I thought I was a demon,

I was born in the wrong place
Entered the world at perhaps the wrong time
Raised in twisted culture
And horrid beliefs
Pretended to be righteous
but not even once was I pious
Blood was my sister
and death was my brother
This family was my comfort and pain
that raised me in perhaps the vilest of ways

I spoke most lies
Heard the people's cries
What I saw with my eyes
All sorts of guise
I guessed I was born to bear this yoke
For only I can take this walk while everyone gawks

As you see all of these is in the past,
was...
born, entered, raised, pretended
spoke, heard, saw and guessed...

But,
Just like anyone else
I have eyes that see good and evil
Nose that tells right from wrong
Mouth that speaks either true or false
Ears that know of joys and woes
Hands that caress and punched
And feet that carried and stepped on someone else...

I too have a mind that thinks
Worlds different from yours, but in darkness I wish not in the abyss I sink
I too have a heart
Just like yours...
that was burned, cheated, broken and bent
but I'm proud of it...
because even if it experienced too great a pain
It's still working and keeping on

Judge not the choice I made
when you do not know the choices I had to choose from
I may have been too bad
worse at places
and worst at times
too dark
too angry
too lonely
too sinful
too evil
too sad...
But I too, have heart
Making mistakes in the same way you do
I too am human just like you.

It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.

Take heed of this small child of earth;
He is great; he hath in him God most high.
Children before their fleshly birth
Are lights alive in the blue sky.

In our light bitter world of wrong
They come; God gives us them awhile.
His speech is in their stammering tongue,
And his forgiveness in their smile.

Their sweet light rests upon our eyes.
Alas! their right to joy is plain.
If they are hungry Paradise
Weeps, and, if cold, Heaven thrills with pain.

The want that saps their sinless flower
Speaks judgment on sin's ministers.
Man holds an angel in his power.
Ah! deep in Heaven what thunder stirs,

When God seeks out these tender things
Whom in the shadow where we sleep
He sends us clothed about with wings,
And finds them ragged babes that weep!

(This poem posted in tribute to the life &memory; of Robin Williams...Rest in Peace)

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
(Edwin Arlington Robinson)

If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

If you ask me,
"How are you?"
I'll answer, "I'm Okay"

But please set me free
If I were to be true,
Slowly I decay

So reach out that hand, I guess
But know that I'm a mess
I barely do my best,
But perhaps in you I'll find some rest

So ask me once more
"How are you?"
I'll still answer, "I'm Okay"

So hug me tight as if at world's end
And tell me, "It's fine... I know you're not, your heart has a huge dent."
If that happens, please forgive me if I cry

Because up until now, I lived telling myself everyday
"Things are gonna be okay,
I am Okay"

And that is my little stage play
In reality, I no longer see the light of today
and I hope meeting you
will help me become true
True to say one day that I am
"Finally, really... okay..."

A red rose is warmth
It is love
A blue rose is a phantom
It is refined guise
A purple rose is a special someone
Warmer than red and cooler than a blue one
A yellow rose is joy
Closely knit with the sun
An orange rose to represent enthusiasm
Fascination and passion
A pink rose for appreciation
Light but pretty
A white rose for purity and spirituality

How about a green rose?
Unique one but common like any other hue of a leaf
But think not about that
Deeper something lies

A black rose then?
Perhaps it is dead, a demonic, forlorn or forgotten
Yet remember this rose is a rose too just like all of you
Just planted on the wrong ***,
raised in a vile way,
watered with poison and plucked from the depths of Tartaros

How about I?
I am the BloodyRose
I may be any of the these roses
Oftentimes, I dream a field of white roses soaked in blood
I like the red rose
Because I too have a heart
Aspire to be a blue rose
In search of a refined self
Like the purple one,
because she has a share in the world of blue and red
I'm more of a green one
Because I myself don't understand
But I portray myself as a black rose...
Only when the other roses reach out will they see the true me.

In the end what matters is not my color,
but the hand that reaches out to me.
What will change me is the hand
who tries to understand me and cares for me.
Just as God is the shepherd to a sheep
A rose needs a gardener too.

I am the BloodyRose - rose soaked in blood...
It matters not whatever color I am
Because as long as my master gardener is here...
My color matters not...
All that matters is that hand reaching out to me
that plucked me
and took care of me...