I once had a friend, who understood that I couldn't always be a hero.
I had a friend that understood that, in their presence, I'd be most vulnerable, so this friend of mine made the environment so comforting, by making me comfortable with being weakest, around them.

My friend would, lay me in a bed of safety, with sheets of security, and I had to kick off my insecurities, almost like how I kick off my shoes just before I get in bed.

My friend would, read me bedtime stories of how hero's hang their capes at night, after a long day of being heroic.

My friend understood that failure was my kryptonite, so, I would come to this sanctuary, beaten and bruised with words I hoped would mean the opposite, because my aim is to make you happy, and even still, you turn to me and call me heartbreak like it's my superhero name.

They say a hero is everything people can't be, and since they can't be me, the real hero is the real me.

You see, this friend of mine made me believe in first impressions a little more, because even though they didn't know your intentions were pure, soon they'd realise that you're an antidote, the people's cure.

In my journey, I learned that my friend loved me. My friend cared enough to wash my bruised self esteem and stitch my scars carved into soul.

In turn, I learned about how to be a better friend, and love the way my friend loved me. I learned that every hero, needs a safe house, and my safe house had a heart of gold, and with my heroic instincts, I treated gold as if it would be stolen by this thief called insufficient time.

This heart was my life line, and I would never let go of this life supply. My nature soon became part of my safe house's heartbeat.

I fell in love with the time I had with this friend of mine. For a year in my life, I had a privilege to call her mine, and she called me hers.

Insufficient time was our last name.
I was the people's hero, and she was mine.
Time, had plans I couldn't alter,  even with my special powers, to time, I lost her.

I don't cry a lot, or at all for that matter.
I've fooled myself into thinking strength, isn't comforted by weakness.
Truth is, weakness is the builder of strength.

I find that so contradictory, because what breaks me, tears me up and what strengthens me, builds my character up.

No one decides, which is which.
We have feminists arguing on behalf of the woman, dictating and reasoning for emotional expressions, but society judges being make and falling.

Being a man, is a matter of endurance through hardships, breaking sweats, but never breaking a tear, because water works shouldn't work on male species, because feeling, isn't in our nature, says society.

So, we aimlessly tear through the jungle, hunting for what we don't know, looking for a next meal, never being content, because, contentment is not part of our nature, says society.

With private parts being made public, we move through the next with being hesitant, by the time she realizes, she's already been ******.

Break hearts, play hearts and acting like we have hearts. That's society's perception of the male species.

Society never talks about, the clean up crew.
Society, never speaks about me.

Society never speaks about my ****** hands with cuts of your broken heart, and with missing body parts try to bring aid to your heart.

Society never speaks about trying to make you understand how I'm different, and with countless bouquets, it's never okay to let me in because you let him in, and from the *******, he left like you were nothing, and now that you have something, you won't let me in.

He penetrated your skin, and I'm not fascinated by it, I was see your soul unmasked to mine, so I explore your soul before your body, and these steps I take on hot coal, because he didn't care so much so that the cuts burn.

Your soul is almost like a morgue, I swear it's like your heart has been cremated, with an invite to your funeral, I hope you spread your ashes on my heart, so once again you can feel something whole, again.

This poem is for broken hearts, shattered dreams and answered questions of "why?".

For the broken hearts that were once whole, held in the palms of perfection just to get rejection and now your reflection looks imperfect, constantly seeking correction for your physical impression.

Maybe your outer appearance doesn't appear as your inside appearance, but I swear on your broken heart, that your beauty is unquestionable, and outspoken, so much so that you were too much good, for mediocre, and mediocre broke down and broke you down trying to keep up.

Maybe your significant other was never enough for you, so you were insignificant to the insignificant person, and now... you're unfathomable and your depth is profoundly misunderstood, under circumstances of a lack of maturity to understand that love is always giving and never selfish, and people who break hearts haven't mastered the art of loving and giving, without expecting because ...

Because, you've been taken for granted for so long that you don't remember that worth means value, and valued souls never get thrown out...

Broken dreams from broken hearts, now your blurred vision has broken your future endeavors, because you believed in a forever that actually meant never...

Your dreams of happily ever after, become dreams of I wished I'd always had her..

And why was I so ignorant to myself?
Why did I sell myself short?
Why was I never enough?
Why did I lose you?

I am always the first person I blame when something goes wrong. I'm the first perpetrator, and never a victim. Even when I get shot, I take mug shots of myself.

Love, is a feeling that can cover the distance the kilometers bring.
It can climb the mountains that separate us.
Love can swim the tides that wave goodbye.
Love can do what is impossible, just by existing in two hearts that don't mind being in two different places with two of the same people who wish only two things.
They wished that the distance would somehow disappear, and they wished that they'd be inseparable by any measure of time, or any distance on earth.

Some days, I wish we could govern the things that break us apart with space, so I'd have control over seeing you, which would be always, cause there's no way that I could go a day without seeing your face, and I choose not waste time we can never recycle because time is an endless cycle of the now, because the later could be a broken promise from your mind.

I don't want time to stand still when I'm with you, I want all the emotions that tickle the butterflies in our tummies to pause, while we play out the uncontrollable lust for perfection, burying the thought of our imperfection in time, so it may somehow die like the broken promise of our lives being forever.

Distance should be two hearts closer than ever, loving from two different sides of the world without a doubt that either one has started loving less, even when the feeling becomes a little less, with the communication becoming a little, and our time on earth decreasing like it was meant to be less.

Love, is a emotional attachment to two spirited souls, that unfold the many wonders of souls. Love is the perfection to this imperfection of time.

Time and distance is why love is so persistent.
You're the reason I'm so persistent.
You're the reason I can't force this resistance to heed so we can take a step back and breath the same air, while we touch our hearts with love, love... Love...

New Girl

She has a beautiful smile.
She has lovely eyes.
Her voice is melodies of gold, played as platinum records on the drums of my ears.
Her skin as soft as her heart with a touch as gentle as the love she could have if she loved herself enough, to get loved.

Her self esteem is deflated by sharp words that puncture wounds into her perfection, so she's constantly rejecting gestures of compliments because all she knows is her imperfection.

Put her in a dark room and she'd still wonder about her reflection.
If her soul could reflect her physical appeal, would she then see how beautiful she could be if she she could free herself from those who find satisfaction from stealing her beauty.

Seems like her walls are twice as high as her confidence, cause her flaws got high on insults, and no matter how many compliments she drank, she was never drunk long enough for her to forget what insults sounded like.

I mean, I've had one conversation with her. She never said much, but I heard so much more than what she could say. I could tell her eyes were curious about me, but her mind reminded her that if she got too close, I'd never be mindful of her.

According to her, my aim is at her flaws. She sees me holding a gun full of emotionally draining bullets. She thinks I plan on firing her the same way her self esteem burned her so much that she can't tell a flame from a spark, so every conversation I try and spark, she puts it out with her flame of disbelief. She fights fire with fire.

Baby, I'm just trying to extinguish your fire so you never get burned again.

I take one last look at the girl in the mirror
The first thing she asks me is;"Am I pretty enough?"
I look at her from top to bottom, bottom to top, and
I notice she's doing the exact same thing.
I step closer and she does the same.
She asks me one last time:"Am I pretty enough?"
Before I answer her, she asks something else:
"Will I ever be pretty enough?"
To which I reply:"The day you and I are pretty enough, will be the day when the clouds turn gold and the sun is non-existant."
That is when I see all the hope and life in her eyes, die out.

It hurts seeing the one you love, love another
What hurts more is hearing the one you love speak of the one they love, but it ain't you.
I hurts having to pretend that you are happy that he's found someone he loves, especially when that person won't love him like you do.
Some days you just wanna tell him that "hey, I'm right here, I've always been here."
Other days you just long for him to hold you and never let you go.
Then it hits you: he does love you, but here's the catch; he loves like he loves his little sister.
He'll never see you as anything other than that and you have to make peace with that fact.