i cling to these memories like how a child would with her mother's skirt. gently but not harshly, too afraid to rip it to seams or fray its warmth. it's a hideous skirt, mom. i fondly look back at it anyway, unable to fully let go

My hands were never created to be put on a woman.
Unless I was ready to make love to you

My mouth is not made to lash out,
Simply uplift you from depression. You matter

My eyes are not to wander.
Just to see you in my life

My ears must not hear evil.
But to hear you sing lullabies at night

My actions are not meant to plant seeds in
every woman I see.
Only in your garden, my seeds will grow in strong soil, you’ll see.

My mind is not designed for manipulation.
Seek wisdom so that we become closer because knowledge is power

My soul is not corrupt.
It serves a purpose that will inspire you

you know how,
some day
our hearts will stop beating
finishing our journey to see the ending?

you are dying
constantly
every second you live
and there is a mysterious beauty
in the sense that
living is just a process of dying

sure, maybe we are never truly dead
but if thats the case,
we were never truly alive in the first place

these are not words to mourn
my dying insides

but rather
a tribute

to the beauty of never truly being alive
and living while dying at the same time

Silver clouds
Summer rain
A change of pace
in quarantine.
I look beyond,
majestic skies
I long to wander
the great outside.