How can thoughts be real
They're not solid enough to touch
So how can someone manifest
A feeling such as love?
Can you
Hold it
Breathe it
Squeeze it in your hands
It's forcing us to trust
In the invisible
Once again

Because although you can't see it
  It can still disappear
Love is the sad song
That left you crying in your beer

Blind sided
It can hit you
And you best believe it's true
Love is as real
As the way I feel for you
....

prepare to shudder,
prepare to have demons taunting you,
playing disturbing games with your soul,
with a calming darkness and scary happiness.

Staining your hands with a metallic substance,
marking the walls of the invisible.
This is what happens when you touch my soul.

Creatively ugly but mouthing the word pretty.
Be careful.

It's like  I was touched by this ebony, fair eye angel with two sides.
Soaring with bloodless and sullen wings.

But there is happiness, somewhere...
Sometimes presenting itself like a optical illusion,
adding mystery to my image.

Well, it's the power that words convey.
The way they allow you to feel the very thoughts that disturbs my mind.

These words can inspire, create, control and destroy.

Poetry is power.

It's expression,
it's the hope that my lines undress before your eyes and make you feel a rise..

The hope that they are so pornographic, it makes you second guess how ***** and strong the truth of free expression can be...

I write because my heart strings are tugged everyday, it plays the cord of pain and lost. It plays a melody that those can hopefully sing along to.

I write because it's the best way to voice the me I think I already know.

I write in hopes that one day my words would come alive and embrace me with the courage to be..
because poetry carries meaning that is far more complex, than the very words you see.

Makes you think beyond..

It humbles the mind and the spirit with how elegantly its craft captivates the being of the reader.

Poetry is potent.

Its power is endless.

I write because, why not ?

People cover up wounds with bandages,
whether it's the littlest paper cut,
or the largest **** all the way to the bone.
They are always covered with bandages,
hidden for no one else to see.

That's what's happening to society
We're all hurting,
whether it's the littlest paper cut in the heart,
to the largest **** all the way to the bone.
But we are forced to cover it up with a smile,
so no one will see we are dying.
You don't realize how people are hurting inside,
all you see is the smile.
And sooner or later,
you will look in her casket and say
"I always remembered her beautiful smile,
I never knew she was hurting inside".

Hair was dark as night
the silver fox has arrived
I call her mother

Roasted chestnut eyes
searching for people to help
hope lives in her palms

Four strong beating hearts
she embroidered those to us
a human angel

Today is her day
because she emerged from it
April dwells in her