Eyes like windows

A look to me with a face full of bees. There is no honey to be tasted.

A look to me with a mouth full of splinters. There is no tree to be grown.

I wonder how could you feel any difference.

I wonder, does the wood talk back.

Is the splinter in your skin screaming your name back at you. Hurt .

Separated and powerless to grow… now it’s death is in your hands …

If the bees start buzzing and the wood stops breaking will the flowers bloom ?

Is the creation of peace an undignified pause in the chaos of life ?

Is this the beginning or the middle.

Or does the end look more like a forest fire, wild and untamed unashamed.

Have you – a face full of bees ?

Hard as Nails.

Individual , you have your own hopes and dreams.

You dress how you want, or how your body dictates.

You do what you want, without reason.

Job choices and cooking and shopping are all at your finger tips.

It’s what you have strived for, for what feels like most of your life.

Teachers and parents, have poured into you

The world is your oyster,

You can be whatever you want if you put your mind to it.

We can be world changers. Power grabbers. Money makers. Love givers?

Or perhaps. Perhaps it’s the opposite.

Teachers and parents tell you that you are the problem.

You’ll amount to nothing.

They speak stupid and it breeds a pain in you.

They breathe useless and shame births deep within.

We are nothing, nobody.

You push boundaries, step out and wear your armour, daring people to ask you why.

You don’t care what you do, you are living breathing raw emotion,

Everyone else just deal with it, ok?

You seek out comfort in all sorts of things. In all sorts of people.

You are the broken, the unkempt chained. You can become small.

Or nothing at all…

Or perhaps. Perhaps it’s a little bit of everything.

A mish mash of life.

The broken raising the innocent with hope and fears clouding.

We were all children once. We all had make or break in us.

Chandelier or diamond.

All can come down and smashing crashing, awaken us to our self doubt.

All will come down.

Are we the grit ? The potential, in shell.

Are we the bud ? Waiting for a sun kiss.

Are we the dew ? The fresh hope fallen.

Change happens in all shapes and sizes.

Skin and bone beneath it all, remind us, please, we are all the same.

Naught else we have but a forward brace, to seize the day in blind faith.

Individual; we are the weaker for it, if we cannot handle all the changes.

Together we can stand. Bags of flesh and soul. A united mould against the hate.

Our pain our strife, the love that raised can be so powerful if we just engage.

Something’s are bigger, and harder to face.

Hair styles and eyebrow shapes. Likes and tags and insta-love, Face-

Books that talk about someone’s life story. But everything is Fake-

News that is all about famine and war, children dead but How-

Can we change. ?

All is but fragile and sand through a glass.

Will we make a different, chance. To better it all ?