As the world turns and my heart beats steadily
I lay awake
Eyes burning of untold dreams,
thinking of things I never thought before.
I lay awake
My mind keeps racing,
It's like my mind is afraid to rest.
Eyes heavy and waiting,
Body slowly dancing for comfort
I lay awake
"Breathe slowly, center your thoughts"
Those old techniques that never work.
So I lay awake
Slightly bruised by life, I'm uncomfortable so
I lay awake.

Wanting to press my cheek up against the creator of life.
For those days when even breathing adds to the
frustration of being.
Exploding with cries, dried out by the desire
to please mankind.
To please society.
Wanting to embrace stillness,
and lock myself away from all words and actions.
My head burns with pains caused by daily demands.
Dividing myself mentally to keep up physically.
Now both worlds are crashing.
I wanna press my cheek against the creator's,
and have him wipe my heavy tears away.
I wanna have deep conversations with him,
staring with hope in my eyes,
that some secrets would spill from his lips one day.
Secrets that ease my mind from being so sore.
I want to press my cheek up against the creator's .....
and soar

I love this man so much but I can't show it.
Always on my mind and in my heart,
But he won't know it.
His smile alone stimulates every nerve in my body,
His touch sets off every good feeling there is to feel,
But no revealing.
Being around him defines the word happy.
It's like no one else subsist when I'm with him,
It's like when I'm on ****** and my soul gets light.
He is my heart in human form.
He is also not mine.

Well, it's the power that words convey.
The way they allow you to feel the very thoughts that disturbs my mind.

These words can inspire, create, control and destroy.

Poetry is power.

It's expression,
it's the hope that my lines undress before your eyes and make you feel a rise..

The hope that they are so pornographic, it makes you second guess how ***** and strong the truth of free expression can be...

I write because my heart strings are tugged everyday, it plays the cord of pain and lost. It plays a melody that those can hopefully sing along to.

I write because it's the best way to voice the me I think I already know.

I write in hopes that one day my words would come alive and embrace me with the courage to be..
because poetry carries meaning that is far more complex, than the very words you see.

Makes you think beyond..

It humbles the mind and the spirit with how elegantly its craft captivates the being of the reader.

Poetry is potent.

Its power is endless.

I write because, why not ?

prepare to shudder,
prepare to have demons taunting you,
playing disturbing games with your soul,
with a calming darkness and scary happiness.

Staining your hands with a metallic substance,
marking the walls of the invisible.
This is what happens when you touch my soul.

Creatively ugly but mouthing the word pretty.
Be careful.

It's like  I was touched by this ebony, fair eye angel with two sides.
Soaring with bloodless and sullen wings.

But there is happiness, somewhere...
Sometimes presenting itself like a optical illusion,
adding mystery to my image.

Her mind is running, screaming, collapsing in on itself again.
Uncomfortable with feeling helpless,
not being enough,
Priorities changing.
Slowly losing control of who she is,
she's worried, that was the one thing that kept her permanent.
Wishing that she could be awarded for just being.
Wishing that she was enough for the one she loved.
"These are just mountains of sorrow that cannot be moved."
So frustrated with regrets,
Literally choking on her desire to be more.
To be something of worth...

Slowly changing into someone I don't recognize.
Looking in the mirror I see a reflection of a girl that has no meaning.
Who am I ?
Racking my mind trying to figure out who this reflection is.
Confusion spreads across my face,
tapping my head with quick beats hoping the memory comes to me like lyrics to a almost forgotten song.
Trying to scratch off this facade, these masks...
but they are so many they all, are just stuck on,
switching to whatever character I have to be.
I am a walking Broadway show,
I perform everyday, tirelessly
Who am I ?

It's so loud inside my head, my thoughts are screaming, scratching to get out.
Maybe I'm a little unsteady.
The pain knocked the wind out my lungs and brought me to my knees.
I fought gravity tirelessly on the journey down.
I'm just too tired, too tired to share my light,
wanting to cry but all my tears been used up.
I've lost again.