Where do I stand? Amongst the broken or amongst the strong,
A destructive song to whistle pass oncoming traffic,
Oh tragic how the tunes I hear in my head are much louder
than the clouded judgements of those just passing by
because I'm blinded. Blinded by grass in the sky, the Earth
seems hurt, confused, upside down but I keep walking,
keep crawling, as though I have shoes made of cloud
and I'm allowed to fly wherever I want.

This isn't the world that raised me up, this is the world
that hurled abuse and painful memories, just to keep me down.
It's what I've allowed and to that I say I'm walking on
because my feet sings a song, the pitter-patter beat
like sleep under a tin roof echoing the serene sounds of raindrops.
The pain stops, the tears I've heard are not falling down my face,
it is the rain, leaking between cracks of a self-made ceiling
and as healing begins, this is my start, by tearing down that roof.

My shoes are made of cloud and I am walking across the sky,
hear me sigh as I say 'this is where I should have started from'
Catacombs are built for the dead, you are breathing, you are alive,
hearts survive, and so will you, so just do me a favour...
tear that ******* roof down and fly.

A man does not love a beautiful woman
He falls for those that makes the world beautiful
So treasured enough that treasures become mere gold
And stories untold become life-long diamonds trapped in a tunnel.
Because she is the one he can run to,
the one that he would ctrl z, undo,
only to come to the same place again.
She doesn't have to wear a dress
Or show off her breast, no she doesn't
wear makeup to cover the darker shades
because even darker shades happen in nature,
and so 24-7 she's an infinite loop encased in his mind,
that glimmers of gold yet shows him that love is so blind,
because a man doesn't love a beautiful woman,
a man loves a woman that makes his world beautiful.

While chasing a sunset that catches your eye
you've learnt to forget that it doesn't last
and as an overcast blocks the light,
you'll be stuck as part of the older past.

How do you measure
What can't be seen
The heart of a man
The in of between
The conscience that follows
When something's done wrong
How do you measure
The depth of a poem

How do you measure
The day you must face
If it's taken for granted
If it's given in grace
Or measure a seed
That has yet to show growth
How do you measure
What you do not know

How do you measure
The hour before late
The width of a shoulder
Where a tear is laid
The inkling of an idea
The moment it's made
How do you measure
Love before it's given away

How do you measure
The chill of the wind
The guilt of the pleasure
That comes from within
The sliver of light
Before the sun has it's say
How do you measure
The end of the day