Forget what they tell you
About being a masterpiece
You are not art

You are not stagnate beauty,
Nor were you created for the pleasure of others

You were not meant to be marveled at
by the simple minded
Or ridiculed for your every flaw

You are not art

You are wind
Sending chills through the bones
of those in your presence

You are fire
Spitting embers with a coal-coated tongue

You are water
A bubbling stream of euphoric laughter

No, you are not art
You are so much more

Fading*...
Defined as the action of disappearing or dying gradually.
Usually used in context of a light,
But for some fading has become a way of life.

You keep your appearance neat.
Keeping that smile on your face can be a feat,
but that is not for them to know.
Don’t let the pain inside you show.
Just bottle it up and shine bright,
As you slowly allow your soul to fade from sight.

They tell you things get better..
Well that’s only true if this pain you could find a way to fetter,
But somehow it always finds a way to run free
And bring you weeping to your knees.

In the dark of your room the voices rage through your head
Making your heart feel as if it were made of lead.
The only relief you have managed to find
Was by the tip of a knife designed.
As the crimson makes designs upon your skin,
Peace creeps upon you as payment for your sin..
You broke your promise to stay clean,
But perhaps they would forgive you if they could see this scene..

Your eyelids droop heavy
As sleep begins to pull on your soul now empty.
The voices have ceased,
And you can sleep in peace for tonight at least.
Only the morning light will tell just how close to shattering you come again.
Maybe next time, if it’s not this bad, you can turn instead to a pen..

Dear Life,
I know you will never be easy, and I know that perfection is far from your nature, and most of all I know my path with you will be anything but easy, but I know you will be worth it in the end. My Lady, I will walk beside you learning from the paths you choose until the moment my legs give out and you must leave me behind. For you stop for no man. Yet.. I honestly feel sorry for you. You are forced to leave so many good friends behind, but maybe we will meet again.

Dear Death,
You are inevitable yet many run from you. I’m sure you often feel all alone, but, my Lord, need I remind you some run to you with arms wide open saying, “Please.. Take me away from this place.” Does taking an innocent soul from this world before it’s time, no matter how broken, feel any better than solitude..? I won’t run from you, but I also won’t run to you any longer. When our time comes to meet, I will greet you as a good friend, as a lover, as someone I haven’t seen in ages and have been waiting for. I know this meeting will come, but maybe we have met before.

Dear Love,
You span both your siblings: both Life and Death. And you sometimes tie two people together so tightly with your little red cord that even one lifetime, two lifetimes, ten lifetimes later they can still look at one another, being strangers in that moment, and feel a strange tug of comforting familiarity. Yes. Sometimes no matter how loud you shout that they are meant to be they will be deaf to you passing like ships in the night never again to see the one they once called by your name. I’m not sure if we have met before, if I’ve passed by you not recognizing your beautiful eyes, or if our meeting is yet or never to come. But, my Liege, I pray it comes or comes again.

Dear Somebody,
I’ve begun to learn my lessons. I intend to enjoy Life’s company to the fullest, and will wait to commune with Death; I will embrace Love when they come to me without judgement merely opening my arms welcoming Love as if they were always a part of me. As if you.. Whoever you are… Were always a part of me. I’ll say, “Thank you for finding me. You are special beyond belief, and I hope that spark you hold never fades. So please take a seat. Let your wandering feet rest and make yourself at home in my life.” If Love must take their leave, and we become a mere pair in space I’ll remind you one last time that you are and always will be cared for. So please, Dear One, I beg of you don’t do anything rash. Don’t run to Death or from his twin sister Life, but most of all if love doesn’t stay with us. Find someone who Love will stay with, forever. Because that will make both Life and Death seem meaningless. That will make days fade into years, and that, Beautiful One, is what makes our existence worthwhile.

This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

Dark swirling, shifting, speaking..
This was the place a boy found his solace,
Yet it's also the place he may find his doom.

The voices cry out all the painful truths
Which he struggles not to accept.
The only time he had ever managed to keep these voices at bay
Were the moments he finally slept.

Those days he tells himself are long past.
The love he holds for his precious three he swears he'll make last.
He helped seal up that archway what seems so long ago,
But still it beckons not that key to throw.
It promises him solace.
It promises him power.
It promises him peace
And never more to cower.

Only one thing it asks.
Just fade back, Little One.
You are lesser,
Weaker,
More naive,
And unable to know
What great things in this world you could sew.
If only you would stop fighting the destruction
Which is already filling your soul.

It's just those three he keeps holding on for,
But even so he knows that will soon fade out to not
Just as all the promises of his past he has forgot.
Even though these three hold all he's ever sought.