her espresso eyes,
her sun-kissed cheeks,
her hazelnut hair,
her steady smile,
her lively laugh
her playful personality,
her elegance.

She changed
He noticed it in her eyes
The last time he acknowledged her was
before he left
When fresh tears came out her eyes
When she dedicated her love to him
But no matter what she did she couldn't stop him
from leaving
Her eyes held sadness and love
That he had never seen in anyone before
The kind of eyes when someone betrays you
This time
Her eyes had fire
And as he stood and looked at her
Her hair and the wind
Her eyes and the sun
This time
This time he saw her worth
Her love
Her strength
But this time she was strong enough to fight
Strong enough to say no.

Not a single
demand,
expectation,
conjuncture,
influence
will keep me from living for me
and living out the hopes, dreams, and light
that I have suppressed for so long
at the request of others around me.

I should tell you I pull away from hugs that last longer than 3 seconds.
I should warn you that my anger gets the best of me when I start to feel something.
It takes me awhile to adjust.
You're gonna have to be patient with me.

I know it may be hard to understand but my heart lets go before it even gets a grip.
I may not talk alot about my life but know that I am trying.
I  have been hurt so much before.
Try to be patient with me.

I've been down this road before and it left me with scars
so don't fret when my body tenses up when you grab my hand.
I'm starting to learn that the touch from a man isn't always full of empty promises and hurtful intentions.
You're gonna have to learn to be patient with me.

I wrote a poem for my English class and my teacher said he didn't like it.

I wasn't mad because I got a bad grade, I was mad because what if I wasn't strong enough to look past his opinion and keep writing? What if that one negative comment made me quit altogether and never share a single word again?

What if he ruined my future because he couldn't look past his idea of what a poem should be?

A poem does not have to rhyme or end with closure or even make sense to everyone who reads it.

A poem simply has to reach part of someone's soul who had no idea that these were the words they had been waiting to hear and these were the words that were meant to save them.

This is what a poem is, not a grade from a teacher or a rhyme in a book. A poem is a method of coping and a way to understand the world with ease.

I wrote a poem for my English class and my teacher said he didn't like it. But I am stronger than he thinks, and I will continue to write poems that he does not like and I will continue to love them in spite of his opinion.

Everyone knows that convalescence turns to evanescence when heated bubbles rise with effervescence. It turns from shame with ease to blame and wraps back around conflicting and constricting your vein. About to burst and your worst thoughts inside will ride by the side taking every abide on their path to divide. This little lesson on entropy is no radical notion. But rather a fanatical description of raw emotion. Take a prescription and close the gate when you don't want to feel. Or be prepared for a lesson to kneel before genuine powers innate You can only reveal. The most important connections we make in this life will be tested over and again with an abundance of strife. Perfection is impossible, we can only try to flow. Our reflection is the garden that we will try to grow. It can only begin at a moment by planting a single seed. Reach out to someone feeling alone because truly we are all in need. Or try again with heart in hand and if you fear for wasted time...

I love you.
I forgive you.

These few words don't need to rhyme.

How can I be alright?
Acting all normal is how you roll
Before I came, you've already built up your wall
And I've already made up my mind;
you are lost there
But don't ask me, I'm lost too
You pepper spray me so often
Now I can't see any other way but to you

you feel disgusted with yourself
but in the eyes of the concrete
you are viewed as wholly reborn
there is an uncomfortable beauty
in every shape of the pain you feel
and it's all you've known, you see
barbed-wire for that safety net
a heavy head filled near the brim

but a soul exists within that form
separate of the tormented skin
the scratching & clawing within
there is an eternal essence of all
being, there is flawed divinity in you
one must stop and really breathe it

you've survived your mind, brother
of mine, and that alone is no small
feat, there's fear all around and it's
always drawing near, but you can
continue onward, you can still live.
at the end of it all, when you return
to the universe, you can at least
have with you in those final moments,
complete unity and understanding.
you can view the grand precipice of
your being with full awareness,
and that is yours. you take that with
you as you cross over, into eternity