MY BOY,DON'T U BE AFRAID OF THE DARK,
HAVE FAITH, KEEP GOING, SEE THE SPARK!

the day a poet  
falls in love with you
is the day
you know you will live
forever
not in life
but in the love
that your poet
could never seem to
grant
themselves
but will
give you
all of

SPREAD MY WINGS
I SEEK NO DSTROYER
HAVE ALL THE SHELLS
BACK BONE ROLLIN
PARTAKE FROM DEATH
LIVE FOR HOPE
FAITH IN TRUUST
AAMENITY

i'm too afraid
to tell you
how i really feel

so i'll hide behind
small jokes
and soft phrases

i'm too scared
if i ask you
"do you feel the same
about me?"
your reply will be

"not yet."

Beautiful cloth shall tore,
The owner shall die one day
And fine houses turn trash.

they often say “You are what you think”

so what am i
when i think about you?

I see you
I've been doing my circles
Playing games, round after round
But hey now
I will hop my hurdles
Heart tied, wrapped and wound
I have a view
Dreaming dreams I've never dreamt of
Whatever have you done to me
I can vow
This is a different love
And life and eternity could be
With you

There is too much happening
Too much to care about
Too much to fight for
All worthy causes
But the biggest fight of all
Is to be empathetic
In this apathetic world

this isn’t a poem, but i’m deleting this account due to various reasons and transferring everything to my instagram account @starkissedlover ; please make sure to follow!!

I want to save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
because she tells me it is my destiny,
and it is all in the email she sent me.

I want to save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
because she possesses many Riches,
and she has promised me all of them.

I want to save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
from her wretched uncle,
who will steal her wealth and lock her away.

I would save this Princess from Zimbabwe --
but she only needs my Government ID,
Bank Account and Social Security.

These clouds of Italy are grown on vines,
Infidels of skies, fruit bearers of wine-veined
Marble, fertile in spite of its own lifeless tableau,
Here thrives the succulent garden of the alone,
Where turns aside the burnt nape of the plowman,
Voyager of the cool midnight seas of the mind,
Up to this arable vine of sighs from outworn gods,
And hears his heart once more give up its throne.

𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖾,
𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗍
𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗐,
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌
𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒;𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒
𝖻𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒
𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍;
𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝗅𝖾𝖾
𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌

In a place beyond heaven and hell...

Upon a pale blue face...

Dressed in a garment of green foliage...

Wearing neckpieces of wild flora and untouched fauna...

Adorned by a crown of diamond stars and ethereal clouds...

Having the mind of mountains...veins of waterfalls and rivers... And the heart of oceans...

Cells of gravels and skin of a holy soil...

Rain kissed body  releasing the divine petrichor and gemstones filled *****...

In such a place I exist...
Cradled in a Mother's lap...
What would I call it if not my eternal home!

When I asked you what song reminded you of me,
you sent me one about a love curse—
about loving someone dearly and missing them,
and when I messaged you some joke about it,
not about the love curse but about the language,
wanting to clarify but not wanting to be direct,
you responded in what almost looked like nerves.
Neither of us brought up the love curse,
but you didn’t say anyone else made you think of a love song;
am I reading too much into it?

I want to escape,
from this hellhole of a cell
The bars make it hard to breath,
The air stinks of blood and the jailers wrath
They do not seem to notice my constant torment,
I hide my tears,
Cursing myself for being weak
I fear my weakness will only bring them pleasure
So.....
I wait....and wait.....for the day
When I can cry till my hearts content.

I hate the good days
I have no reason to feel
As bad as I do

Karma is like 69:
what you give is what you get.
Karma doesn't distract as much
---at least it hasn't yet.

and we
won't just
  survive
    but we'll
      thrive till
        we're five
           and make
              peace with
                 our hearts
                     till we're
                         feeling
                              alive
                                   and my
                                        puppy-
                                               eyed
                                                     lover
                                                            will talk
                                                                   to the
                                                                          sky and
                                                                               we'll drift
                                                                                      through the
                                                                                              night till
                                                                                                      we're free

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

I’m addicted to the feel of cold metal sliding across bare flesh
Addicted to the instant
when nothing marks smooth skin
immediately before
red rivers rapidly rise
painting a once white canvas
with a flood of emotion,
tears on my cheeks,
sobs caught in my throat,
numbness replaced by pain & sadness.
Addicted to the imperfection
of red welts and dotted scabs that follow,
fingers drawn like magnets
to the texture of healing skin,
tracing over and over and over now fading ridges
Amazed that I am strong enough
to heal myself over and over and over.
Convincing myself that I am strong enough.
I find strength in my weakness.

I feel the need to fill it all up,
my days, that is,
gather plans and gorge
on seamless social interactions,
slurping up smiles and gulping
down the cool liquid of laughter,
picking my teeth with the bare bones of boring conversation.
I’m an introvert, but time alone isn’t helping anymore.
Alone, I spiral. I starve.

What is the purpose?
Someone distract me from these things in my head called thoughts.
Nourish me, I am dying and I’m wanting it, too.
Please,
laugh until my stomach is so stuffed that I heave out another joke.
Talk until I bite my tongue and bleed, eagerly chewing, cheeks
hurting.

What neon emptiness has driven me here
to the all-you-can-eat buffet?
While I feast on my friends under these fluorescents
my shadows only wait.

Thinking about getting a tattoo
But, I take pause...
Looking in the mirror
I see my body’s already covered
Marked in invisible ink
Every inch of my bare skin
Painted with the joy and pain of living
From my heart to my hips
Color faded here, but poppin’ over there
Memories designed by your hands
Others etched on my own
A collection that makes me smile
Among a few pieces I regret
So, about getting a tattoo...
I guess I’m not ready
Because I can’t think of a tattoo
Meaningful enough, yet
To write over any of the life I’ve lived

Dreams of tomorrow
Fated hallowed memories
Of lives shared as one

And then I saw it,
At dusk, beating its small wings.
A guest from heaven.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

Why does it always feel like
no one's listening
when I talk?

(each stanza is a Haiku)

We, the resistance,
are here, stationed on our couches
armed with our remotes.

Camouflaged in our
faded PowerPuff pajamas
and fuzzy slippers

We are determined.
Yes, we have evaded contact
and forsaken love.

We few, lay down such
as freedom for honest care
for our fellow man.

Our hands rest lightly on each other and we both sense a meaning that can’t be articulated. Only conveyed. Something like: the way my fingers rest delicate on your side means I adore you. You are precious. I might break you but for now: this lightness.

Streets open  
people roll
out of their
shells -  
lights
music
stretch into
the humid
night.

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.