Optimistic Correction 101

You gotta be right never wrong. 

You gotta smile and learn to hide your tears away 

‘til it’s safe to let them out. 

You gotta be right never wrong. 

Put your feelings on paper to trick your soul that you’ll 

eventually bring this to somebody’s attention. 

You gotta breathe and breathe bravely. 

I keep telling you, trying to remind you, be right never wrong. 

You don’t listen to me and knowing this makes me want to scream.

I wanna scream so loud, but I know that screaming would be wrong, never right.

So, I’m sorry. 

I guess I have to learn to control what I feel. 

Don’t be like me, please be right never wrong. 

Listen to me! 

Listen to me please, listening is right never wrong. 

Trust me. 

I understand while you’re listening to me, 

you have things you don’t like that I’m saying. 

You have disagreements, 

but you must not let me see that you disagree. 

Showing any feelings while you’re out in the open, 

is wrong, 

it’s being vulnerable. 

Don’t be vulnerable, that’s very wrong, 

never right. 

Very wrong. 

Stop that! 

You know what you open yourself up to when you’re vulnerable, 

you know what “they” do with vulnerability. 

I’m still here in front of you and you’re acting like you don’t hear me. 

Knowing this makes me want to pound my fist and bring you back to reality. 

I want to bring you back to reality because you’re twenty years old 

and you still don’t seem to understand the real world yet. 

You don’t seem to understand the real world yet, 

because as you stand here I still see stars in your eyes. 

You mustn’t have stars in your eyes because that 

means you still believe in being optimistic. 

Don’t be optimistic! 

You’re making me very angry. 

Don’t make me angry by being optimistic. 

Optimism is very unrealistic and never right. 

Don’t be wrong! 

Don’t worry because I used to be optimistic, 

but then the world turned me around like a parent to a disrespectful child and

showed me what’s wrong from right. 

Be right,

never be wrong!

YOU’RE STILL NOT LISTENING TO ME AND
IT’S REALLY STARTING TO GET TO ME! 

I’m sorry, 

I’m in the wrong, but

I see I got your attention now.

Please learn from this little experience, 

I was vulnerable and almost lashed out. 

Don’t lash out, 

it’s worse than being vulnerable. 

Don’t do either, 

unless you’re behind closed doors and remember only you can judge yourself. 

Oh, understand I’m here to help you, but 

please understand I am not alone in this matter. 

We can’t judge you all the time even though that’s the most effective 

way to help somebody in your situation. 

So, when you’re behind closed doors please continue to take our advice 

and help yourself. 

Help yourself by judging yourself. 

Just simply look in the mirror and tell yourself all of the things that we 

won’t say to you at all. 

This is always right never wrong. 

Please be right never wrong. 

Be right never wrong. 

Oh, if things aren’t going so well, 

please understand we were like you once upon a time, 

we even used to think like you and had starry night sky eyes like you, 

but we were corrected with time. 

YOU’LL BE CORRECTED WITH TIME.

Hi, My Name Is… And I’m A Popoholic

Don’t worry about feelings or any form of doubt. 

Don’t worry cause you got pop. 

So many different flavors that temporarily cover-up 

almost every mood and almost every emotion you have.

Don’t worry about what some people might compare this to because due to
your past, 

you’ve figured out what way to stop getting judged and getting your feeling hurt, 

the same feeling your constantly trying to hide away from better
than keeping people

at arm's length so they don’t get that chance or blocking them out altogether. 

Don’t worry about your appearance while looking in the mirror. 

Oh, trust me all the pop you’re drinking will give you a complete makeover. 

Don’t worry, you’ll love it. 

Or don’t, but I mean you can always hope for better. 

Just try a different flavor and maybe you’ll get a different outcome. 

Block people out who define that as crazy. 

You’re not crazy, you’re just not an alcoholic. 

No, you’re a popoholic, 

that still isn’t much better, 

but there’s still a reason behind it. 

There the same reason you claim to still be asleep 

after your name is called ten minutes or so after you say 

prayers or just like you claim to be asleep after hitting the snooze 

for the 13th time and each snooze is in 5 minute increments. 

Hey, but look on the bright side, 

if you don’t have any pop a home, 

you’ll be out in the real world. 

The real world, the code name for trigger number 

one slash excuse to stop by a store to get your fixer-upper for cheap. 

Don’t worry about the money that you spend on the pop, 

you get paid biweekly and this week wasn’t that lucky week. 

So you’ll eventually just make every dime back that you just spent. 

Don’t worry I know this is a lot to remember and 

I understand that keeping track of things can be stressful, but 

again that’s the whole reason we, 

I mean you, no sorry why I drink pop. 

Don’t worry about worrying, we got this. 

Just talk to a friend about it. 

How about, you just call them. 

I mean it’s ok, they could possibly be doing something, 

but that something isn’t with you. 

Damnit, that’s what’s pops for. 

Look… I know we’re alone, 

I mean, I know you feel alone, 

wait sorry let me reword things I acknowledge that I feel alone, but 

that’s what carbonation can fix. 

Each carbonated bubble can fill that void that loves 

from the person you write letters and poems to each night, 

you’ll, we’ll, I’ll never get. 

Each bubble can tickle your nose and give you that laughter 

you’ve, we’ve, I’ve been missing for so long. It’ll fill that void… 

that void that’s remanded a well-known part of the body, 

apart of the heart that’s been with me for as long as I can remember. 

The void that provides the type of lullaby that swoons with the echos of

my heartbeat. 

The heartbeat that only exists through memory,

because the pain has hidden it under years of heavy emotional luggage. 

Don’t worry, pressure makes diamonds. 

Their just diamonds that 

You’re, we’re, I am waiting to become. 

It’ll happen. Trust me, it’ll happen. 

Don’t worry it’ll happen...eventually. 

The best things in life are worth waiting for. 

Pop isn’t the best thing in life, 

which is why you don’t have to wait long for it. 

Don’t worry, you’re on the road to recovery cause you realized you love for pop. 

Love, look at it going towards something consistent, 

in your life. 

Don’t worry about how dehydrated you may feel from time to time, 

just try to drink water. 

Please drink water, 

cause that’s what will keep you alive. 

The longer you’re alive the more 

you’ll, we’ll, 

I’ll need more pop to cope. 

Don’t worry about the negative condensation that might flutter around whatever 

amount of a brain that you have left. 

Be brave, you’re self-doubt, 

silent tantrums and uncontrollable yearn for something better and
by something better. 

I mean, sorry we mean, 

sorry three times a charm, you mean, you want things to change. 

The thing is we all know nothing will change. 

Knowing we know this, 

make the bubbles that follow behind the crip taste of whatever
pop your drinking. 

Don’t worry. 

No, 

don’t worry about your family. 

I mean look at them

their obviously not worried about you. 

Like seriously if they were,

they’d stop you from buying pop, 

which they have before,

but that only drives you to get more pop 

outside of their supervision.

You will feel better. 

We will feel better. 

 I...I will feel better.

An Inconsistent Love Confession Note

“Just tell him.” 

I can’t! 

I can’t just tell him that as I sit here I hard to stop thinking about him. 

I can’t admit I only think about him, 

because I know that I probably don’t cross his mind once. 

His mind is a bridge, 

between two different worlds. 

One world I’ve been stuck in for so long, 

the other world that I’m dying to fully experience.

A wooden bridge between a friendship and a relationship, 

over a raging ocean of uncertainty. 

I can’t just tell him that this bridge-like mind of his is a bridge

I’m terrified to cross cause if I cross,

not only do I know I’ll never want to leave, 

but I also know that I wouldn’t know how to take it. 

I’m only uncertain because he doesn’t know how to communicate how you feel. 

This keeps me guessing, 

leaving me to be uncertain with exactly how I feel. 

Making me question my love and my means of showing it. 

How can I tell him that as I lay here worrisome is causing

memories of us are being reshuffled, moved around, 

manipulated like a deck of Uno cards, 

that’s made out to make me loose? 

I mean I don’t mind playing, 

but if this is a game with the intent to make me lose. 

I just don’t want to get my hopes up. 

Hopes being up is something I should be used to having. 

He keeps me guessing, 

keeps me at the edge of my chair like an anxious moviegoer

that is watching her own life as a film, 

yet still not aware of what’s gonna happen next. 

I don’t wanna know what comes next, 

but I know you can’t always get what you want. 

I can’t tell him that he is what I want. 

I can’t! 

No, 

I can’t tell him because I know that his mind, 

the amazingly structured bridge that it is and knowing the fact that I never cross it. 

I know that isn’t the only thing I never cross. 

There are probably no feelings there, 

leaving me to having one-sided feelings. 

I can’t tell him because I don’t have the guts to. 

I don’t have the guts to tell him because I pored them all out in texts

all my heart needed was for him to read. 

I can’t tell him, 

that once and a while I’d refer back to the texts, 

hoping he’ll surprise me and understand what I was saying. 

All that happened was me yet again being shocked that I fell for it again. 

I can’t tell him. 

I won’t tell him, that I fell for it again. 

“It” being love. 

I can’t tell him, 

because I know it’ll go. 

I can honestly predict that it’ll go the same way, 

the conversations I have with myself before I gather up the remnants

of the guts I didn’t pour out on unread text and try to tell him face to face. 

I can’t tell him that every time I look into his eyes, 

I forget how to speak, 

every word that I initially wanted to say goes unheard, 

then later diluted into ink that smeared neatly on paper like

the eye shadow I’d put on my eyelids hours ago. 

Just to be smeared on a napkin dampened with a natural makeup remover. 

I won’t tell him any such thing. 

I won’t tell him that when I miss him, 

which is often I play the music he lured me into a room full of, 

caressing me with each snare-drum and 

washing away without a shadow of a doubt that each

moment in there with him made every moment away from him worth it. 

I can’t tell him that, 

not seeing him burns a hole in the day that already seems like has gunshots in it.

I can’t tell him, 

because I’m terrified of the cricket silence I’m bounded to face after I tell him. 

Or worse yet, 

I’m scared of the deer in the headlights stare I’ll probably give, 

once I tell him that this is important, 

with the intent to be serious, 

to help portray the topic’s importance. 

I can’t tell him I love him and deal with the pneumonia chest compression-like pain 

when the reply I get is 

“I love you too, 

I care about you” 

with the encrypted sisterlike love being exposed. 

I can’t tell him. 

Not in person. 

Over the phone and the tears smeared on 

paper won’t work either. 

I love him. 

I can’t tell him I love him so much, 

it’s killing me that I have to let him go.