Conceal: one word, a thousand meanings. Cover up and be misleading.

Conceal. Pretend your heart is beating. Fifty fake smiles to hide the bleeding.

Conceal. Push them all away. Don't accept plastic bouquets.

Conceal. Mask the things you're proud of— What they can't see, they can't make fun of.

Conceal. Don't ever let them know How much you hate that you're alone.

Conceal the scars beneath your sleeves. Cover up how your soul grieves.

Conceal all that brings you joy. You know humans just destroy.

Conceal. Hide what makes you you. Their words are knives—they'll run you through.

(I may have slightly gone over two minutes...😅)

Words... what meanings do they hide? Are they sincere or dishonest? Do they praise or do they hurt?

Words... they can cheer up, they can sadden you. They can even kill.

Words... they can build, they can destroy. They can make you smile, they can make you cry.

Maybe it’s not words, maybe it’s how we say them. It’s how we use them and why.

Words... thousands of hidden meanings, it all depends on our intention.

Words... I could get lost in them or I could run away from them. They can captivate me, they can repel me. I can love them, I can hate them.

Words... they can be my best friends or they can be my worst enemies.

Words... I can play with them or they can play with me.

Words... so many emotions in a single word.

I wonder what it is like to be a bird. If I were a bird, I would travel to and from all different parts of the worlds, observing societies and the different things that make them up; culture, relationships, heritage, leadership, government, money, human nature. Behavior in society excites me, it tells us about the values and norms, behavior is essential when writing as well as dialogue. Especially when creating characters, we must examine their place in their society, and how their status effects their thoughts, feelings and actions. Society is well examined and explored in the book “Into the Wild”, in fact, the lead singer of Pearl Jam wrote a song for the movie adaption. The title, of course, is ‘Society’.

We all hide something. Secrets. That’s what we call them. Until there no longer secrets and everyone stares at you as you walk down the all. The men catcall from across the office and your boss makes eye contact with them and that’s it. The Women stare at you too but it’s worse because in there eyes you can tell they are thinking “What a disappointment to other women” And in the night you cry to yourself and blame yourself for being this way. Secrets are what hold us back.

‘Take my hand,’ he said. But how could I when I could just about hold on with my own two hands.

I tried to find some grip with my feet and thought I had, when I felt the rock break and skip off the mountain side.

‘Take my hand,’ he said, but I could find no hand to grab, no hand to pull me back up.

Empty words, empty hands. I felt my fingers slipping, my grip losing out.

‘Take my hand,’ he said again.

I let go.

The finale, The final curtain, The end.

Was it happy, Or sad? Was it really where, The story should end?

Who knows? Every finale is different, Just like each story. But never let the final act end, When there is more story to tell. Because, Between you and me, That’s the worst kind of ending.

Spells of chatter and laughter at the nearby park A seesaw, swings up and down The soles of their feet hit the ground As they take turns to fly Their shadows cast by the sun Up and down

He coughs and limps to find rest in the dark To a wooden bench, broken and round He sits and looks at his feet, dirty and brown He prays to the man in the sky But moon hides. The night nearly done Broken and round

How can balance be fair When there’s always someone in despair?

In the mirror, my body flows in and out of itself, big and small, tall and short, my hips narrow and widen, as my brain sorts through who I am supposed to be. I want to be grounded, connect to the earth, bring my feet into the grass and latch softly, but firmly. But when I think of myself in nature it is about the knobby fingers and the slender body of an aspen tree, drifting up and up into the clouds or the ink of night.

Reticent Shy, timid Most harmonious when confined to ones self Possibly strewn beneath obsidian sky Smothered beneath their own matter Retreating into the foliage of their own thoughts Lacking a facial expression, polished and pristine Guarded and walled Likened unto Fort Knox Like a white board bleached Perhaps A tad bit Selfish Inward thinking Introspective without cause Busy? Or busting in self with being self absorbed Tuning out emotions that don’t ring as loud as their own? Avoiding communication, and activities that occur outside of myself Being inclined only to myself Maybe just simply selfish?

Word: Dreamless

Time: 2 minutes

Dreamless nights are paradoxical. They are lovely in the sense that they are calm and horrible in the sense that they are [boring[.

Sleep with no dreams is calming. It goes quick and without incidence.

Dreamless nights where you lie awake staring at the stars, the ceiling, moving pictures, anything to stay occupied: those are the best.

Ideas are born of dreams but they are born of thought.

The train slows when you sleep, but if you never sleep, it never stops.

The best dreams are born by being awake.