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stop

stop telling me whats perfect stop telling me whats best stop telling me that I can't trust the heart inside my chest stop telling me "be honest" it's all I ever do stop telling me its all ok, can't trust myself, or you stop telling me to trust the plan, I'm tired of the wait stop telling me "stop crying" because you're a little late
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Realist

I slowly sip my sweetened tea while I stare blankly at the glowing computer screen in front of me. An average day. My fingers cascade across the keyboard clicking at each key as they find the desired letter. Silver gleaming, my hands are heavy. I look around at the messy room around me. Art scattered about, light peeking its way through the shutters. My eyes wander back to my mug. Empty. My fingers stop clicking. The soft hum of the air conditioner can now be heard. Calm.
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