What is a poem if not my thoughts?
Scattered through sentences and stuttered aloud
What is a poem if not of emotions?
Get down on our knees
Hell will rise up to me
What is a poem if not of those questions?
Does he love me, does he love me,
Does he love me not?
What is a poem if not writers block?
Wasting my paper and ink just to mock
Stanzas and stanzas,
Where will they lead?
What is a poem if not an idea?
This is a story, a prohecy,
Take heed.

Sometimes i cant b r e a t h e

and i think, maybe
there is water clogging the bottom
of my lungs

Sometimes i cant h e a r

so i try to take
the cotton ***** out of
my ears
and make the rush of noises
disappear

Sometimes i cant t a l k

when my words fall
over each other i
zip my mouth shut and
hope for the best

Sometimes i cant b e

who i want
to be
and i think
there is no
solution
to this

You told me to listen
You told me you would change
I can't believe I listened
I can't believe I stayed

Now my bruises are your fingertips
My laughter has faded away
Our memories are jaded,
I can't believe I stayed

My face is your canvas
You like to paint with your fists
You drag your fingers across my skin
This is not your passion,
This is my pain

I love to see your laughter
I love to see your gain
Sometimes I think
This may be why I stayed

But then you raise your hand
Your face twisted with fury
I suddenly awake
Jump up
S C R E A M


"PLEASE DON'T HURT MY JAMES"

And I think the easiest way to explain it was that I was drowning
Drowning in the waves of my own anxiety, my fear of my disarming disabilities
Gasping for air with my face raised to the sky, arms reaching up with hope as soft as a sigh
Flailing legs that turn left and right, eyes open wide with death in sight
Mind gone limp, my body surrenders, but
My lungs accompany my soul in screaming
It’s a mournful cacophony, a silent screech,
Something so harsh it leaves a gaping hole, broke a five by five wall into crumbling pieces,
Shot a blazing bullet,
Until the surface could nolonger be seen.

Let me tell you a little something about love.
It does not complete me.
You do not complete me.
We are different galaxies, different dimentions that do not fit like a puzzle piece.
There is a me and there is a you.
But there is an us in the stars we both make, in the futures we create.
There is a togetherness in our time and in our space, you are my continuum.
We are not two halves of one whole.
Simply because that is not how I love.
We are not the black hole that everyone shapes their love around. ******* love into darkness until there is no light to be found.
I refuse to love you like I am scared, killing peices inside me until half is not there.
I refuse to make you my other half because I don't want to lose my whole.
That is not how I love.
That is not how I love.

Broken Pieces and Broken Bones
Blood of red and blood of gold
I've been born from wars and wars
And found a home of peace and cold

I am suppressed but not oppressed
Dressed to Impress
Put on a pedestal
Yes, since I have fallen
Much like the ancestors before myself

My name is S.A.R.A
4 letters that I have not yet to live up to
It reminds me of my mother as she opens up her arms
Reminds me of my father as he tries to be stern
2 vowels, 2 consonants
2 different sides
That you have not yet heard
So please, don't only judge me on one.

Broken pieces and Broken bones
Betraying my heart and lungs my
Brain cannot think my
Body will not move I am
Beside myself in grief and
Behind myself in hope I
Believe I can take one last
Breath
Before I
Bow down in defeat

I think what I'm trying to say is
I am someone I should appreciate
Be happy to be
I am my nationality
Made of my experiences
And all of my abnormalities
You will never know the full extent of
My inexperienced life
Because you did what I asked to
Please not do
And Judged.

What makes a man a monster?

Is it the way he treats his enemy’s? His friends? Is it the things he can’t keep under control? Is it the things she despises or is it the thing that makes her different? Is it everything we make or the way we evolve? Is it the loss of a conscious or the deaths he makes with one?  

What makes a man a monster?

Is it the choices she makes or is it the catastrophe he leaves in his wake? Is it the steps we take or is it how we take them? Is it how we fall to our deaths or the way we fall into despair?  

I ask you this: What makes a man a monster? Because you’re going to need to know.

I write
to hide my tears
to pour them
with ink
like life

I write
because i am
sad
because i need
to make
you
happy

I write
because i feel
there is nothing else
i can do
in this world
but try to share
every peice of
grief
i feel
to make you
understand


i write

I need to be
what you need me to be

I need to be
what I do not need to be

I

n
e
e
d

t
o

b
e

what
I
am
Not

In order to please you.
.
.
.

This is about a girl who left her home to find herself in places she knew she could never be found

A walking calamity

Inside of her is a wild thing a dying thing

She was a foster child.

Her house was never home but she called it that anyway cuz when her childhood tasted like slammed doors and police sirens speeding the block she had to dream of a new reality.

Contrary to popular belief the drug lords were not her friends and no she did not steal for fun.

When you don't have a mother to teach you to be strong and the only parent gaurdian she ever knew never showed her that weakness and was gone

She was stuck somewhere in the middle.

So yes, this is about a girl who left her home to find herself in places she knew she could never be found.

I have never had someone try to drown me under the tide of their love before I met you.

We are not Angels

We are just Demons

                                           Learning to Fly