Here is to the quiet ones.
The ones who’s voices are small and the ones who’s voices are barley put a whisper. Here is to the quiet ones who’s anger rages inside them but they burry it down. Here is to the quiet ones who suffer in silence and take things as they go because they don’t want to burden other people. Here is to the quiet ones because they smile more, they talk less.
Here is to the quiet ones who’s life has been cut short.
Here is to the quiet ones that feel greater than any other one. Because feeling greater means another day of living, another day of untarnished love for your wrist, your waist or your thighs.
Here is to the quiet ones, who are just sick but feel no pain.
Here is to the quiet ones who keep themselves inside. Who keep their heart locked away because it has been broken to many times.
Here’s is to the quiet one who still open up their heart even if they know they’ll be taken down again.
Here is to the quiet ones who go about their life’s wearing a scarf of their wrist, hiding their pain away from prying eye’s.
Here is to the quiet ones who sing along with life even if life is not singing along with them.
Here is to the quiet ones who refuse to stay quiet.
Here is to the quiet ones who want to stay quiet.
Here is to the quiet ones that have gone mute.
Here’s to the quiet ones who’s hurt is acute.
Here is to the quiet ones who’s heart’s have been tarnished by the darkness.
Child you are not alone.
Life is a mere faction of the quiet, life is a life worth living with an open heart. Life is the quiet while the darkness screams inside your head, a blink, a school bus running past a highway at the end is death.
Life is a friendship that ended way too soon. Life is a god who stopped loving you long before you could even start loving him.
Life is only just a blink in the bigger expanse, we are dust in the great cosmos of the universe. This scares me, okay, we are ants to the cosmos, we are a blink in time.
Yet. Life is like petal falling of it’s rose, an apple taken out too soon from it’s tree, a light bulb that linger’s way past it’s expiration date, a plant who grows through the cracks in the concrete, life is well written poem, life is a hatchling breaking out of it’s egg
taking a handfull of pills hoping that maybe you’ll just die!
Life is cruel, life is injust.
Yet life is beautiful, and life is worth living.