alive for sixteen, almost seventeen years.
going through some things, like everyone else on this earth.
i just want everything to go back to normal. that’s all i want.
the sun, like the moon and stars, is our guardian. our mother.
a white lie, pale with implication but silver with morals.
these festering souls become blackened under society’s pressures.
do not judge the rabbit’s burrow.
in the forest, everything is at peace.
when the sky is too heavy, i let the earth carry some of the weight with me.
society tells you when to smile and when to cry.
disclaimer: this only applies to a situation that happens to oneself, not to others. for instance, you really shouldn’t laugh at a funeral unless the deceased wanted it.