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Within the tears
She
gave me many reason to laugh with myself

Within the fears
She
gave me many reasons to hope for a better day

Within the painful nights
She
gave me many reasons to dance in the morning

Within my broken self
She
gave me many reasons to love
Of what remains in the mirror.

I’m forevermore thankful for She.

How does one "talk" of  "feelings"/ when Love is Poetry.

Everyday I see the fighting and hate
When did the world reach this awful state
Where people fight just cause of race or religion
We are becoming nothing but a world of unforgiven
Everyday more and more violence
And most of us just sitting in silence
We must stand up and spread the word
Or face the death of our world

The world spins
Not my head.
I should remember that.

when it comes to playing music
i’m not chasing the dream
the dream is chasing me

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

inside, it hurts
it screams
it pains
it aches
it wishes and hopes
but never arrives

my heart

you never asked to read my poetry
maybe that was the sign.
i told you i wrote for fun,
you shrugged and moved on.