One who longs too much
        who romanticizes too often
        who dreams impossible dreams*

yet

when faced with reality
retreats to the dark corner

For a moment, let's reset our society

VIctoria Secret Models are chubbier,
shorter than 5ft.
and don't have those golden locks with shimmering eyes
nor the perfect skin nor smiles

Yellow and crooked teeth are to be admired upon
chapped lips and no make up is the ideal beauty

McDonald's sells the most exquisite burgers
while Fogo De Chao is frowned upon

Harvard and those Ivy Leagues are
safety schools
and the community colleges have
an impossible admission of 70%
UNBELIEVABLE, RIGHT??

that gardeners and janitors were respected
as the kings of the world
and government and the congress are
to be denied, devalued, and made fun of.

now open your eyes
and hear the cars
and turn on the tv
and smell everything

which one would  you rather prefer???

To be frankly honest,

it is sad that the word feminism even exist.

Isn't equality a given, granted, innate law of every human being, regardless of who they are?

Why do we have to fight for a right that is inherently ours?

And curiously still, why does society take away that right as if it is theirs?

Indeed, how sad it is that we have to fight for feminism, when it should be an implied, understood concept by all.

your eyes are disillusioned,

but your feet knows and remembers

what your mind refuses to.

We blame beauty for all our societal issues.

The problem in our society
isn't
beauty
:|ˈbyo͞otē|
noun
a beautiful or pleasing thing or person

It is
conformity
: |kənˈfôrmitē|
noun
behavior in accordance with socially accepted conventions or standards

Do you see that homeless guy, right there?
Yeah, the one with untrimmed beard, empty stomach, and desperate eyes?
and do you see Ralph's, Pavillion's, or Trader Joes's
Stacked with Miles and Miles and Miles of food
Meat, Veggies, Canned, and Cooked
Shelves behind shelves, overload of trash of a day old food.

Can you tell me what's wrong with this picture?

this is not a poem
I just turned 20 and i feel lost and still do not have my **** together as I feel like all 20 years old do and should
if you are of age or older
please leave your advice, stories, words below

at this point, anything would help to keep me from freaking out about my impending doom
i appreciate it
and look forward to hearing from you soon

love,
anna

took a break to find myself

that's what you said

but when you came back

the you i found wasn't the you i hoped you would find

Let's pretend that the rain is the droplet of silver
the wind a flicker of gold
the tree a carat of emerald
the sky a carving of sapphire and stud of diamond.

Let's just pretend that
the same old me is

beautiful.

when the media, the government, the world tells you to yell, scream, hate

you were like a van Gogh painting
so colorful and vibrant but always so melancholy
and i couldn't always figure out what and why
but perhaps that's why i found you so beautiful

you have to
hold on
thin gossamer of a rope
perhaps a figment of your imagination or
a trembling vial that will fall with the slightest wind
because everyone is hurting and tired and sick

and there is you, this magnificent ray of a
******* light that the world needs to keep breathing

so hold on
to whatever it may be
because you
you are worth so much more than
this insult or that person or that test or that job
you
by the virtue of breathing and existing and living
are the very best, highest epitome
of this race we call human

I was the one who received the faithful letter from Mr. Darcy
I was the one who held Holden when he cried
I was the one who Guy Montague thought was beautiful
I was the one who Heathcliff came back to the Wuthering Heights for
I was the one who Mr. Rochester tried to illegally marry
I was the one who D'Artagnan grieved over after the abduction
I was the one who Captain Wentworth fell back in love with
I was the one who Dorian Gray actually cared for
I was the one who Candide brought the gold for in El Dorado
I was the one who Winston Smith kissed in that attic
I was the one who cried when they all left me with a silent flipping of a page

My dreams were always vague, simple
to be happy
to lead and live the life I was meant to lead
to save the world

those whispered thoughts kept in the small vials of my heart
kept me going and kept me working
for an obscure THE DREAM

but I think, I finally found THE DREAM
secured it inside the confined space between my hands  
i  know now what I want and was meant to become

and THE DREAM scares me, worries me, stresses me at the sake of failure and my insignificance and my insufficiency
but most of all it flutters the sleeping butterflies and churns the blood of my tired silent heart

*and I simply can't wait for it to be real

poet is only a poet when they can speak words as if they were a depthless well filled with meanings, heartbreaks, hope

singer is only a singer when their voices drip with honey, pain, and soul

dancer is only a dancer when their toe meets their palm and their body paints itself to the song

me; then, what am I?

Stand strong, smile, hug and hug some more.

Love, love, and love.

Fight until you have nothing else left.

You, you amazing beautiful ray of light, is America.

9-11-2001

the ugliest numbers

the last minute good-byes

Sudden crash all red and black

Falling bodies thumping agonies screeching

No innocent nor guilty nor black nor white nor asian nor latino

no lines

just the blind eyes of death

fueling getting bigger becoming stronger eating and taking more and more and more and more

subdued quiet memorial

reconstruction better rise of the new

still

when this moment comes

red and black and dead

the ugliest numbers

9-11-2001

so **** soon
all of sudden
all this will be memories
time flies
when you want that one extra day
once more
the calendar flips
years change
days turn to nights
and **** you don't know what the hell happened
and you wished you could have met them sooner
and you forget to thank god that you have met them in the first place
people walk many aisles
but a very few important ones
and we are all the spectators
waving our flowers
and holding our tears
down that aisle
until god or devil meets you at the altar
the time ticks
and tocks
the people you met
the memories you made
the lives you touched
the air you breathed
the place you gave your heart to
all whisks away
as that wispy old smile graces your withered lips
and the single unshed tear rolls down your wrinkled skin
you remember
those glorious and beautiful and

There is an untold story of that night,
when the Trojan Horse won the ****** fight.
There was an unsung hero on the Greek’s side,
by the name of Prisius of the Pride.
He was strong, stronger than the valiant Odysseus.
He was brave, braver than the courageous Menelaus.
The Greeks fought for their lives,
on the very tip of their knives.
Cries of mercy, sorrow, pain filled the night.
Greeks prayed and prayed with all their might.
Then, Prisius came down from Mount. Olympus itself,
with no one but his horse and himself.
He conquered and captured, and at last had Odysseus at his feet.
“Oh! Mighty One, spare my poor life!” cried he in defeat.
Prisius wasn’t cruel, so he freed Odysseus with a solemn vow.
As soon as he freed the lying hero, Odysseus faked a gracious bow.
Then in moment’s notice, Odysseus slit Prisius’s throat
rolled it down the open sea, the head still floats.
Oh! Tragedy befell the town, the death of their only hope
gone out in the open, down the dangerous *****.
Prisisus lies, cold and dead, from an unfair fight.
This is the untold story of that night.

they say that when a goblin cries
it pours even in the brightest morning
when a goblin smiles
flowers bloom even in the midst of winter

Let me remain a stranger

to this big, beautiful, intimidating world

into a world of my own.

for so long
we were a beautiful fairytale
red lipstick and white smile
bright eyes and big sunglasses

for so long
we became the talk
of envy, of jealousy
flicker of a burnt cigarette
broken, creaking horse carousel
in a dead circus

for so long
we tried to buy
our happiness
with every kiss
with every word

then we realized
we sold each other
instead.

We never wanted a house, the kitchen, the foyer. We could give barely a ****, really. We just wanted a room, a desk, ceiling to floor bookshelves filled with books and windows that overlooked tops of large oak trees. We wanted the sunlight all morning and afternoon, the rain, the vines that grow around the windowsill and music from old turntables spilling through the storm. We wanted the groves of apple trees and strawberry bushes for our morning walks and the expanse of the entire cosmos for our viewing pleasure during the evenings. We wanted prancing on mountain tops and kissing the sublime in paddle boarding excursions and free diving to a pod of sleeping ***** whales. We wanted sunlit art studio with watercolors and oil paint and graphite pieces on thick white paper and raw clay on the wheel and ***** splattered aprons on wooden stools. We wanted

heart beats to
the taps of
your keyboards.

we dream
not to
see
smell
touch
hear
taste

but to
*be

Our
                                         souls
are
                                                                                                                            composed
                                                         of....

IF,
All of a sudden,
   you feel lonesome in a crowd of people on the New Years day at Times Square
     you feel that chill crawl up your neck to your eyes on warm summer day
             you suddenly feel scared, afraid, and cold
                      You feel UNWORTHY, UNLOVED, NEGLECTED, IGNORED, SCARED

                 Then,
can
                   we
be
.....................................................
friends?