The colors of spring and winter

October 10th

Sorry about weird spacing, doing this from a different device.

Jealous

An intense feeling of envy.

When the word transgender is said so much is talked about,

So much of it's about the beautiful and ugly aspects of this life,

opposing opinions, some disregarding the existence of many.

Much wall is covered capturing the unique perspective of a trans individual,

But one thing nobody speaks on, out of fear, I'm left to assume, is jealousy.

The jealousy of the boys who grew up as boys and got to play with cars.

The kids who had the courage to speak up before they were even ten.

It's no a pretty sight, to see me wishing to be the young boys at the thrift store,

Watching as they push through boxes of toys asking which one is their favorite.

Journal

A notebook to keep writing.

Someone once told that if you don't know yourself as much as you'd like to,

Or if you have any problem, any problem at all, and are unsure what steps to take,

To pick up a notebook, a composition, a scholastic, a spiral, any notebook will bring you down the same path, and write.

Write about the person you were today, write about your favorite songs that are yet to be written, write down your favorite sayings or even make one yourself.

Write poetry, write poetry that is far beyond dramatic, write about stories you'll never share, write about worlds that are yet to exist.

Write letters to the people who cause you the most joy and pain, write about your greatest passions and discoveries.

Write about who you've learned through books and on the playing field, write what you want to achieve today, tomorrow, this month and this year.

Write on a prompt you've found online, write about lyrics and what they mean to you, write about the books you've read and write about the one's you'll write.

Write about your ideas, even the ones you know you won't follow through on, write about new words you've learned, write about things you've come to understand.

Write about what makes you shake and cry, write about the happiest days of your life, write about anything, anything at all.

Because when you write, you capture a moment in time, something to look back on to remind you not all days will be like today.

When you write you show the parts of yourself that you may not have been aware of before, that you may not have seen at all.

When you write the world becomes honey and fluid with ideas, everything oozing into one and other.

When you write, your pain goes onto the paper, you can see it for what it is, what it isn't and let it leave you.

When you write you gain a greater sense of who you are and what you have to share with the world.

Journey

Going from one part of life to another.

A large part of my life has been accepting that everything, regardless if I admit it or not, is a part of the journey.

The day I hit six months sober is just a part of my story as the day I took a trip down the wrong path and went from one hundred and thirty to less than one.

The first moments of my poetry book, the days where I was so inspired are just as important as the months I went without writing.

The darkest nights in which I felt like I couldn't go on should be acknowledged just as much as the mornings spent in the sun.

The memories I wish I could wipe from my mind are just as valuable as the ones I hope I'll never forget.

Every second of my life is just another sentence in my book, and I've never read a story without messy times, so why should I expect any difference.

Jukebox

A box that plays music, not often used in modern times.

It takes time, for some less for some more, to chase authenticity.

Being the person you've always felt in your heart is terrifying.

It's beyond frightening to show those you care about what lies in the depths of you.

Some are not ready to conquer that fear, some never are, and before I was I played the role of the jukebox.

I pretended to be whoever you wanted me to be, I played whatever music you liked.

I based everything on what I should have been, I should have been more this or that.

If you were the type that liked to have fun, I was playing tunes in the background of your story.

If you were a sad poet I'd play something for you to write to.

I wasn't a person, I was a mirror of what I thought others wanted of me.

It's the strangest feeling when you realize you put so much work into the mask that no one lies behind it.

I don't know if I've made the transformation from jukebox to human but I have.

I don't play songs I hate anymore, I'm learning to sing the ones I love.

Jungle

An ecosystem in the Forest.

If there were a day that peaceful life outside the human race came down for a visit, I think they would see us a a beautiful forest.

Some of us a tree, some of us an animal, and some of us another plant that grows from the dirt.

The trees towering far above, giving all the animals and plants the shade we deem necessary.

In the way that we all work to help one another, the way we are all a part of the same ecosystem.

Juvenile

A younger person.

I have so much to say about being young, It's all I've ever known.

I wish there was an age I could say it stopped but ever since it's all been confusing.

One day something, maybe someone, is all you get out of bed for the next, you don't care and they don't either.

You find a label that fits but not quite right, you wear it until the itch becomes too much.

You do things that you think are right but they end up far beyond wrong.

You search for yourself only to find that person, not someone you are fond of.

The days you expected to be the best turned out the worst.

The people you thought would be with you until the black are now long gone.

You make choices that you'd never seen yourself doing, yet here you are.

You experience the best of times in the least expected moments.

It's more than a roller coaster, it's like being tossed into a game of chess when you've never played a day in your life.

You could say that's exactly what it is but it's something we all go through and is a tunnel we all make it out of.