I am having a hard time. It's my mind, and the world it defines. Blinded by rules and regulations written by those that don't know us, and don't care. The only vulnerability most of us know is when our body's bare.. I too almost forgot how to share. What you see in the mirror is nothin meant to be compared. Weeks are consumed $pending time, for the acquisition of wealth. Months fly by and you start to wonder about the deterioration of your health. These toxic chemicals are cheap, ever flowing addictions resulting in dependencies.  Simple actions can turn into deadly tendencies.  Pharmaceuticals outweigh compassion by a number I can't fathom. Instead of knee-**** reactions, let's seek to satisfy our passions.  I finally got a mic to record, but I am sick, and my voice is hoarse. I wonder about these humans and their senseless wars. We've been conditioned to unlearn the natural laws of love. It's so easy to think we are singular separate entities from the sky that shines above. We are not alone, and beyond our shells we are always home. We see the world not for what it is, but how we are. When you look up tonight, remember you are that bright, beautiful star. Upon writing this I felt so low. My dear sister hit me up and a smile started to show. I want to cry, and exercise my body to maximize this plane's time. This is just another example of how I release and thrive through the art of rhyme.  So I call this, the illusion of pain and isolation; because initially I was only focused on my frustrations - self-projected hallucinations with no sense of destination.  Breathe your dreams into contemplation within every moment you're facing.  Words enter the frame that can maintain a state of hypnotic paralysis.  Rocks ripple our waters but we can calm our reflective surface.  Blow a kiss, feel the bliss and see purpose in your skit.  Think of the universe when you hurt, because without you, this doesn't exist.

Who should you write poetry for?

Write for someone
Who cares enough to read it
And have the words etched upon
Their hearts,
Never fading.

Write for someone
Who knows you enough,
To know
That you are a mixture of a thousand emotions
You never show
And your poetry is a gateway
To your heart.

Write for someone,
Who would willingly walk down
An abyss with you,
Not someone, who walks into it,
Unknowingly
Overwhelmed by your words' intensity

Write for someone,
Who is many different people,
For many different people,
And still is all of them for you,
A side he only shows to you.

Write for someone,
Whose love is not a secret,
Confessed in a hushed tone,
Write for someone who loves you,
And is unapologetic about it.


Write for someone,
Who sees a part of them
Every time your eyes meet,
Write for the part
Of yourself
You see in them.

Write for someone
To whom you actually mean something
And your words will never go unnoticed,
Dissolving in wind
The moment your lips set them free.

Your mother did not keep you in her womb for 9 months, to see you lose yourself over trying to find a home in his thoughts.

Your father did not put you on his shoulder, only to see you worship the land on which he walks, when he so gently and patiently taught you how to fly  

Your brother did not look up at you expectantly from his sleepy eyes, to see the light fade from yours.

Your grandfather did not tell you about his dreams, if he ever for a moment thought, you could not have them fulfilled.

The steps you take,
The breaths you breathe,
Oh, you were beautiful
Long before he told you that is what he thinks.

The words you write,
The pain that kills,
Will only take you towards,
The person you were meant to be

Your 5 year old self
Did not just want to live to breathe,
Let her teach you
How not to let your brilliance get
Tainted by the silhouettes of grief

I like whites - clean and crisp. White shirts and white sheets. White mugs and warm milk and white winter rains. But if you were coffee, I'd spill you over every white and love every stain.

I like organized - neat and nice. Made bed and matching blankets. Tidy shelves and closet. But if in my room you're the clutter, I don't think I'd ever fix it.

I like stories and poems, novels that get me hooked. I like plots with twisted endings, and my heart being took. But if you were a word in a chapter, I'd rather read you forever - over and over - than finish the book.