This skin..

Has hardened over the years. It went from innocence to mystery to misery.

This skin, has lived through times. This skin, has lightened, darkened, shaded and scarred overtime.

This skin, cannot be replaced; changed or reversed. I am what I've lived. I am what I've seen.

I am what I've touched, I am what I've done..

This skin, tells stories. This skin, gives vibes and history to those looking upon me.

This skin, is a road map of me. This skin, cannot be denied, transformed or unhinged.

No matter how hard I may have tried to hide. My skin will always expose me.

This skin, has and will always be writing history until the day I die. I cannot change what my skin has endured.

My name is Shiloh and I am this skin..

Sincerely,
a servant

Puff, puff,
inhale,
the need,
of their cigarette,
hands.

The incomplete feeling,
of not having,
the freedom,
each huff,
gives.

The tips,
of their fingers,
itches,
just for one,
hit.

Breathe,
the smoke,
into their,
lungs.

Kiss,
the filter,
as if it's a lovers,
tongue,
tracing,
each line on their lips,
savoring its taste.

Lifting their heads,
slightly high,
as they blow,
the waves,
to the sky.

Thinking deeply,
and releasing,
stressing less,
the craving,
of their addiction,
under control.

The tingles,
within their nerves,
cools,
settles,
hinged.

Until the beacon,
of its poison,
calls again.

Sincerely,
a servant

I am a passerby. A hello and goodbye. A "it is nice to meet you and I hope we meet again soon." I am a "I love you, I wish we could have been more."

I am a mystery. A staring of the eyes and hoping the person's yearnings were heard, seen, understood. I am what you wish to have, but will never obtain.

I am silence. I am a midnight blues and you are the sun. Wishing to cast your light on me, praying we could journey on.

I am a passerby. Watching those that walk by come and go. I am a passerby, witnessing many, wish to understand me more. I am a passersby, in love with solitude and galore..

A passerby that wants nothing more than simple conversations, intriguing looks and long gazing truths. I am a passerby, that has no time for relations, no time for more.

So please pass me by and let the memory of me, hold you close at night. I am a passerby, only meant to be spoken to for the night.. Shalom

Sincerely,
a servant

She sits upon her terrace,
overlooking her life,
pondering and reflecting,
accepting and mourning,
smiling and frowning,

a colour of emotions
shining upon her face
like the greatest of
the suns rays.

With her head bowed
she realizes,
sometimes when you live,
to be of old age
often you live to see death,
coldest games.

When you live to be her age,
losing a child is a reality you must face,
sometimes you may lose them all,
because you outlived the times,

now she sits and waits,
for her time to come..

It wasn't enough,
she was kicked,
shackled,
broken,
and laid bare

You had nestled,
your arms around her neck,
until she could no longer breathe

Twisting her legs,
weakening her,
so she could only lie there,

As she stare into the eyes,
of her tormentor.

I fear dying,
before my potential is reached.

accepting I am human,
& accessible to sickness
& pain forces me to lean a little more to the sky above.

trying to find my voice and allow the vulnerability of my brokenness from within speak,
is an unknown breach of territory.

I am private & in this I am sensitive
to protect my inner self from feeling and being
exposed.

I hide behind a mask of uncertainty
so my sanity is protected

but I no longer can keep the
human sides of me secreted

here I stand,
unclothed & ready
to let every side of me, shine..

Sincerely,
a servant