Sharp face
of allegations.
Innocence carved through the edges.
October eyes,
like star-filled skies,
and a sun-kissed mouth
with words that pound.

In the hollows of an ally,
she leaned alone,
on top of scars that hibernate
on silver legs.

Worn out, she was.
in pain, she walked.
and as she left,
hope had remained.
Whom had filled
her once lit eyes,
who had felt her cries,
who had been there
the whole time.

People ask me
what I'd like to be when I'm older.
Dumbfounded, I am left.

Not because I'm not ambitious,
not because I have no dreams,
but because I am electrified.
Exhilaration numbing all words.

Yet with all that joy
fear so elegantly prances in my dreams.
Fear of failure,
loss of desire.
That everything I've ever wanted
will crush the cord of paralyzation.

Post the detour
of invasive claims,
I remember who I am.

A person who lives in the moments
during the day,
and is wishful at night.
A comforting balance.

In the day
eyes shine bright
with gratitude.
For the future is unknown
while the now is wildly understood.

At night trepidation flees,
whilst reverie is on its knees.
For in this world,
a star-lit sky sets no limits
on who I want to be.

Are people aware that in order to have children, they have to take into account much more than whether they are getting old, or whether they are financially stable, or whether they live in a good school district? This is another human we are talking about. When you actively decide to raise a child, it’s so much more than just yourself and personal joy. Do adults ever stop and think about the pain their children will inevitably face, a lot of which they will unconsciously inflict onto them? They say parents want what's best for their kids but if that were true then they'd look at all the things they hated when they were children and they’d try to make it better. If you remember feeling dumb in school, hating the same cycle every day, not truly learning, then why are you placing your kid in the same traditional program? If you remember being hurt by your own parents, then ensure that you pay attention to every single thing you say to your own breed. As you well know it, your words will affect them for the rest of their lives, their traumas will be your responsibility. Figure out how you will make it better for them. Recall how your models of reality were created and how they affected you, odds are that you will portray those onto your children.
It seems as though people have children just as they impulsively buy a new pair of shoes; without much consideration, only seeing the good side of things. Yeah, it’s a traditional experience that our bodies are built for, but that is a gift. We treat gifts with love and respect. Just because you can doesn’t mean you are ready. Having children is such a selfish thing. Most people do it because they want to, not because they are prepared. No one is ever truly prepared, but that doesn’t mean you should just jump in.
Parents are respected because they try their best, but at times they try their best much too late. By the time those kids are teens, prepare for resentment and hate. You did this to them. It was all you.
This world is filled with billions of people hurting one another, who are you to add one or even more humans onto that?

Ask me how I am
Text me when you miss me
Ride your bike to my home
And don’t ever let me be alone

Tell me you adore me
Shower me in love
Don’t take me for granted
Be who we’ve always wanted

Kiss me with your words
Hug me when I’m sad
Wipe my tears away
And tell me there’s another way

But before you do all that
We must cross each others paths
Search our street
To make sure that we meet

Yet for the time being
Promise me that you’ll
Love
Care
And respect
The idea of me.

As the monitor beeped
your heart beat no more.
I held your hands,
felt you go.

What your soul once inhabited
turned pale cold.
Hands that held me in my youth
became skin and bones,
no final warmth to heal my core.

You were a gift sent from above,
why did I never think you'd go back up?

As pressure rose in my chest,
and blinding tears raced towards my heart,
I fully understood how we could impact others.

By the time you met me, your life already seemed complete.
Goals and success now stories you could tell.
Selflessly, your wisdom was passed down to many,
including myself.

And although I represent
a small percentage of your life,
you make up over half of mine.

To this day it feels unreal.
So many things I wish to share
but now your home reads "for sale".

Every day you cross my mind,
every night I pray to God,
pray for heaven to be real.

I'm well aware you still live on
within those you touched with love.

But it's not the same.

In heaven your spirit rightfully soars,
therefore my life must be grand,
grand enough to reach the skies.
Then perhaps I'll see you forevermore.

What if one day
I disappeared,

Deleted my virtual existence,

Stopped seeing my regular friends,

Lost contact with all?

What if one day
I stopped wishing
For who I could one day be,

And instead,
Became that being?

What if one day
I turned off the world around me,

And did all the things I ever wished?

In a month I’d rid my old skin,
Sweat off my past disappointments,
Reminders of sin.

In a month my hair would grow
To lengths of which I myself paved,

In a month
My knowledge of
Culture ,
Academia,
and Myself,
Would expand.

But in that month
I’d lose my friends.
Hurt those who simply cared and wondered.

What would that make me?
Just as bad as those
Who urge me to disappear?

Or just as good as those
Who promote self-evaluation?

There is indeed a middle balance.
But that . . .
that's for the healthy-minded.

I feel myself letting go of what was craved for months.
Old thoughts remind me of why I used to want him.
But they've grown into habits rather than wishful yearns.

Eyes turn glossy as old pain is read.
Dried tears creep above pores,
begging not to go to waste.
Chest spins inside out
as I wonder why the good
deceivingly outweighed the bad.

Our past became habits of memory,
memories that should be treasured
for what they were,
not for what could be once more.

Who knew a name creates affliction?
Not because of what is felt
but lack there of feeling.

Perhaps this is the start
of letting go.

I've gotten used to sitting in my room.

A bright screen lighting up my face,

fingers typing at the speed of light,

reminiscing on all the things I used to feel.

Indeed, I want to say much more,

but . . .

there comes a point
where words
have served their deed.

Where there's not much more to say.
For what has been lived,
has
    been
          indulged,
              digested,
           ­      and passed through.

Go explore,
experience the unimaginable.
Then return to pump hearts full of:
        pain,
                  love,
                       ­    insight,
               and undetected truisms.

I'm confused
on how I feel.
why I feel.
how I should feel.
and how to feel.

60 minutes on 60 minutes
should've been on could've been
1,440 minutes of numb eyes
on pointless screens

my heart now beats to simply beat
no motivation towards a passion
no passion to propel a motivation

fresh flesh decays
beneath acidic tears
that crawl out of me
like termites with a notion
of my poison

my urge to improve is deeply missed
back when my heart was the sun
a star that gave a tomorrow
but all I have is right now
a still moment full of sorrow

a bean like no other
bitter and white;
a microscopic dynamite,
peristalsis using all its might

my cave so suspenseful and hollow
ridges lined along its curves
churning to my so-called mental benefit
those gastric juices now released,
microscopic dynamite
simply had one more muscle to defeat

a match at last perceived
microvilli yearning love ,
in, it took the dynamite.
yet confused it became as
micro relations only last a short while.

"Nutrients" absorbed,
betrayal on its way
the bloodstream sent in shock
oh such bloodless atriums
oh such vaulted ventricles.
oh how my blood flow met its end.

Although deceiving it had been
no promises were riven
the dynamite exploded
and at last
no longer was I broken.

Don’t look.
Go look.
No. Don’t go look.

I wait all day
I wait all night
Once midnight strikes
I know it’s time.

You are my poison in disguise.
The reason for my lies.

Red streaks on white
Veins all aligned
I know now you’ll speak your mind.

Words like water in broken glass
Each ear a sponge that always lasts.

Four hours until alarms quake.
Vulnerable conversations
Now somewhere in a deep dull lake.

But this one must be our last.
As I no longer wish to be your hearts cast.

My mind must accept
That the shreds of your love
Are not mine to repair.

For her actions have damaged your soul
Now we shall take a step back
And learn to be on our own.

I used to lie awake at night.
Thoughts buzzing in my sore mind.

Of what went wrong
in order for it to go right.

I used to read their agony,
in hopes that mine would flee.

In search of poets with my despair,
thumbs went numb,
eyes dried out,
and I felt dumb.

Now I know how much I’ve grown.
For I now scroll in search of art,
how it should've been from start.

Tonight I find myself
reading authentic work,
your personal rumination.

Old afflictions
aiding in the annihilation
of unworthy reflection.

That's the beauty behind words.
They don't remind us of our pain,
they depict how much we’ve gained.

it takes every restless cell

within my thought-provoking flesh

to not look into those gorgeous grey glossed eyes.

one sinful glimpse impetuously fills me with warmth

the hellish warmth of foreseen light

leaping from dream to reality.

The best love to encounter
is the type within friendships.

That's the type of love
I'd truly hate to waste.

Where we are there no matter what,
where we forgive despite the odds.

Where we express the indescribable
without the fear of misconception.

That's the love
I love to give.

I wish life had an unspoken HIPAA policy.

It’s 4 am and I can’t help but wonder
How we live with the knowledge
Of the pain within others.

Within those with no shelter.
No resources.
No freedom.

It’s 4 am and I’m confused
On how we dare harm our planet.
Our home, our everything.

How we prefer to feed our needs
Rather than spare the earth
A bit of torture.

It’s 4 am and my heart aches
at the thought of intentional harm.
At the thought of incompetent behavior.

Overproduction of animals, plastic,
Cruelty.
Just for the consumption of greed.

It’s 4 am
And my previous mistakes
Of careless, selfish actions
Rightfully taunt me.

Those we admire
are just like us . . .
                                    Human.

Blood flow pursuing verbatim paths.
Lungs expanding to the same formula.
Muscles reacting to similar nutrients.

But I'm skeptical . . .
on whether their heart beats
as mine does.

                                      With blissful affliction.

Has their cerebrum been invaded
with the airborne infection of confusion?

Uncertain if they fear the way I do
I wonder . . .

"Have they. . .

Cried over a hiatus of failure?

Panicked through the unknown?

Wished upon futile speculation?"

So tell me.
Have you?

It’s funny how they say time heals.
Yet every second that passes
We near an inevitable illness.

I envy those who can say
Their life is like a puzzle.
Each piece confusing
Yet each piece a piece.