Golden rose, so surreal.

Your thorns pierce,
But it's a good feeling.

Intense.

Your creamy petals may fall,
but you're continuously blooming.

Keys locked everywhere,
but the intensity of your mind
seeps shards of bright fragments.

Slowly, but surely.

Dream, dear one.

Let your mind unravel it's colored strings
and attach itself to the creamy stars in the night sky.

Let your heart bleed with passion
till it makes a river so maroon it stains every piece of earth.

Let your body tremble with fear and excitement and lust
as you dance your uncertainties away till your soul feels numb.

Let your hair turn as wild as your mind
because you're only getting closer to yourself.

Your soul may be old,
but your story is yet to be told.

You have carved yourself beautifully.
You are the clay touched by tired cracked hands,
Molded by your own experiences.

You are one with water as your sweat illuminates
your proud face;
as you weep tears for those you love,
or those you want to love.

You are loved by the sun
As your skin is kissed by the pigment goddess,
and you are forming into who you are.

Your skin is etched with markings,
Reminding those of your journey,
Your passion,
Your love.

You are fragile, you have cracks love,
But you fills your cracks with gold
And broken is better than new.
Kintsugi.

I'm here.
This is happening and I am happy and I am alive and I am ok.

I am home.
No, not with family. Not where I grew up.
Not smothered by the rich suburban kids who so badly need
attention, frantically forming a monarchy with a jeweled
king mounted high upon the throne.
None of that.

The city is my home now. Has always been.
And even though I have not quite done as much
as I could yet, I am content.
I am free.

I watch the lights flicker a warm golden
pool on buildings so high they cut through the clouds.
I realize that although I am alone, in this very moment,
I am not.

I am here.

I used to think that everything stays.

In fact I would make myself believe it,
building a wall of lies camouflaged as truth.

And for the time being,
it felt real;
everything was going to be alright.

For the time being,
I thought I had power
over what I wanted,
and what I didn't want.

Nothing stays my friend,
everything wilts eventually.

You're with me through everything,
love, hatred, anger, lust, care, sympathy.

You give me life, so much life,
Yet I use you selfishly.

I hurt you,
I hurt you because I want so many things.

I want to eat a cheeseburger,
feel the delicious goodness slide down my throat.
Every burger makes you weak.

I want to love him,
even though he won't love back.
You ache and ache,
trying your best to keep me together.

I ignorantly take in hurt from people,
because I want to feel,
you wither away slowly,
like a tree succumbed to winter.

But maybe because I hurt you so,
you blossom and grow,
because you fill your vase with not only water,
but poison and honey.

And it is best to feel everything rather than nothing.

I am sick.
But not in the way that you think.
I do not have measles or mumps,
nor cough or flu.
I do not have stomach pains nor food poisoning,
don't have a headache making me feel blue.

I am plagued with humanity.