Stop. Breathe. Remember God's Simplicity...

Christmas melodies singing Santa’s sleigh bells ringing. Holiday lights beaming So it must be Christmas. To me, Santa is real, He hasn’t lost his appeal. He knows how to make me feel Like the season is Christmas. I can smell the joys In the cookies and the toys Opened by girls and boys On the morning of Christmas And even though it’s raining, (and the shopping can be draining), my spirit isn’t waning Because it’s Christmas.

Poor little bird, why do you cry? Did your little friend set off and fly? Don't cry all alone in the tree, I'll tell you something to you from me. I too had an angel, on Earth a  friend, and what so quickly began, had a sudden end. Although optimism is something I always lack, Know, that while seasons change, they always change back. Yes, she too had no choice, but to set off and fly, but the spirit is sacred and can never die.

"Fear" is  continually displayed in dangerous calligraphy on my bedroom walls. It was once on the window where condemners could read, on my ceiling as a greeting when I woke and last thing I saw before I spiraled to nightmares of isolation. I stared at it etched on my door, and I was obligated to stare it down while I fumbled for my keys. It was written on the blinds, on my body.  on my homework, on the foreheads of friends and family,  on my tuition, my bank account, my work. Fear is now only  present when I'm alone. Smeared across my walls in sharp,dark, cacophonous font. With this word sky-scraper tall, I feel defeated.

Wind is conversing with Trees They aren't so secretive , but no one ever listens .

   I am not vain nor self-concious.I love my eyes. I'm told I have beautiful eyes.I like that my smile looks genuinely joyful. I don't mind my hips. I love shaking them left to right,with my Ipod while I'm cleaning,doing homework, or before getting in the shower. I'm forgiving of how my body looks,I know there's no perfect mold. So I chose to love who I am.     Women say I need to focus on companionship,women in my family wonder what is wrong with me.Is something wrong with me? I don't date. I haven't been kissed.I haven't held the hand of someone I loved and felt his hand hold me back. The women in my family curl up on the couch like a slumber party's group of gossipy girls, and ask if there's someone special I have my eye on. Each time I speak, I feel like I'm letting them down. I'd wish that they would lose interest in asking, but they never did.      It is possible for a pretty girl to feel ugly through casual, nonchalant glances. I

Why are you crying? She'd single me out like the dumb kid in school. I miss him. My little fingers held my attention.Twisted and intermingled like the words marking my silence. Anything to not stare into her eyes.  I just want to see my- Shut down and wrapped shut. Do you not love me? The cold callous glare took hold of my insides and smothered it into submission. No, that's not- Tears didn't know where else to fall. One after the other they fell onto my cheeks. My heart tried to break free and run. Then don't mention your father anymore. Go to sleep.  I turned over,trying to hold my breath so she wouldn't hear my stuttering cry.