you are not your grades or your scars
your height or your weight
you are not your face or the color of your hair

you are the person you define yourself to be
you are who you want to be
you are not the opinion of the people around you

you are your soul
be it old or young
you have lived many lives
and this is just the beginning

As long as there is life left within you.
There will be Hope for you to be saved.
I know that at times, the evil one lies to us.
Trying to deceive us into thinking that we will go to h3ll.
But fear not as long as you are alive , there's hope.
Its when you pass from this here life unto the next.
That the hope is no more, then you need to worry.
If you end up in the bad place suffering much.
Then and only then will you see you are not going to heaven

Sip the fruits

Drinking from the silver chalice
To your lips in grand design
Taste the life that waits to greet you
Sip the fruits of promised wine

Slowly feel the warmth so filling
Close your eyes in wondrous bliss
Sunny skies and apple blossoms
On your mouth the finest kiss

Smiles float on windswept sonnets
In the shade formed high above
Checkered red and cotton flowing
Melodies of written love

Calling forth on chambered sighs
To your skin a sweet caress
Visions of a rosebud rainbow
Butterflies and tenderness

Peppermints on stemmed affection
Open arms to show the way
Poems penned to tug your heart strings
Painted in a vast array

This and so much more I send you
Wrapped with ribbon, satin bow
Only searching for your smile
Hoping soon to see it show

the pedestal
on which he rests
remains across the lakes
atop the fruited plains
of the midwest

he is unwilling to share
with the East Coast brat;
the blonde who has made
a home in my chest

he complains, yet makes no push
to topple the boy over
and take over the nest

I ask myself now:
hundreds of miles over
four blurry years
what fight is left?

I have an open heart, closed sleeve

it is enough
to feel so much
without
having to show anything.

His eyes yawned
from watching me suffer too often

and
I learned to

be less exhausting.

Everyone,
through the course of Life
is afflicted with choices.

It is not so much a matter
of what choices One makes
as it is a matter of being One's Self
as One makes them.

Any decision made
with yourself abscent
will only tend to make One
lose touch of Ones self;
however,
if One is present within One's self,
any direction One can go
will lead One toward One's potential.

Tread carefully and with intention.
Life is tumultuous.
This is not a drill.
This is your life.

Carpe diem.

Wishful thinking is a term made up specifically to describe the feeling I got when I first saw you.

Nuclear fallout tries so hard to mimic the way your hands feel on everyone that isn't me.

Concentration camps hold all the parts of me that weren't made in your image.

I forced myself to go a day without holding anything that felt like your hands & so I went a day without burning my palms or cutting my fingertips.

Your apologies felt a lot like the ground felt in Hiroshima, I'm sure you meant to feign sincerity well enough for me to surrender to your destruction.

A pistol bullet travels anywhere from 800-900 mph, and I'm sure someone could find a way to make that poetic.

I could compare your love to a labyrinth, but I'd rather pretend that you were as enigmatic as the backs of my hands.

The smell of burning rubber reminds me of all the times your skin touched my bed sheets.

Your concern is as tangible as my nightmares; I hope you take that in a way that hurts you the most.

**** me so hard that I forget how it feels to be forgotten.

I hope I'm the girl your mother warned you about.

I'm a compilation of all my mistakes and I just hope that I burn your palms when you hold me but I also hope that you never let go; I'm the embodiment of every dilemma that's ever been vocalized.

Maybe one day you'll hear my name and lose your ability to walk.

Your name sounds a lot like the first few minutes of D-Day, and the last few seconds of Pearl Harbor, but that might just be me.

Congregations held in the palms of every hand you've never held.

Your trust issues look a lot like my anxiety.

*I still can't eat on your side of the bed without choking on the residue your dreams left.