We wake up to that alarming sound,
Pick up the cellphone

Scroll, Scroll, Scroll
Unread messages, missed calls

The darkness and lonesome of waking up,
Covered, Isolated,
but recharged from the constant stimulus
and daily overload of the senses.

Eyes feel weighted,
Stretching open as if rubber bands hold them shut.

The sound of TVs, Music, Cars,
Technology
Dressing well, presentation is key.

The anxiety of fulfilling plans, responding to emails, presenting your body to wherever it needs to be.  

Enslaved by the concept of time,
the necessary effort to find time for you,
but the feeling of losing, and the learned mentality that tells you to be lazy is to sit.  

In this quiet realm,
listening to ones own thoughts and wondering:
how many of these are a result of influence?  

Where am I?  
Where is me?

Everyday we wear this armor,
ready to battle,
but seeking
peace,
tranquility.

When was the last time you noticed the birds chirp?
The patterns of wind, as is winds up,
and as it winds down.  
As it quiets down enough to hear a pen drop,
and then it leaves you for a moment.
The cold as it triggers goosebumps and lifts the hair on your arms.

The annoyance of grass,
irritating your bare skin as you sit on it,
but you choose tolerance.  

And all of this provokes the realization,
of the constant loop you are in.  
To get here you have to escape.

The expectations of each one of your roles,
Son or Daughter, Man or Woman, Friend or Foe, to choose you or someone else,
Human.
The appoinments of life,
the need to insistingly value your time,
the sin of escaping your daily routine.

Days like these

A machine constantly in motion

To be the free bird that fights for survival,
where a meal is never guaranteed.
Or to be caged,
and fed by the social constructs,
and partake of what is given to you.  

Either way,
A loop is a loop.

My little spark,
One day you could set fires,
Spread yourself ablaze.
With beautiful light,
Shining in the darkness.
But you're struggling.
Keep trying,
I told her.
One day you'll be beautiful.  You'll be remembered.

My little candle light,
Your aroma relaxes me.
Your light shines a small section of the room,
Sometimes to be admired
As you melt the wax underneath you.
But one day your shine will perish,
Won't it?

My little ember,
You take flight as the bon fire wood cracks.
Coming from a flame,
Your attempts to reach out fail every single
Time.
As you fall to the ground in sadness,
What your reaching for is unreachable.
Keep trying my ember,
One day you'll be beautiful.  

My beautiful has become a flame.  
Scorching with passion and traveling through aggression.
Burning with the earth as her fuel.
She takes advantage of the air to guide her direction,
But without detection.  
Is there anyone to notice you?

She burned so softly,
As she grew I lost control of her.

Furiously, she set her love ablaze.
Until only ashes were left of him.

She's grown so beautifully she is unable to feel regrets.
Does she miss him?
Or is she now happy he has become a part of her?
Has she yet realized his ashes were left behind?
His ashes were freed by the wind which she could no longer find.
Little did she care, she's admires her own beauty, something she could only dream of.

My little inferno,
Feeding on hatred, purifying the filthy.
Crowds run from her beauty,
Blistering heat torches their skin.

My inferno cannot be extinguished.
My inferno chooses her own path.
My inferno consumes.
My inferno turns blood into ash.

My inferno,
Is now asleep.
And just like a dream, she ceases to exist.

you were never taught to love,
therefore you dont know how to give it.
you were never shown love,
therefore you cant recognize it when you see it.  

love is like seeing a stranger,
except you only see this stranger in the mirror,
you dont know yourself and no one has ever known you.  

rarely will you say the words "I love you",
because most of the time it comes out as
a desperate gasp for air,
as if punched in the ribs with the feeling of having the wind knocked out of you.  

you're broken,
and you wonder if you will ever make it out.  
everything you've ever known,
is now foreign because it was all constantly taken from you ever since you can remember.  

could you ever have protected yourself?
Oh, my poor broken soul..

I bring you the cure,
so that you can grow once again.  
I cannot rebuild you,
because you were never brought forth.
instead I will create you,
and I will teach you.  
I will build love in you,
and show you what it is to smile.

My poor broken soul,
you have such beautiful eyes.  
the look of painful happiness
everytime your gaze is set.
as if you were a rabbit,
coming out in the daylight,
looking up to the sky wondering if that hawk has spotted you.
but you look beautiful from up here.

but it wasnt like that before was it?
the happiness?
is that new to you?
did you ever experience joy?

it hasnt been often--where you could be let out of your cage.  
where you could explore and be free and know yourself as you.
im sorry,
I wish I could pick up those pieces.

but instead, I will free you from this cage.
your wings will spread
you will be the hawk,
and the animals your prey.
instead of being afraid
you will be feared by all the evil in this earth.
your head will be crowned
with rings on every finger

as He once said,
"I will make your enemies a footstool for your feet ti rest."

you will know what its like, to rest your head on this field of lilies.  
under the tree in the shade,
enjoying every sunset,
and the view of the ocean.

that smile is my favorite place,
and I will make sure it will never be erased.
You're my island,
And alone with you,
Is where I want to stay.

I love you.  
my beautiful, soul.

Its frustrating,
Isn't it, my love?
The feeling of uncertainty,
The feeling of having to find someone for you.
Has your prince charming not yet appeared,
To save you from this wicked spell?
The wasted time.
The special feeling of getting to know them,
While your heart bares the fear of them failing you miserably,
Or even you failing them.

Are you not happy on your own, my love?
Do those scars remind you of the darkness
Awaiting you as you hit your head on the
Pillow as you fall deep asleep?
Into the depths of the ocean you go,
A treasure chest awaiting to be found.
But my tank doesnt take me that deep, my love.
Id drown trying to find you,
And you couldnt meet me halfway,
Even if you wanted to.

Even if I did find you,
Will you be easy to open,
Or will I have to pry you?
Will a lock be in existence,
If so will you give me a key?
Or will I find the need to break the rusted
Old lock.

But when I open you, would you be empty.
With no treasures left for me to find of you?
Will the box you belong to be damaged
From those who made the far effort,
To only sell your jewels and let the admiration of them go to waste?

A tsunami hit,
My love has been washed ashore.
So many have the map to that says the "X" marks the spot,
And they beat me to it,
Havent they, my love?

Perhaps, as this epitome of beauty slowly progresses,
he will land on his back to the ground,
Sinking with a warm fuzz that surrounds him,
fuel that crawls throughout his thoughts, imaginations,
emotions - To the point where he cannot help himself but to think of her.

And he will be shocked as if a car were
To crash into him while he put down his guard.

And someday she'd fall into that same cushion,
Perhaps she will envy his smile,
Laughter, soft spots - that were once hardened.  

His armor dropped, laid down as well as his sword.
She thinks to herself:
Is he aware that any small attack could be the cause that he die?

Despite all of this,
she is a warrior of her own mind,
Emotions - scaring off anything that threatens the one thing she believes to have:
Her dignity,
her heart;
She has her guard held heavy enough to detect any virus coming by.
She's her own immunity.
Yet,
She knows deep within her,
It would be the best love they both would
Have ever experienced.

To the point where the world could stop,
And the enemy succeed in beheading the king,
With no king,
They'd be content,
They'd have everything under both their feet,
As they sit on the throne.

Perhaps,
The castle walls would be the best guard they have achieved.

Creativity (Midnight Freewrite)

Once upon a time, my mind was blank.
Could I finally be sane
from the feelings ingrained in my so often flooded mind?
This ocean pushes the small grains of sand as though keeping
them all at one place,
the inability to crawl back to where they once were.
Accompanied by many,
yet purified throughout the constant washing due
to clashing of waves.
The stubborn rocks give in,
once enormous,
they've become wearisome from being pummeled over and over by the ruthless ripples,
eating away mercilessly like piranhas.
The rocks begin to deteriorate like my wretched nightmares,
as if it was inevitable for them to reciprocate this way.

I think to myself

Could I for once create something beautiful without the taint
of distortion my pessimistic perspective brings upon my cursed
brain?
Or is the lust after such a wicked dream be looked down
upon by my insides which take control of me?

Perhaps one should blame his imaginations
for considering such a change.
Imaginations which were once banished.
Ones leading to joy and happiness,
when one was once optimistic to the sun and the trees,
the butterflies in his stomach that
cause him to day dream.
The butterflies which took him away from the struggles, and constant agony.
The one that drove him away from the thoughts
of his uncles,
and made him believe they would be there as he woke.

The kind of imagination that
One must pinch himself to see if he's awake.

But why do I feel?

                                                                I once had the power to dream,
                                                 To think such miracles were real.
                             I dared to think there was such a thing.

                                                     My creativity got the best of me.