~
I felt a funeral
between the timid breaths
of ruination, we plucked
to death the melancholic florals
called time flowers,
translucent growths
with crystal hearts,
gifted them to someone else's children,
placed them around the waist
of everyone else's wives.

When plucked,
that crystal core dissolves,
emitting the light trapped within.
perpetual splendor or
the endless cycles of death?
do the normal rules
of chronology apply?

Look now! here comes
the great unwashed riot,
we live in an age of visual saturation,
where tragedy and beautiful
distractions crowd in on all sides,
clamoring for our attention.

Perhaps the dystopian premise
is part of a fiendish plan,
becoming the backdrop
to a fluttering cornucopia
of florals, each outfit paraded
In the beginning of May,
a blooming display of finery
hiding a complex
network of roots –
sponsorship deals,
brand calculations,
dedicated craftsmanship,
exposure opportunities
– beneath its pretty skirts.
~

I speak of what I've learned,
but I tell no one of the journey,
the mistakes
to be where I am now.
I tell no one.
but I will tell you, this paper.
When I was a child
I repetitively watched my father
beat what looked as future me.
who I wanted to be.
my mother.
but as I grew older,
I realized that is the opposite of who I would become.
I watched my dad get drunk.
he put this label on himself
that my family couldn't bare.
something I couldn't understand.
achohlic.
But seeing myself now, not even an adult yet.
and still, I have before been consumed
by alcohol, and chosen toxicity over purity.
let someone lay hands on me
knowing that all my father has done
is teach me that I am no less than,
a princess.
yet he also taught me
that laying hands on someone you love is okay.
my mom taught me that staying silent is what
we're good at, told me that someday
shed be my hero. she never was.
she taught me that how to cope is to
move from 10 different guys in 10 days.
I have watched myself turn into the people I told myself
I'd never be.
but now this is me.
my dad is no longer addicted, nor is he abusive.
but the scars are still there.
and my mom is finally in a good relationship,
but because of all that I went through,
I will never let someone raise their tone with her.
and when people like to state "if you weren't hit, its okay."
but in reality, it will leave more bruises on you than those who were hit.
because still, my dad is somehow,
my hero.
and for that, I will never forgive myself.
I will never be the same.

The path strewn with hurdles and gravels
40 years is a long way to travel
Two souls sewn with love and peace
Two hearts dipped in bliss
Two minds not always in same strength
But determined within to walk the length.

40 years of building the nest
Patience and endurance put to hard test
Before one day the saplings become a tree
Heart upon heart two becomes three
Through fall and rise and sun downpour
Years flew as the three becomes four.

It's no easy work to raise a family
In all sadness live strong and happily
Blocks are thrown doubts are cast
Moments of life try to break the trust
But we didn't bow continued the thrive
A grownup family now, we number five.