I felt sadness,
And I embraced it.
I felt anger,
And I used it.
I felt anxiety,
And I dwelled in it.
I felt jealousy,
And I was motivated by it.
I felt sympathy,
And I saw the weakness in it.
I felt cared for,
And I lost it.
I felt love,
And I hated it.
I felt happiness,
And I rejected it.
I allowed myself to feel today,
On occasion I hold my emotions in my hands like objects,
Seeing them as accessories,
I guess I could add those to me today.
I allowed myself to connect with someone,
As we were getting closer I felt further.
I made them laugh,
They're so fond of me now,
We had a moment and I can't stand it.
I allowed myself to write a poem where I write the word "I".
To talk about emotion in writing is like a diary,
A lack of creativity, white paper no canvas no paint brush.
I allowed myself to break the rules of my writing today.
Aug 15, 2024
Aug 15, 2024 at 2:19 PM UTC
We wake up to that alarming sound,
Pick up the cellphone
Scroll, Scroll, Scroll
Unread messages, missed calls
The darkness and lonesome of waking up,
Covered, Isolated,
but recharged from the constant stimulus
and daily overload of the senses.
Eyes feel weighted,
Stretching open as if rubber bands hold them shut.
The sound of TVs, Music, Cars,
Technology
Dressing well, presentation is key.
The anxiety of fulfilling plans, responding to emails, presenting your body to wherever it needs to be.
Enslaved by the concept of time,
the necessary effort to find time for you,
but the feeling of losing, and the learned mentality that tells you to be lazy is to sit.
In this quiet realm,
listening to ones own thoughts and wondering:
how many of these are a result of influence?
Where am I?
Where is me?
Everyday we wear this armor,
ready to battle,
but seeking
peace,
tranquility.
When was the last time you noticed the birds chirp?
The patterns of wind, as is winds up,
and as it winds down.
As it quiets down enough to hear a pen drop,
and then it leaves you for a moment.
The cold as it triggers goosebumps and lifts the hair on your arms.
The annoyance of grass,
irritating your bare skin as you sit on it,
but you choose tolerance.
And all of this provokes the realization,
of the constant loop you are in.
To get here you have to escape.
The expectations of each one of your roles,
Son or Daughter, Man or Woman, Friend or Foe, to choose you or someone else,
Human.
The appoinments of life,
the need to insistingly value your time,
the sin of escaping your daily routine.
Days like these
A machine constantly in motion
To be the free bird that fights for survival,
where a meal is never guaranteed.
Or to be caged,
and fed by the social constructs,
and partake of what is given to you.
Either way,
A loop is a loop.
Feb 10, 2024
Feb 10, 2024 at 12:34 AM UTC
My little spark,
One day you could set fires,
Spread yourself ablaze.
With beautiful light,
Shining in the darkness.
But you're struggling.
Keep trying,
I told her.
One day you'll be beautiful. You'll be remembered.
My little candle light,
Your aroma relaxes me.
Your light shines a small section of the room,
Sometimes to be admired
As you melt the wax underneath you.
But one day your shine will perish,
Won't it?
My little ember,
You take flight as the bon fire wood cracks.
Coming from a flame,
Your attempts to reach out fail every single
Time.
As you fall to the ground in sadness,
What your reaching for is unreachable.
Keep trying my ember,
One day you'll be beautiful.
My beautiful has become a flame.
Scorching with passion and traveling through aggression.
Burning with the earth as her fuel.
She takes advantage of the air to guide her direction,
But without detection.
Is there anyone to notice you?
She burned so softly,
As she grew I lost control of her.
Furiously, she set her love ablaze.
Until only ashes were left of him.
She's grown so beautifully she is unable to feel regrets.
Does she miss him?
Or is she now happy he has become a part of her?
Has she yet realized his ashes were left behind?
His ashes were freed by the wind which she could no longer find.
Little did she care, she's admires her own beauty, something she could only dream of.
My little inferno,
Feeding on hatred, purifying the filthy.
Crowds run from her beauty,
Blistering heat torches their skin.
My inferno cannot be extinguished.
My inferno chooses her own path.
My inferno consumes.
My inferno turns blood into ash.
My inferno,
Is now asleep.
And just like a dream, she ceases to exist.
Oct 11, 2022
Oct 11, 2022 at 1:35 AM UTC
you were never taught to love,
therefore you dont know how to give it.
you were never shown love,
therefore you cant recognize it when you see it.
love is like seeing a stranger,
except you only see this stranger in the mirror,
you dont know yourself and no one has ever known you.
rarely will you say the words "I love you",
because most of the time it comes out as
a desperate gasp for air,
as if punched in the ribs with the feeling of having the wind knocked out of you.
you're broken,
and you wonder if you will ever make it out.
everything you've ever known,
is now foreign because it was all constantly taken from you ever since you can remember.
could you ever have protected yourself?
Oh, my poor broken soul..
I bring you the cure,
so that you can grow once again.
I cannot rebuild you,
because you were never brought forth.
instead I will create you,
and I will teach you.
I will build love in you,
and show you what it is to smile.
My poor broken soul,
you have such beautiful eyes.
the look of painful happiness
everytime your gaze is set.
as if you were a rabbit,
coming out in the daylight,
looking up to the sky wondering if that hawk has spotted you.
but you look beautiful from up here.
but it wasnt like that before was it?
the happiness?
is that new to you?
did you ever experience joy?
it hasnt been often--where you could be let out of your cage.
where you could explore and be free and know yourself as you.
im sorry,
I wish I could pick up those pieces.
but instead, I will free you from this cage.
your wings will spread
you will be the hawk,
and the animals your prey.
instead of being afraid
you will be feared by all the evil in this earth.
your head will be crowned
with rings on every finger
as He once said,
"I will make your enemies a footstool for your feet ti rest."
you will know what its like, to rest your head on this field of lilies.
under the tree in the shade,
enjoying every sunset,
and the view of the ocean.
that smile is my favorite place,
and I will make sure it will never be erased.
You're my island,
And alone with you,
Is where I want to stay.
I love you.
my beautiful, soul.
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 2:24 AM UTC
Its frustrating,
Isn't it, my love?
The feeling of uncertainty,
The feeling of having to find someone for you.
Has your prince charming not yet appeared,
To save you from this wicked spell?
The wasted time.
The special feeling of getting to know them,
While your heart bares the fear of them failing you miserably,
Or even you failing them.
Are you not happy on your own, my love?
Do those scars remind you of the darkness
Awaiting you as you hit your head on the
Pillow as you fall deep asleep?
Into the depths of the ocean you go,
A treasure chest awaiting to be found.
But my tank doesnt take me that deep, my love.
Id drown trying to find you,
And you couldnt meet me halfway,
Even if you wanted to.
Even if I did find you,
Will you be easy to open,
Or will I have to pry you?
Will a lock be in existence,
If so will you give me a key?
Or will I find the need to break the rusted
Old lock.
But when I open you, would you be empty.
With no treasures left for me to find of you?
Will the box you belong to be damaged
From those who made the far effort,
To only sell your jewels and let the admiration of them go to waste?
A tsunami hit,
My love has been washed ashore.
So many have the map to that says the "X" marks the spot,
And they beat me to it,
Havent they, my love?
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 2:28 AM UTC
Perhaps, as this epitome of beauty slowly progresses,
he will land on his back to the ground,
Sinking with a warm fuzz that surrounds him,
fuel that crawls throughout his thoughts, imaginations,
emotions - To the point where he cannot help himself but to think of her.
And he will be shocked as if a car were
To crash into him while he put down his guard.
And someday she'd fall into that same cushion,
Perhaps she will envy his smile,
Laughter, soft spots - that were once hardened.
His armor dropped, laid down as well as his sword.
She thinks to herself:
Is he aware that any small attack could be the cause that he die?
Despite all of this,
she is a warrior of her own mind,
Emotions - scaring off anything that threatens the one thing she believes to have:
Her dignity,
her heart;
She has her guard held heavy enough to detect any virus coming by.
She's her own immunity.
Yet,
She knows deep within her,
It would be the best love they both would
Have ever experienced.
To the point where the world could stop,
And the enemy succeed in beheading the king,
With no king,
They'd be content,
They'd have everything under both their feet,
As they sit on the throne.
Perhaps,
The castle walls would be the best guard they have achieved.
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
In times like these,
during my sweet night,
the time young humans fall asleep while hearing lullabies.
When the moon shines over,
Beautiful and at times catastrophic.
Exposing, and at the same time hiding.
Where it spills its light at the same time causing shadow.
My sweet night,
can be indecisive.
Sometimes full of light, glowing, and showing its beauty
other times at a crescent,
as if the moon were meant to be hidden
but is chained in its curse,
that causes these waves to crash in it's attempt to escape its
duty in covering the sun from its light.
My sweet night takes her time,
gently appearing in the sky in the form of her choice.
As the light pierces through,
my sweet night welcomes me,
she claims she will stay for a while,
but will leave when the time comes for her to sleep.
The clock ticks,
but that's okay because it's that time of year again.
The one night that the sun takes it's lazy doze.
The sun whose light shines in it's obligatory state,
demanding its victims to rush with tasks that
shape the globe.
As I lay me down to sleep,
and I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
It finally comes that time of night
that I am able to stare at my ceiling.
Although my sweet night will leave,
she will still be there as the day comes by.
My sweet sweet night
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
Creativity (Midnight Freewrite)
Once upon a time, my mind was blank.
Could I finally be sane
from the feelings ingrained in my so often flooded mind?
This ocean pushes the small grains of sand as though keeping
them all at one place,
the inability to crawl back to where they once were.
Accompanied by many,
yet purified throughout the constant washing due
to clashing of waves.
The stubborn rocks give in,
once enormous,
they've become wearisome from being pummeled over and over by the ruthless ripples,
eating away mercilessly like piranhas.
The rocks begin to deteriorate like my wretched nightmares,
as if it was inevitable for them to reciprocate this way.
I think to myself
Could I for once create something beautiful without the taint
of distortion my pessimistic perspective brings upon my cursed
brain?
Or is the lust after such a wicked dream be looked down
upon by my insides which take control of me?
Perhaps one should blame his imaginations
for considering such a change.
Imaginations which were once banished.
Ones leading to joy and happiness,
when one was once optimistic to the sun and the trees,
the butterflies in his stomach that
cause him to day dream.
The butterflies which took him away from the struggles, and constant agony.
The one that drove him away from the thoughts
of his uncles,
and made him believe they would be there as he woke.
The kind of imagination that
One must pinch himself to see if he's awake.
But why do I feel?
I once had the power to dream,
To think such miracles were real.
I dared to think there was such a thing.
My creativity got the best of me.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
Father forgive me for these dandelions continue to grow,
thoughts in the mind spread like seeds.
Truthfully in the garden they ought not exist.
Reminds me of particular humans fallen,
and inflict a stain in humanity.
Can we mow them as the dandelions are purposed to be?
It's quite possible yet that will only plant another seed.
It is impossible to cease this breed.
Can you teach humans?
Sadly, a dog can only learn to sit and jump.
As a dog pants, so will these humans behave in this way.
They say there is a distinct difference between humans and animals,
humans can build houses, talk and use money.
Wait,
Humans just know how to ruin themselves well.
Jesus Christ, Martin Luther King Jr.
Saw the problem with humanity.
Congratulations,
Yet shockingly,
We have found a way to make equality bad.
At least we can agree on that.
Equally rotting away,
we come to the realization even those in our culture deserve
to be executed.
Can you hug your brother your mother your sister?
Aunt, uncle, grandparents?
Or are you too busy fighting those around you
only selective to a few who toxify you?
And you call those your best friends?
My garden,
Is full of Lilly's,
Daisy's,
Rose's filled with thorns
And
Grass that pains me.
Hard to maintain,
water and love.
My family is the hardest to deal with but the same as a garden it undeniably needs love, attention, forgiveness.
Refrain from being the dandelion.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Tired once again,
Bags under the eyes,
Nightmares promising that if they close it will be the last time.
The stone presence,
A presence that's there,
Yet no longer existent.
Only in dreams,
The self provoked thoughts,
That never quit their insistence.
Ideas spread like an infection,
Blessed are those who never see the moons crescent.
The stone presence ,
Tempts a weakened voice to rise,
But what if the avalanche buries their lives?
The stone precense,
It urges the peaceful to diminish their mercy,
Who will save them from being swallowed in the chaos?
The young boy begs:
"Tell me you no longer feel,
Speak your despise against the crimes,
Express the soulish pain.
Spit out your angry sight like darts to a kite,
Explain the doubts and truths discovered,
Command to the judgment seat those to be anhilated,
Compose the reason hands shake,
Argue the reason you're gone forever,
Plead the stone presence to cease.
The war has been lost,
But suddenly the enemies are nowhere to be found,
Did they depart to another realm?
Have they joined the spirits who are unseeable?
Detection is now impossible,
To what was once ease to trace.
The young boy cries:
"I wage war! I Wage war!"
There is no longer anyone to listen,
The stone prescense is there,
Undeniably.
I need a battle,
I need a battle,
Except,
The battle has been over.
I have no longer one to raise my fists to,
My problems have evaded,
Where is change to be produced now?
Is there nothing to absorb these emotions?
The stone presence haunts me.
My anger affects no one.
Like a child I cry,
Yet there is none to feed me.
This stone presence will never leave me.
My army has lost its purpose,
There fore there's no soul in sight,
Everything around me has deserted,
Am I the stone presence?
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC