"You are beautiful."
That is what they say,
and you reply,
"Thanks, you too."
A compliment, received and courteously relayed.

But what is really meant by this statement?

"You are beautiful."
Implies the speaker has identified that you exist—nothing out of the ordinary.

"You are beautiful."
Implies something much more—that the speaker not only acknowledges you, but understands you. It implies they have access to the real you, the one beneath the surface, and that they are capable of evaluating it. Notice that "You look beautiful." is not what has been said. No, what has been said is much more than that.

"You are beautiful."
This is their evaluation. Through the lens of their own perception, what they see when they observe who you are is best described by the word "beautiful". From my perspective, this can only be taken as a sign of deep appreciation, of recognition from one soul to another that on some level, they share the same substance.

Yet, knowing all of this raises a great suspicion. Do those who make this statement truly understand what they are saying? Do they mean it? Did they mean to say, instead, "You look beautiful."? Did they even mean anything at all?

Do they know of the tension behind your smile? Do they know of the fear residing in the dark pools of your eyes? Do they know that the way you present yourself is often done in spite of how you truly feel?

Do they know, deeper still, of the tiny, yet unwavering flame that burns inside of you? Do they know that underneath the layers of frost that guard your soul is a core of warmth that craves release? Do they know that deep down, you don't believe the horrible things you tell yourself—you can't believe them—, but that it's much easier to pretend otherwise? Do they know that you numb yourself to escape unrelenting pain?

When they say you are beautiful, is it this you they speak of, or is it the you they see but do not understand?

Does their statement stand against who you are by trying to convince you of a self-image you do not have? Does it attempt to ignore, and by ignoring, negate the fact that you possess flaws, insecurities, and imperfections? Does it try desperately to project an image of perfection upon you, because to acknowledge the truth would be too difficult?

Do they really think you are beautiful, or do they merely want to think it, blindly and without commitment?

Of the answers to those questions I am not certain. But, if I were one of those speakers who dared to make such a bold statement, I would be very careful. For if they are not truly ready to admit with full honesty that they understand exactly the meaning of what they are saying, then they do not deserve to say it.

And if they do not deserve to say it, then they ought to be careful of another thing, too. For if their compliment is not genuine, then the response they receive in return might not be genuine, either.

"Thanks. You, too."
Oh, really,
I am beautiful, you say?
Thanks. You, too.

Like rosemary twigs, and lavender leaves,
The loss that tore my heart open today,
Chews at my body and mind.
In my stomach I feel an aching from the emptiness therein.
Excitement is low, and I can’t hear the beating of my heart.
That organ seems so quiet and careful,
That I wonder if it’s my heart keeping me alive
Or just some force of the universe or my will.
At times my mind seems like rice paper,
An empty sheet of white with no words written on to tell a story.
At others, my thoughts drift backwards in time,
Wishing that all the moments before would still be alive for later.

I always thought mouths were for kissing, smiling, and laughing.
Isn’t that a beautiful fiction?
But it is not a hundred miles close to the truth.
Yes, mouths do kiss, and smile, and evoke laughter,
But the movements of the lips are also quick,
Like the strike of a snake.
These mouths spread talk and venomous gossip,
One to another,
Like an apocalyptic plague that brings to all fever and vomiting.

Wouldn't the world be as perfect as an ivory-bell-flower?
If there was no heart break, gossip, or endings.  

Here I sit now,
Sitting on my knees with my hands resting on my legs,
And my back arched forward,
Like a monk in meditation.
The rosemary and lavender is growing all over me,
Transforming my body into a scented orb of green.

My love was not blindness
But the only truth
That you could take to be true
Never comprehending
Always
          Doubting
Debasing
          Damning
My love
Not as noble
As your love—
Your love was not blindness.

By no means, did
I succeed in moderation;
With you my feelings, like my words,
Came in bursts of awkward energy;
I couldn’t control the volume
And never realized proximity or intensity
Until you interrupted me
for yelling in your ear,
(You particularly hated yelling)
And I quieted down for a time.
Maybe I was too loud,
But of the words themselves
I should not have been ashamed.
My love was not blindness.

Blinded, could I have
Seen what you buried within yourself?
Believe me, all I wanted was to help you,
but, in aiding, all turned on me; unsuspecting,
I found myself under the depraved dirt
Spiritless, struggling, suffocated.
My love was not blindness.

I deny Dostoyevsky’s distinction,
An error of translation, perhaps;
Even in the most compatible of languages,
One language will lack the means
of expressing a word essential to the other.
We’re the same person, we always said
But I couldn’t invoke that here—
Here where it mattered
More than it ever had.
Same person,
not one for eye contact,
if only you had been able to
stare straight into your own
ever-evading,
ever-escaping eyes.
My love was not blindness.

It's not me, it's you
these words they haunt beds
but I can sleep at night.
Rather be cold, covered, and neglected
than hot, naked, and rejected.
Yeah you're winning cause you have feelings
but nothing is ever what it seems.
Crying and purging at the thought of my body
but I won't let you see me because I'm shaking.
You're so far away from my tree that I appear
to be still but my leaves are trembling.
I never asked for thunder and rain,
you were supposed to bury the pain.
Instead I watched as you endlessly shoveled to find
the root, so the the thorn in your heart can be extracted.
But I won't let you get soil deep
forever bound
chained and held in my hand
curled up defeated
a snail in a shell.
Sicker everyday.... all because I didn't wish you well.

Shame
fingers point
and they blame
you.
Libra weigh the scales
I'm tired of the lower hand
I want you so bad it's stupid
It's stupid that I want bad news
Yearning centuries now for something new.
I want you so bad it's stupid
it's stupid that I want you so bad
so bad, my want is bad,
but I'm stupid for you.

The Victim and The Villain
interchanging between the two
chemistry ignited in red
but now we're entering the blues
The positions they change as frequent
as lies that transform into truth.
The Victtim and The Villain
they live inside of us;
and they live inside of you.

We are  to watch the Throne...
Not stand by as pagans throw rocks at the Throne..
Talking bout there's no church for the wild
But last time I  check it was for the sick and spiritually shut down..
Those with no self control..
Those that don't know their role..
Those that have gained the world but at the sake of losing their souls
Followers aligned with the Rock of Ages...
How dear I pledge allegiance to a country yet along a Roc nation..
My Christ all white everything..
No spot no wrinkle all white wedding scene..
Every time a soul says Yes the heavens sing
Do we really understand this heaven thing..
I am talking no sin..
Peace no need for protection
No violence..no need for a weapon..
One body no racial selection..
Christ is the way to acceptance.
Hell is the place for those that reject him..
Do we really understand this hell thing.
Flesh burns fumes of sulfur dioxide
Thirsty no existence of hydroxide
Feel pain like death but cannot die..
Like swallowing a grenade destruction of your insides..
Heaven and Hell two completely different places..
Different thrones ..
Different homes.
Bliss versus eternal pain
Taking hollow tips to the dome .
Over and over again
An eternal spin cycle of torment..
We all are created with a purpose but it lays dormant..
Its sleep imagine purpose snoring..
Christ the alarm clock imagine purpose soaring  . .
To some this poem is boring..
Its not about me or you, its about Gods glory...
Now I speak truth no stories.  
God loves me he gives out the authority
So if I die today ..
With my footprints erased..
God creates everything I can surely be replaced..
I cling to Heaven.. Reject Hell ..
Live on earth
Walking with God..
You know there's two births..
With him two life's
Through Christ the only true right.
Watch the throne day and night..
I trust Faith and question my sight

Living reality is difficult,
Fantasies are what keep you smiling.
In the chamber of my mind,
Forever seems absolutely possible.
But what is this holding onto forever?
Even though each moment with you I spend as if it’s the last,
And think of no other space or time,
Later on I say ‘I want to be with you forever.’
These words will only bring the end closer.
Not closer in a sense that the end will come faster,
Though this can also be true,
But when it does come it is the biggest blow to the heart
I have known.
The hypocrite part of me is showing now,
For even as I write this truth of love,  
I can’t let go of you…