Be my flower
My child
  Lead me away
   Take me there.

I will learn
To trust in
  Your instictual
   Knowledge, our nature.

Grab my hand
I will follow.
  Inner Child, let's
   Make home out there.

We have a family
  Who knows us.
  They understand
   Out hurt. Let's walk.

You see up
I feel mid
You say "wow"
I hear "oh..."

You reek "amazing"
I smell "not enough"
In everything
Never enough...

In all I say
In all I do
I can never say
To me

"I want you"

I take this
I do that
You see me
I see [          ]

I drown me out
Pull up the covers
Bring down the stand
Drink up

My up is down
Your down is up
Yours is mine
Mine is your

Normal

I can't take life
Drown it out
Drown it all out
Take it away

Drown it out
Scream over the sobs
Sing over the screams
Drown me out

I sing "happiness"
You say "wow"
You see beautiful
I feel

[           ]

Streams down the cheek
Rivers of pain
They never run dry, but they're draining the ocean
Someday it will leave me broken
But there's no man who can repair it
No person who can patch the holes in my head
So these tears fall
Fall over my lips
They fall into my hands
And I'll collect them
Store them away
I will remember every hurt
And every tear

A poetry without words
A language lacking speech
A multicultural dialect
Containing endless definitions
Eyes that convey a plethora exuberance
A touch that moves worlds apart

The rhythm beats your blood
The melody writes your story

Music. Dance.

Unconventional salvation.

I hold in my hand, a flower.
Delicate, soft, fragile.
  And from this flower, I pluck.
   It's petals. I pluck the petals.
    I take the petals to show my love.
     I take its clothing to reveal my heart.
      Each garment exposing another inch of cool, soft skin to show
       hard, muscled veins.

What is the real mask?
  The clothing, or the skin?
   What am I trying to hide?
    Isn't my love enough that you shouldn't wonder?
     No.

So, I pluck.
I pluck away the petals to reveal what is inside.
  The ugly.
   The bad.
    Because that is love.

So go ahead.
Take my clothing
  And pluck these petals.

I'm silent
I am not silent because I am gagged
I am not silent because I am dumb
I am silent for the mere experience of silence
It is a choice
A willing act to not speak when injustice is seen.
A choice when the girl told you her boyfriend was abusive and yet you said, "Have a good night," and carried on with your day like another butterfly to be collected and pinned to your array of malice and gore.
I am silent.
I keep my melody, my song.
Did you know that we all have a song?
Every one of us.
It is what moves the fiber of our being to life and breath.
It steers our will and courses through our veins.
Some sing. Some choose not to.
Some belt out their melodies in tumultuous harmony, while others whisper along.
Their melody, nevertheless, beautiful and counted.
And some... some sing off-key
So, yes.
I am silent.
Because my silence is the only sanity I store, my salvation.
My only hope for life, and to see you someday.
I remain silent, so you can sing.
And you choose to sing for me.

On glorious procrastination
How you keep me from being full
I love it when you take away my time
And now I'm rushing in this paper
And it's time to thank you