the scars that line your wrists remind me of
fallen paper planes, like you
tried so hard to make it perfect, to
make it go places, to make it wonder
through hills but instead it went crashing down like
your tears midway, like it thought it was hopeless
you thought you were hopeless because all
the other planes had engines and
they were battery operated from the start,
so statuesque so perfect
they were trained from the start to stand tall,
****** in stomachs, labored breathing and it
hurts so much but it doesn't matter because they
were pretty, the best of the best
and you were just left in the dirt, stuck in the mud
like a fallen paper plane so you gave yourself
paper cuts because you thought you deserved it, you thought
that they were right, that everybody else was just born better than
you; they must've received some sort of memo
that you didn't because god it feels like that,
it feels like a bitter desperation and a lonely hatred all
at once because some part of you hates their beach blonde hair
and magazine worthy body
but the worst part is not watching them receive praise
and lead the life you can only dream about, no,  
the worst part is knowing that no matter what
you will never be able to compare to them because
you are a fallen paper plane, filthy from the dirt you had fallen
in, scarred from the thoughts you can't turn off, and hopeless;
already too old to know better than false naivety

what they never tell you however,
is how easy it is to rebuild a paper
plane and how all batteries will expire
and one day, that certain shade of beach blond hair
will become discontinued and that
life goes on until it decides to stop  

(h.l.)

Out of the phoenix flame, a child appeared without a name
A cursed beauty lay, without direction or a way
Brought upon mortal men, to punish and condemn
But she as pure as winter snow, and little of evil does she know
Placed on this earth to adore, with a face that sent 1000 ships to war
Oh how the gods they mock, knowing how men will flock
To them it’s just a game, a simple pleasure to watch a flame
But her, she cries at night, and fears the grandeur of the light
As a Cleopatra Canna flower grows, of mixed beauty and pose
Afraid she may be picked, and behind a window pane restrict
Oh, how shall this cursed beauty be? Perhaps a life of mystery
She hides behind a veil, and holds her tongue when needing to exhale
For the intellect and compassion sought, by anxious men whom she fought
Was lost, and fell upon deaf ears, and only expressed through her tears
How shall history perceive? As nations condemned to grieve
Through princes and prophets the same, orchestrating a dangerous game
All in effort to win her devotion, they cross the vastness of an ocean
But why, is the question that we should ask, for beauty does not last
Perhaps this is how the gods are entertained, for her beauty cannot be contained
She’s granted to suffer through this life, filled with rivalries and strife
When will she know peace? After the deaf admirers cease
A beautiful fool, would be ideal, all she has to do is kneel.
But, she chooses to walk, as those around stand and gawk
Fire born, to earth she shall return, reborn again as a fern.
And hope that in the next life she might, be left alone to enjoy the light

After winter
There is a spring

After pain
There is healing

After struggle
There is growth

After heartbreak
There is love

And while the dark seems to last
The daybreak never fails to
Come

Words may be a hindrance
Forming hard crust over feelings
You wanted to convey
At the core of those words
The true meaning is lost forever
At times, when words don’t suffice
Pure and raw feelings are more potent
There are many miles traversed
Between the feelings and the words
Somewhere, the line is drawn inadvertently
Hurdles imaginary are the toughest ones
Endless numbers of words do not right
The wrongs meted out to the true feelings
Heart will wither away, if not revived
At the avenue where words are shunned
It’s where hearts shall meet, without prejudice
Not weighed down by the frills of words
Life is embellished with silence
When hearts do the talking, sans the words