The days where you choke on words more than water, where tears and cries get swallowed down. The days where you're not okay, but it's better to pretend you are. They won't notice if I'm gone tomorrow, anyway

Sometimes I wonder why my friends stop talking to me at night And my first thought is I did something wrong Then I realize its like two am and normal people are asleep

She was a Shadow

She was a shadow. That’s what she had always been, and believed she would always be. Just a simple shadow. She wasn’t anyone’s shadow but her own, and that somehow made it worse. She’d go about her days, her weeks, her months, and years- but how many saw her? How many truly saw her? To most, she was naught but a ghost. A hint of what could have been. She was a shadow. A ghost. A lost soul.

She was a shadow. But she still had a life. She still had friends, or so she thought. She would talk and laugh, but was so easily forgotten by those who saw her. To her, time would simply stand still. How long had they been gone? Been rude? Been ignoring her? She couldn’t say. But she was almost always happy to pick up right where they had left off. From a few hours, to years, she’d welcome anyone with open arms. She was a shadow, but her heart was everything to her. Always welcoming, always happy.

She was a shadow, with a big heart. She attracted the wrong crowd, but always did her best to help. She tore herself apart, shredded her heart. She was left empty and bleeding so often, she couldn’t try anymore. If someone needed help, she couldn’t. It hurt. It hurt too much. She was the leftover remains of a shadow. The hint of a ghost. The glimpse of the last of someone. She still had her heart.

She was a shadow, a ghost, a soul. She was a helper, a lover, a rock to hold to when the tide gets too rough. But the shadow was broken by light, the ghost banished, the soul left behind. The help went unthanked, the love was used, and the rock broke.

And she was nothing

She was nothing. Had not mind, nor body, nor heart left to her. She was just It. There was nothing to it, and it was to nothing.

It loved and lost, and laughed and cried, and wished and hoped and prayed

It was foolish, and kind, and smart

It was loving and caring

But it was not missed.

Stephanie​ is to be feared

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