You are stronger than you believe,
faster than you seem,
sharper than you think,
and more beautiful than you can see.

What once was fire in your eyes,
is smoldering,
about to die.

What once was fire in your veins,
is spilling out,
it slowly wanes.

Lost in a fog,
Drained of your blood,
Spine feeling soft,
Face in the mud.

Now fan the embers in your eyes,
consume what's left,
by fire baptize.

“He is the ocean in my life while I am a single drop in his. He is the sun in my sky while I am the breeze that goes by unnoticed. He is the moon that guides me at night, while I am nothing but the darkness in his life. Excitement pulsates when he texts, but not a pulse more when I text. For I am just like the other girls he talks to; just one of them when he is the only one for me. Happiness rushes through my veins and nerves feel a gentle tickle in his presence. I feel everything deeply; pain and happiness when it comes to him, while he feels nothing. Sacrificing, asking, encouraging, adjusting and compromising when it’s never the same. He never runs when I slip away, but I stay when he walks away. I feel like I am chasing him; on a constant run for him to care. But he doesn’t care about me, as much as I care about him; and that hurts deeply than I ever thought it would.”

- excerpt from an open letter

“It’s becoming tougher to love you every time you hurt me. It’s becoming tougher to trust you every time you betray me. It’s becoming tougher to be vulnerable every time you exploit me. It’s becoming tougher to lend you my heart when it feels like an open wound in your hand. You taunt me every opportunity you find, brag about my flaws occasionally, criticize and act cold at times. I am tired of visiting the restroom as though it is my sanctuary during occasions, shedding tears and walk out numbing my heart. We ought to be encouraging, loving and supporting one another and not pushing the other down to rise. But the heartaches are becoming often and old wounds are being reopened. It’s becoming tiring to experience it over and over again. I guess for it to not hurt anymore, it shouldn’t matter anymore.”

Dream a dream,
long and wide;
wake up and carry on
the day is yet to come.

Who's to say whats a good or bad poem.
The beauty of a poem is in the eye of the beholder.

What each individual can derive from it and relate to about it,

what each heart perceives from the logic/non-logic  of whats written.

A Poem may be super dope to one and not to another.

As readers we can encourage but lets not discourage..

Write on poets or simply writers. (if you must say your not a poet)

When One say's I'm not a poet.. hmm why not?..

What ever you write can pen on beautifully writing comes in a huge variety of styles..

Be free and expressive independently...  
Express on..

Who can tell the branch you can never grow up to be a tree..
Who can say ...
You will never expand creatively.. I see no talent in thee..
Encourage the seed the dirt and the tilled soil..
Be grateful for the air the wind the rains..
and all the contributing things that will make an existence blossom into a great visual expression.

@H.E.R_Poetry S.A.M 2019

"I am everything
The world revolves around me
This time is mine and I am in control"

                                      If its all mine
                                      Why am I so afraid to change it
                                      For the better good of the people
                                      In my world

Why can't I just speak to people
Without getting scared
I want to encourage others to try and change it also

                                 but I am a coward
                                 named courageous