Or else He will hear you.

Who you may ask?

Well He is the vile demon that goes by the name of Doubt.

He slithers across your bedroom floor and slaughters your dreams before you can even shout.

He crushes that voice inside whispering your hopes to you. 

Stay guarded and protect your friends and family, 

Because He doesn’t wait to attack,

Age, color, ethnicity, doesn’t faze Him,

He will do what He wants and He will take from you what you love most.

Spend every waking hour fighting Him, 

Don’t let him keep you caged in.

Take up your fiery passion and wield that blazing inferno through His heart.

Take up the strength that you know you have existing inside you, 

And fight Him with all the might that resides in your frame.

He will stop at nothing to end that ever growing whisper, 

But you are stronger,

But you are stronger. 

Once your battle has been waged and His bloody and beaten body lays on the tarnished soil beneath you,

You will no longer have to whisper your dreams into the night sky expecting no response,

You will finally have the freedom stand upon the rooftops and shout.

everyone + everything and recoup. sort

out your thoughts. listen to your heart.

breathe. read a book. write about how 

much your life has sucked - then write

about how much you can’t wait to see the

positive changes. relearn yourself. accept 

all the hurt you've been through. forgive

anyone and everyone who’s hurt you. even

if that means doing it within, and never

physically or verbally reaching out. let go.

& rejuvenate. take a step away from the 

chaos, and find peace. within.” 

Rupi Kaur's book of poems, "The Sun and Her Flowers," is something I love to read when I want to feel connected to myself and when I want to escape the stresses of day to day life.

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

                                       Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
-Walt Whitman