You have ripped bellbottoms a shaky smile,
The sandy curls that cascade down your back.

You smoke till your lungs go black,
You sit in the blazing sun meditating till you go tan.

You play the tunes of The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix,
That suede jacket you wear every Tuesday.

You decorate your room with blankets so the colors keep you company,
The daisies you wear in your hair till they go brown.

You let your cigarette dangle from your thin lips,
That gritty sound you make when you form words.

Your eyes are always clouded with memories,
You wear those circular shades to hide from people.

You wipe the tears off of people’s faces,
Smile when theres nothing to smile about.

Your hands are tatted with henna, and you wear the shirt of a tie-dye spider.
All you eat is trail-mix of pistachios and sun-dried apples.

You ride in a Volkswagen with windows down to feel the breeze.
Your peace sign is like “the healer” to all pain.

You take a pull off hookah and a bite of shrooms just to chase away the madness.
You create your own reality.

When the rain falls down you fling your head back and yell to the world,
The face you make when you see animals.
He’s like an eagle, ready to sore through the sky and bring positivity.

Don’t ever tell me you’re not a hippie, because I’ve never seen anyone as unique as you.

Hi, my name is female.
I might not fold my hands the way she does
Or flip my hair the way that girl does.

Hi, my name is female.
The width and length I am shouldnt define if I'm qualified for Vogue.
The way I lick my lips may not be as attractive as the next female,
How my eyelashes flutter may not appeal to you.

Hi, my name is female and I like mashed potatoes and Thai coconut.
They say “eat less, its prettier. Where this, it shows more.”
Why?
I shouldn't have to balance myself on misleading scales that does nothing but swallow my pride up.

Hi my name is female.
Because one chicken breast is smaller than the other….it's not the same?
Because another person's peach is plumper than mine….its better?  
They're still the same and we should treat them the same.

Words get thrown at us everyday and its expected of us to pick them up and change the way we are.
No.

Hi, my name is female and I shouldn't be talking this way just for a guy.
I shouldn't be crying for this guy,
I shouldn't be kissing up to this guy,
I shouldn't be changing for a guy,
I wasn't made for a guy.

Because I can't reach my toes like the next female, shouldn't mean a thing. Because my palms may ash more or my bones may creek more, shouldn't define how pretty I am.
Her hair may reach her elbows, her hair may touch her neck.
Her skin might love the sun, her skin might hate it.
Its still beautiful.

Hi, my name is female and I like mashed potatoes and Thai coconut.
Just because you may not like it, doesn't mean Its gross or Im repulsive..

One female can say, “I am” while the other girl across the street can say, “I is.”
“No I won't”
Or
“No I ain't”

I can still smile just like the next female,
I can hold a laugh,
Cough,
Sneeze,
Wink,
Eat like the next female.

We're all one conjoined masterpiece.
One cannot make me feel low of myself.
One will not tell me she's better than me.
One will not let me cry my eyes out.

Hi, my name is female and I have a name.
My name defines me.
I am beautiful just like the next girl who likes mashed potatoes and Thai coconut.

Embrace your beauty, honey. You're gonna have it forever.

It was the midsummer of the 50’s and my girls and I went out for a bite. Jimmy’s Burgers was a block away and boy were we hungry! We could eat a cow for all we know. Jimmy’s jukebox can play music day in and day out.

My girls and I parked our blue Thunderbird Convertible, and hopped on in Jimmy’s. That place is always filled with younglings like us. You can smell the fresh potato cut fries fryin’ up in the greasers. The burgers are always my fave! I would beg to just get a bite out of those succulent, juicy ground babies.

Everyone in this joint always seems to be dancing their little feet off, the girls with their casual oxfords and pastel loose skirts; the guys wearing leather, pompadours, and their high-wasted pants. I love to crank that jukebox with only my quarters and dimes I have left in my purse. The girls and I sat on down in one of the red booths. A young waiter came over with bottles of coke with his pen and paper.

“May I take ya’ll lovely ladies’ order?” He was chewing on that mint gum.

Boy was he handsome! That sweet southern twine had me going bonkers. He looked all fancy in his all white uniform; his apron had ice cream stains and fry grease. His sandy brown hair was cascading behind his ears. I loved his paper hat too. His big brown eyes were looking into mine as he was getting our orders. I couldn’t help but stare back. He gave us our cokes and gave me a little wink behind his thick black glasses. I really didn’t care bout’ those pimples, his face made a girl melt like Texas asphalt on a hot beach afternoon!

I made myself look sweeter than a peach. I fluffed my hair and fancied my outfit, hoping for that rascal to come on back. The jukebox was still kicking tunes in the back, that’s when the cute waiter came back.  His tall, slender, perfect body walked on over and sat our tray of burgers down. My face was red hot like the time I first took a bite out of a chili pepper. The waiter got close to my ear and whispered,

“You wouldn’t mind if I take your sweet self on the dance floor for a second would you?”

Wasn’t that boy supposed to be working? I didn’t care. That rascal waiter grabbed my hand and swung my little waist on the dance floor. We twist, kicked, and shimmied. I was having the time of my life! I didn’t know my girls were staring at me, cheering on. Too bad the cutie had to go back to work. I walked over and sat back in the booth.

My girls were giving me the, you’re his sugar girl look. Not my fault he was sweeter than maple syrup!
The girls and I were finished at Jimmy’s Burgers, so we started to head out. Before I even opened the door, that waiter grabbed me by the waist and said,

“Hey sweet thing, leaving too soon? I didn’t catch your name?”

I looked into those eyes again; I felt my heart skip a beat like the jukebox when there’s a bug in it. His southern twine again,

“My name’s Robert James, but you can call me RJ.”

He kissed my hand and gave me that wink again. I gave him a smile and went outside. My face was peachy like a baby’s bottom! I didn’t even tell him my name, dog-gon shame.  From now on, I’m hittin’ Jimmy’s Burgers just so I can see that waiter.

Papa,
my beautiful papa.
He doesn't look at me anymore.
His smile has disappeared from his face.
Papa's bones are as thin as the weeds out back.
Remember papa?
You made me that handmade bike because you couldn't afford me a real one.
Your hands were the only things that helped me and momma.
The medicine you take, the bed you live in,
Your only depends.
I'm the one you should depend on papa.
I hold your fragile hand as you shake in fear.
Papa, your fever is too high.
On some nights, I sit with you in the oddest hours, keeping a cool damp towel placed  on your forehead.
The medicine can only hold you here for so long.
Papa, I can't sleep knowing that you're coughing your life away.
I stay up thinking of the days we use to spend in the blistering sun.
You drinking your ginger beer, giving me a sip.
It was sweet, yet burned on my tongue as it went in the back of my throat.
Warm feeling.
Papa, you were there for me when my days were dark and momma wouldn't be around.
She works a lot more now.
Why does life have to take the only thing I need to live?
Papa, you're getting weaker.
The hammer and nails you use to use, now mock your lack of strength.
Momma can only do so much.
Remember when the holidays would come around and you'd be out so long?
Scorching yourself to find the one gift for me?
Weary and tired you would always be,
you did it for me.
Papa, it's my turn now.
I loved the way you would smell during the mid-summer days.
The burnt cigarettes and fabric sweat was your name brand smell.
Every night,
you would come home beat with sweat beads on your forehead from the hat you wore.
It resembled the long weary hours you worked for that money.
Stale bread bottoms and scarce water was all we had.
Holy socks and beaten shoes was all I needed.
It was all you could afford papa.
Now life is in my hands.
Your sickness is the only tight bond left that's keeping us close.
Papa, you're daydreaming again.
Collarbones and hip bones are not suppose to be visible on you papa.
It's hurting me more than it's hurting you.
Your eyes are glossy.
The hair on your head that was once thick and brown,
has now gone grey and thin.
You're undernourished.
Papa, I can see the fear in your eyes.
You're worried about me and momma.
Don't worry.
Sad how the doctors turn their heads in shame.
They can't do anything.
If you leave me as I'm speaking,
remember that your life has given me great fortune.
Whether it was working till your knuckles bled or staying up all night with me,
just know that you're a wonderful papa.

I'm grateful for the friends I have. They keep me alive, keep me busy. I always come up with new memories with them, or new events. They're the ones that make up my day. Everyday is a awesome day when I'm with them. The pictures I take cascade a story. They tell you what's happening in life. Without my friends, I'm dead. I laugh, I cry, I sing, I dance, I joke, I play, I fight, I hug with my friends. I say this is the best life I have so far. Why change it? Can I relive moments again? That'll be a day. I'm grateful, that's all I can say.

Boys are weird!
Us girls will never understand them.
They scuff their knees up and walk out the house with tousled hair,
Can they ever think before they do?
They swing, climb, run, and jump on everything!
Just stay still.
Boys will be boys,
With dirt on their faces and cuts on their fingers.
They stick gum in girl's hair,
Carry slimy frogs in their pockets.
Their appetite is atrocious,
Are they gentlemen deep down?
Boy's language is all washed up,
They'll call you hot instead of beautiful.
They're full of burps and hung up on videogames,
Wrestling in the house every second.
Do they have a nice side?
Dads will keep a good eye on them,
Making sure they're good for their daughters.
Boys never stay like this,
They grow up to eventually become a *man.

So sour, yet delicious.
Your lips pucker, your eyes squint.
The tangy juices drip from your mouth.
Citrus smells arose.
Lemons are sweet, their winched.
So sour, yet delicious.

Barack Obama, first US President of African origin.
Langston Hughes, earliest innovators of then-new literary jazz
                                     poetry.
Angela Davis, African American political activist, and author
Coretta Scott King, author, activist, and civil rights leader
Katherine Johnson, African-American mathematician

Anita Baker, African American singer-songwriter
Muhammed Ali, African American professional boxer and activist
Erykah Badu, African American singer-songwriter activist
Rosa Parks, the mother of the freedom movement and civil rights
Ida B Wells, African-American journalist and feminist
Colin Powell, statesman and retired four-star general in US Army
Al Sharpton, civil rights activist and Baptist minister
N*elson Mandela, South African anti-apartheid revolutionary
                                   political leader

There's a party around the block,
Where flamingos run and eggs fall from upstairs.
The roof is tumbling and the pool is overfilled with humans and animals,
There's a zebra and ten monkeys running through the house.
****** ******* is rising everywhere,
To the kitchen and the bathroom, to the backyard and the deck.
Balloons are scattered on the floor,
There's food fights in every room.
There's a car crashed into the wall,
People are running around in togas.
The music is blasting through the glass windows,
Everyone is jugging boos and sniffing toxins.
The bonfire is sparking with Barbie doll heads,
The smell of burning rubber spreads throughout the sky.
People are wild with horse masks on their heads,
They're fist pumping and thumping to the repeated beat.
Males and females are racing around **** in the halls,
Paint ***** and BB Guns are being fired on every window.
Glasses of broken bottles are lost in couches and beds,
People are swinging on chandeliers.
The walls start to buckle and shake,
Cops arrive but are being tazered with their own tazers.
The house is being tee-peed,
No one knows why the tub is on fire.
The music starts to get louder every second,
Tables and chairs are being thrown across the rooms.
There are piggy back rides on the front lawn,
Drug addicts are polluting the air with taboo smoke.
People are sliding down the stairway with helmets and pillows,
Many of the people are hung upside down unexpectedly.
Girls get dragged into the bedrooms,
Fights are happening here and there.
Some people are passed out anywhere,
Others are bungee jumping off the roof.
Furniture is left outside,
Lips are locking in the closet.
Fireworks are going off while people are dunking their heads in water,
Twerking is being done almost everywhere.
The house is a total wreck,
And the sun starts to rise over the horizon.

I don't know about you,
But this party was something new.

Poem #1
You see him very close to you in the rain. There are blurry visions of wet droplets on your eyelashes. Try to get close as much as you can and touch his fragile skin. You’re soaked in rain together with slow, soft music playing through the musky, thick, wet air. You’re trying to find him in the crowd full of humans, but the hustle and the pain makes it worse. Pushing and shoving to get through it all. You get closer to him with every wet footstep. With one big leap in those innocent arms, you guys connect with a wet hug, swinging and giggling in the raining air. Just the two of you guys. Doesn't matter, beyond the background is silent. All you see is just you two in the cold, but yet warm rain. A soft kiss on the lips. This is what you call romantic.  

Poem #2
Don’t know a thing about each other. Don’t even know you guys even exist.  Ya’ll never seen each other’s face, smile, and thoughts. You two are miles n' miles far from each other. You two were dating different people at the time. But then it all changes with one move. You see the new faces, new area, new everything. It takes days, weeks, even a month to finally notice each other. You two never thinking this will happen to you guys, but it does. The friend, buddy, pal feeling you guys are having is petite. Little things change even more. You two are closer, fragile, heated, and obvious. The anticipation waits. The texting, oovooing, Facebook-ing appear.  Then the question comes to place. Things get even more heated, intense. Love goes on and you two are just made for each other. From a faraway distance, a big change can put an effect on life. Two strangers, not knowing each other, being friends and all, become intense, fall in love from separation places. <3

Poem #3
Do you sit on the roof and dream like her? Do you write and watch the sunset slow its way down to the center of the earth like her? You think of courageous things like her? Is there a song that puts you to that place like her? Do you glare off into space and just think of the two of you like her? Do you wish and imagine like her? You pretend everything is ok when it’s not like her? Do you miss her like she misses you? You get up with a fake smile and attitude like her? Do things run in your mind like crazy ants like hers? Do you see a future with her like she does? If so, and surprisingly you do half the same things as her, then why are you standing like a bug on a wall? Are you afraid of the truth and reality like her? You’re afraid on what’s going to happen between you two? Speak! Both of you! Say what’s on your mind. Let it out. It’s best to know than not.

Poem #4
You guys live far from each other. Probably 10 miles far, 100 seconds, 10 minutes, and maybe even ½ hour far apart. Over the trees, through the streets, across the houses, and past the sidewalks. 3 buses to get to him and 3 buses to get home. Only the sweet technology to keep you guys in touch is the key. If only you guys lived close, you can share your deepest feelings. Being far apart is like being on your own, and it’s hard to keep guard n' close secure. You’re a loose goose when not being seen from each other frequently. It’s best to be close to each other than far as a drifty ghost. You’ll see each other at school hopefully, and things will be repeated again.

What I always dreamt in my head,
white folks running and playing in the white snow.
Drinking ginger beer and talking about how lovely the weather is.
Baking pies every Sunday morning.
But for me, I have no advantage of that.
What is snow? I've never seen it. How does ginger beer taste, is it sweet n' bitter?
How's their weather? Our weather is musk and steamed.
What kind of pie, blueberry or cherry?
I get the rust bucket of it all.
We have no snow, no ginger beer, bland weather, and no pie.
Instead, I get bruises from the colonials.
From head ***** hair to ached feet, I'm bruised.
I would love to feel snow, sip on some ginger beer, feel different weathers, and eat pie every morning.
That'll be a gift.
Too bad they run us. We have no say.
We get dry sand, ***** water, hot weather, and no food every morning.
I'd rather deal with that then be bruised black and blue.

Polka dotted up and down,
Polka dotted from head to toe.
Zigged and Zagged, swirled and twirled,
Every part of the dress is covered with polka dots.
From pink to green, yellow to blue,
The dots are perfectly spotted on every part.
Zipped up from the back, laced up frilly sleeves,
It twirls a parade when spinning around.
It's not right for the winter, not right for the fall,
But it fits just right when summer comes around.
It shows off your legs, it makes a V neck,
It catches your figure every point.
It acts like a parachute and works like a blanket,
It's your armor.
This cotton wear may be all that it is,
But never underestimate what a polka-dotted dress can do for a girl.

The anchor has rose up from its deep weighed level pressure. It isn't as heavy,
I can hold it with one hand.
I can use it for important uses.
The anchor may have rust stains, rugged edges, bent tips, and crisscross seaweed,
but i can use it.
This anchor has been through steeps of rubble and underwater debris,
But i can use it.
Nothing can pull my anchor back to the bottom drenches.
It'll stay up, thank you very much

Nothing has changed.
But everything is different.

He liked her with her long hair,
so she cut it short.

It was one, hot, soothing day, and i was still going to summer camp. We all headed to the beach that day. My friend and i had the hunger of wild animals. We rushed over to the food stand for some delicious chili dogs n nachos. Boy, it was a long time. We waited in the blistering heat, starving. While we were waiting, a song was playing from afar. "It's in the Morning" from Robin Thicke. When we me and my friend heard the song, we analyzed every part of it. From lyric to lyric, chorus to chorus. It was fun. This kept us busy till our scrumptious food came. This was the best day ever.

I love the way he talks, whisky parched with a little deep tone.
I love when I talk too much, 5am turn the radio up.
Blood, sweat, tears everyday, what do I have to do to get a donut?
My glass is full of wine, ring on my finger I feel imprisoned.
Love it when you're too cool for school, stop being a gangster.
Pop my *** up from a garbage can, wake up shirtless with red scratch marks.
Smell of citrus on my lips, standing too close to the TV screen.
Do I need a lil break tonight? I feel my body tensing up.
BBQ stains oh his left shirt collar, kissing in the rain till my hair frizzes.
*** in the city to the crack of dawn, Eggo waffles down my shirt.
Sipping tea on the back hot porch, singing blues every dreading Sunday.

**** with it.

Dolphins, black tights, sombrero,
The red lipstick stain on your napkin.
Dancing on the table, high in the navy blue air, bass grinding.
Shiny white teeth, swirls in your eyes, lines everywhere.
You pull those suspenders close to you.
Drinking that moscato in your right hand.
Pinkie up.
Nothing but a boss in that chair,
Turtles touch your feet,
Nothing but in your boxers that Saturday evening.
I really don't care what you smell like.
You remind me of careless unicorns in a dark party.
Growing, laughing, crying, singing in the shower.
Music bleeding through your body.
Sadness, tears, curled up in the warmth of the cool blankets.
This is what flies in my head, I throw it on a paper and call it poetry.

Open up a can of humans into bowl.
Add dashes of corruption and manipulation.
With a cup of the government, pour it slowly and discrete.
Dont forget to add money, taxes, high politics.
With a bag of bullets,
Drop about 20 deaths per minute.
You will need 2 tablespoons of police brutality, child abuse, ****.
3 cups of pollution and overcrowd toxic factories.
With spatula,
Flip over green gardens and wildlife.
Flatten it with concrete and buildings.
Chop up living creatures and get rid of any access fresh produce.
Add this to the chain of fast foods and overly priced merchandize.
While stirring, don't forget to add rigged votes.
Once mixed, bake in tanning bed till fake golden brown.
Make sure it isn't black.
Let it rise, but not plus size.
Take it out and stagger around it putting it on social media,
Retweeting, tagging, sharing, liking.
Let it cool then glaze it with conspiracy theories then you're done.
Enjoy America.

Piano playing in the background.
The same earing tune.
It's gray.
Too gray.
Might rain.
Stomach starts to grumble. I don't know why.
I'm thinking about us on that bed.
Just sitting.
I kiss your cheek.
My pants are so loose.
They have rips on them.
On purpose.
My shirt is so tight, I like it.
TEST TAKER!
They scream.
My basketball sits out on the front porch.
Wet.
Dewy in the grass
I feel you watching me sometimes,
I wonder if you think of me.

I have taken dozens and dozens of souls before.
Drunks, sinners, convicts, killers, ******.
As soon as they pass on, in your arms they fall.
And to your mistress you carry them every time I call.
Your sensei.

My thigh high boots withstanding my weaponry
I am Kanye’s Devil in a new dress,
Personified.
I’m pure lust,
Unholy desire.
The underground *******.

I see the evil in your eyes.

But hey, I miss the bleachfumes.

I’ve been up all morning just writing and ****.
“ONLY DEATH IS PROMISED”
“CHEAP ***=CHEAP PISTOLS”
“ALL I NEED IS CIGARETTES, ****, AND COFFEE”

Scamming is truly a habit.
Its pleasure after pain.

****, you’re the ****.
I’ll rip my heart out and just hand you the ****…
Like I said, it’s pleasure after pain.

You are not worthy enough to see the face of your tormentor,
You don’t want war with me, *****.
We’re all mad here,
An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all.

Stay ***** and individualistic as ****.

No matter how much your skin tingles, or your face heats up,
You can never stay mad.
You'll throw a fit and say the God's sins,
But you never mean it.
Your hatred boils and overflows with the rage and anger of a thousand devils,
It goes away.
You forbid to speak the truth and blame your anger on the innocent,
You know you don't mean it.
Your mind doesn't want to open up and see life differently,
Eventually you do.
No matter how much pain and integrity you're in,
Your grudges are temporary. They'll never last.

From my pudgy round face, to my so called “Carrot Top,” I was always never perfect.
To the ginger spice curls in my head to my hazel beady eyes, I was an outcast and known as weird.
I’m a girl with bobby socks and the one who gets picked on cause of my red-hot locks.
When I look in the mirror all I see is a bony girl covered in polka dots
To my cheeks, to my nose, they’re everywhere
“Haven’t you seen her?!” They’ll say
My milky white skin glows like the moon at night. I just hate how my hair glistens in the light.
People say I’m more of a cherry tea than an orange tinted ginger.
I say I’m an alien.
I hate how I seem so translucent and that I burn easily in the sun. I’m almost red as a lobster.
Why can’t I have fun?
People say my freckles are caramel stars, honey clouds, or lady bugs
It’s not my fault I look this way. I didn’t wish upon this.
I burn your throat when I talk; I sting your eyes when you look directly into my hair. I tease your nose when you believe you smell strawberries. It’s just me.
Hey! It’s not my fault I’m a red head.

I shouldn't be swallowing the sweet sizzling pop beverage,
Why am I biting into a sweet glazed donut goodness?
I must not smack and crunch on the chips that ruffle in the bag,
Just couldn’t resist the creamy, sugary, ice cream that was left in the bowl.
I shouldn’t be dipping my food into the hot cheesiness,
I need to stop whipping the cream on everything I eat.
Why do I chew voraciously with meaty greasy devil burgers?
I can’t stop digging my fork into the rich flaky cake.
The days go by and I keep pulling out potato salt thin fries out the container,
Every day I grab a strip or two of thin, crunchy, meaty flavored bacon illness.
I need to reject the bad double cookies that fill my mouth,
Stop reaching for those greasy hard-shell tortilla tacos.
Need to resist the temptation of powder crisp doughy funnel cakes,
Stop licking my lips every time I savor a chewy sweet caramel chocolate bar.
Why can’t I stop grabbing handfuls of tiny fruity demon skittles?
I must back away from the calories, the gluten, the salt, the fat.

I need to stop eating junk.

There was a boy, blue drowned eyes with the horse hair rooted from the top then drooped in the face.
Hair so itchy and greasy,
It caused acne.
He was thin, sideways toothpick and collarbone shown.
Isn't his fault he doesn't like the taste of sour dough bread and tap water.
People at school abuse him.
They don't understand why he wears the mustard stained turtleneck every Tuesday,
There's no washing machine.
Socks are worn through every winter,
They start to soak and mildew.
His toes freeze up.
He clutches his stomach and bites his lip,
If anyone heard the grumble they'll wonder.
There are no games at his house, no swing, no back porch.
No carpet to rub on, no Christmas.
Instead,
He wears his flannel pajama pants that flood to the knee.
His mama and pop love him so much,
They squeeze into a home with one room.
The boy gets the room.
The boy's heart is as big as it'll ever get.
His compassion for dance,
His compassion for learning.
He may not have a penny in his holy pockets,
Or a brush for his knotted hair,
But with the support from moma and pop,
The boy can have sky blue eyes that don't drown.

The way we live,
It's dangerous to walk alone, sleep at night,
Trust people.
Our voracious greed for lust and pride,
Can we share a meal or give a hug?
The murderous crimes we make,
We grieve, mourn, suffer.
Why are we all insecure?
The way we look doesn't fit the press or set the stage.
There's alot of sins we created that cannot be undone,
Some of us pray, some of us resin.
We rely on technology to babysit us,
Yet we're still lost.
We're all sunflowers lost in a world filled with sorrow, complaints, lust, greed, pride,
The only thing that completes us is the little happy things in our lives.
We're sunflowers lost in the world.

To write
to write one's life
is to take a road that leads nowhere
and yet parallels the totality of one's existence

To write one's life
is to evoke a silhouette
that of the writer rushing through his past

One cannot tell where he is going
as he detours diverges deviates
but that is why we want to follow him

Along the way like a lost traveler
he picks up pebbles from the ground
and stuffs them in his pockets

As he gropes backward he loses himself
but we are willing to be disoriented with him
willing to be lulled by his vain repetitions

Stranded in time with him
we lose ourselves in space with him
and yet everything holds in place underneath
as if pulled by a magnet

All that was absent
forgotten from his life
is now suddenly present again

It's ok if it didn't make it to homecoming, the middle of school year, the stretch of Valentine’s Day.
  It's ok if it has paused, stopped, ended, there will be light. Think good rather than bad.
    Its ok, school will be awkward, moods will swing, love will fade, feelings will drown, it happened all before.
  It's ok if you said things that were too soon, know to not happen, your pride will still go on.
  It's ok if things will never be the same, atmosphere will feel weird, silence will appear, and pain will intrude. It's all the steps of healing.
  Will same feelings come back? Will things be in tip top shape? Can you handle seeing what was yours into someone else's hands? Or will it be too much.
  Stay close or stay apart. Try to hold on and not break but it's good to let it out. Shake it off and let it out.
    All memories will be no use, no meaning, it's all in the past. Once things stop.... There's no continue.
    It's all in the beginning again, like stopping a movie and rewinding it to the beginning. When will it play through?
    Will there be one more chance or no? It's your choice. It's hard to move on, like quick sand has gotten your feet. It's like level 1 all over again.
    You were getting so far like a winning race. Maybe it wasn't just meant to be won. It's up to you to choose.
  We're talking about all school year, the whole. Will it be easy or will it just hurt?
    It's ok to cry a river. But will it be ok to listen to the tracks that played behind the memories?
    You’re supposed to be ok but everyone breaks down once in a while.
    It won't be the same; no one will ever cover the spot that once filled happiness.
    You ask, you regret, you wonder, you beat, you cry, you think, you drift, things will happen but you don't wanna face it.
    Is it ok that you have things that cherish the past? Is it ok that it hurts, you want to die? Do you over exaggerate? Well, I don’t know.
      "It's ok" they say, "you'll move on" they say. This is the 2nd time and will there ever be a third?
      2 months, one year, how many days? That's all it was. It will never come back!
      You blew it, is that ok? You wanna punch the walls, tear your hair out, scream n shout, you wanna stay mad, is that ok? Will that solve the pain you’re having?
      It's ok if they don't care, you care. If they loved you they would have never let you go in the first place. Same as before.
      Is death an option? We hope so. We will be put to peace.
      It's ok to forget, worry about yourself, focus on you, friends, and family, and drop this pain and misery.
      It's ok to gradually move on but not forget the past. It's ok to still live life and sort of be happy.
      You’re in the single basket n it hurts, but you'll be out. Hope.
Is it ok to get up and leave or stay and try?
Is it ok to hurt you like you did me or just drop it?
    It’s ok to miss you, its ok to hate you too.
        God!! U doesn’t know how much I miss you. Seeing u in the halls it's just not the same.
It’s ok to let the memories sit in the back of your mind. It’s ok to see thing awkward now.
        You look at me rude and treat me with meanness, is that ok?
Yet you treat “them” nice, is that ok too?
It’s ok if you date others, just letting you know they’re not the same.
Is it ok to show this to the world, let them know you who you really are?
    It’s ok if you’re confused and not ready to love, you’ll learn it later.
    It’s ok if you’re not mature enough, its ok if you choose dudes over lover.
I hope its ok to date and see him in the eyes of your spouse. I hope its ok to think it’s him just to please you.
Is it safe to date again or it’s not ok to leave yet?
It’s ok to shed a tear and not be embarrassed. If he’s not sobbing it’s not worth it.

I like the rain.
It reminds me of many things.
It reminds me of little days to teen days.
I can sit in the musk warmth for hours while the trickles of water fall upon my nose.
Close my eyes.
Breath in deep, and exhales all the memories.
I can be barefoot.
I can be nothing but a t-shirt and shorts.
I want to feel this rain, not just be in it.
Have me sit on the roof and look out onto the world.
It's beautiful when it's quiet.
Rain warms me.
Cuddles me.
I don't get sick, I get happier.
Let my hair frizz up with wetness.
Let the chill bumps ride on my skin, I like it.
Smell of rain reminds me of a aquarium.
Amazon rainforest.
Just feels good to be alone in the rain thinking of everything in that one brain.
I can sleep in the rain.
Like the rain.

You knew when I was happy.
You knew when I was angry.
You knew what I liked from the gas station.
You knew what annoyed me the most.
You knew my pet peeves.
You knew what words made me blush.
You knew my past.
You knew what I liked from McDonald's.
You knew what got me sad.
You knew what made me stubborn.
You knew my laugh.
You knew my smile.
You knew the quirks I did everyday.
You knew what was my favorite color.
You knew how tall I was.
You knew how I looked from the inside.
You knew what I loved about you.
You knew what I loved to eat.
You knew what to get me on my menstrual cycle.
You knew how to hug me.
You knew how to kiss me.
You knew how I liked to be touched.
You knew what made me cry.
You knew what movies I repeated.
You knew what cereal I enjoyed.
You knew how forgetful I was.
You knew how I clumsy I was.
You knew how to respect me.
You knew what clothes I styled in.
You knew my family.
You knew my anxiety.
You knew my body shape.
You knew what I was allergic to.
You knew you hurt me.

You knew too late.

When I steep down,
My heart disappears and I feel weightless.
Confused, scared, excitement spins in me as I'm falling to my death.
I feel weak,
Tears trickling down my face,
So cold.
I close my eyes to avoid the fear in me,
But yet I'm still afraid.
When it's done,
I laugh.
How crazy was I to think I would lose all my identity.
It's just a roller coaster.

And if I told my story to myself ?

It is true that along the rocky story
I often stumbled, and when I fell
I would get up saying to myself
that no one had seen me, and I
would continue saying to myself,
it was an accident,  and I set out
again, hobbling along, saying,
it's okay, the fall was not a fall,
the rocks were not rocks, and even
if some bystanders laughed at me,
others encouraged me, saying that
I had a beautiful story in me, and
that I had to tell it, even if to myself.

I'm so use to pain,
It's like a dealer use to drugs.
Swallow yourself with hatred words,
Like you'd do with pills.
Inject sorrow like narcotics.
Snort the heartbreak,
As if it's coke.
Take breaths of depression and exhale them.
Drink your tears as if alcohol.
Pain is a addictive drug.
Once you're hook, you're use to it.
It hurts once in a while, but that's how all drugs are.