coffee breath,
9:42,
violet pigment under eyes,
tiresome sighs.
three hours and forty- one minutes of sleep,
my mind says no,no,no,no
my eyes are heavy
and so is my mood

heart sunken deep as eye bags
wondering if you actually care.
those blue-green eyes,
are they analyzing my feelings,
or algebra?

i just want you to feel the same way,
which is a way i have never felt before

mushy, gushy, stupid poems,
hopeless, delicate Juliet searching for Romeo in her peripherals

little Juliet, wake up, wake up,
go be the lioness you're accustomed to be

When you are asked
What you look for
You say eyes
And a smile
And overall beauty
Like most of the guys

So my endless nights of studying
And attention I pay everyday
To further become a more intelligent being
And the positive thoughts I cram
Into my brain
To have a beautiful personalty
And the millions of words
I tie together to form
A meaningful poem
are nothing

So maybe thats why
We spend countless hours
Just finding what perfect shade
Of lipstick brings out our smile
And pointless times
Fixing our hair
And precious seconds
Trying to excentuate our eyes
And thousands of dollars
Of metal and wire
To straighten our smiles

and maybe thats why
I put down my books
And picked up the makeup


But I've slowly returned


To the books

Because

Beauty without
Intelligence
Is like a masterpiece
On a napkin

I love mysteries
but not just the type
  printed in black ink
   in binded books
I enjoy the mysteries
that walk
  that contain a set of lost eyes
   whose lips speak words
    in a particular voice
whose ears always have earphones
whose mind drifts off
  whose face of concentration
   is something quite beautiful
I like that kind of mystery
whose laugh is unique
  whose smile is a rarity
   and has rarely spoken
    to me
we only speak with our eyes
exchanging wondrous stares.

Claude Debussy plays gracefully
a dog wrapped in a blanket
starring out the window
as if seeing an angel

hot coffee lingers on my tongue
taste-buds reminiscing the bitter-sweetness

wind rustles the ficus bushes
slight noises in the distance

I feel calm
I have never felt calm before

is this what peace feels like?

everything is going to be okay.

The never ending relationship
of the moon and the sea is complicated
perhaps worse than Romeo and Juliet

What if after millions of years,
mornings and nights,
the sea decides to tell the moon
that she doesn't want to be controlled
by him anymore

Becuase he makes her tides into
an uncontrollable disaster
and she is litteraly a sea of emotions
with screaming waves
and murmuring ripples

And she looks up and
cries to the moon
to stop overpowering her
because she is tired of the recklessness

But the moon replies
that she is nothing without him
And he'll either forever control her for eternity
or leave her forever,
dead, immobile, with no beating heart
which is her tide.

Maybe we want to be
like the flowers
pressed in books,

specifically chosen out of all
the little beautiful flowers
the petals die and fall
and disconnect from their world.
And while they are broken, dying
and slowly withering away
someone finds potential
of it becoming beautiful.

They take the time and gentleness
to pick it up
without breaking it even more
and preserving it forever.

mom was always self conscious about her veins
she veiled them with pants in eighty degree weather, constantly looking for cures for varicose and spider veins and always asked me if she looked bad
mom never looked bad, not even mediocre. she was mom.
mom shone through with a holy radiance of giving, i knew that when she got to heaven (even if heaven was never real god would make a heaven just for her) she would be blessed and her veins would be erased.
i would write her a letter telling her how her veins were art on her legs with colors that were abstract for the human body
i would tell her i love the paintings on her legs because they reminded me of all she did for decades, tiring her feet, never sitting down, giving her self up for half hearted people.
i would tell her stories that her veins were paintings made by God to show her how unique she was, and he formed murals for her that would never go away, with lilac, violet and green paints that stained his fingers
i would remind her maps and magnificent cities had veins of their own, they were the roads and tunnels that people traveled on to find their destination.
my hope for her is that she remembers her flaws are art that don't have to be hidden in a museum

He saw himself in her eyes suspended in two shining drops of bright water, everything was there as if her eyes were two miraculous bit of violet amber that might capture and hold him in tact.
Her face, fragile milk crystal with a soft constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity, but the strangely comfortable and gently flattering light of a candle.

For how many people did you know who refracted you own light to you? People were often blazing away until they whiffed out.
How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your innermost trembling thought?

the dictionary definition states
beauty is a combination of qualities
that pleases the sight

who said beauty was something so materialistic?
who put the seal on beauty being an image?

and how absurd is it that
a curve of the body
or a shape of lips
would be what determines
if you have a man
Attached to your hips?

and why is beauty restricted to sight?
because I've seen beauty in movement and walks
I've heard beauty in the way someone speaks
and I've witnessed beauty in someones words,
in someones actions, in someones works

beauty was seen before
when someone had talent
when someone had dedication
when someone had a heart

but now that has faded
like old ink on yellow brittle paper
and all that is left
of beauty is superficial

if beauty was a woman or a god
she would cry at night
sad she cant be seen in certain places anymore
and she would feel guilty for the fact that she's ruined
so many young girls lives because they cry to be
"beautiful" every single day

beauty would rage and wish she could be seen
in places she used to be
she would be angry at the fact
that she's closed up in a box,
a box of opinions and standards
of who she is

most of all
she would wish to whisper to those girls
that they are beautiful
and beg to have a chance to
open up blind humanity's eyes

In outer space, there are 10 particular stars that are the brightest. They are part of important constellations that people search for their whole life by name. The brightest star is Sirius, because of its magnitude.
You are my Sirius.
I searched and searched and searched millions of constellations, looking for the brightest star and I found you.
I am like the regular stars of the universe which do not contain such a spectacular magnitude and would never be able to reach the superiority of Sirius.
You Sirius, are the kind of boy someone would write a book or produce a movie about, because you are literally a star.
At least ten girls in school admire you because of your magnitude and your being, and maybe they sit there and write about you too.
I've been searching for you my whole life and here you are in front of me, for at least two hours of a day.
I don't know what to do now that you're so close and I don't want to ***** up. I wish my intelligence could be enough for you, but Sirius, you are the brightest of them all, and there are brighter stars out there that admire you.
there are less skinny,less lankier stars that stare at you
there are more brilliant, smarter stars that yearn for you
there are stars that don't laugh like an asthmatic,
there are stars that have themselves in order and know where they are going and what scholarships they will receive because of their brilliance.
man, i may be the most annoying, stick skinny, unintelligent, asthmatic star out there, but at least i perceive you as my Sirius. **no other star sees you brighter than how blindingly bright i see you.

it's quite cliche to say, but i noticed you before you even knew I was an existing being with veins and arteries that pumped blood faster in sight of you.
in the busted up little heart of mine I always wished you could notice me too because i felt something was in you that made me feel as if i were rising, ascending into clouds with millions of silver linings.
now that you know my name and I know what it sounds like coming from you lips,
i am captivated by you and your speckled face, your burning eyes, your irrelevant jokes and strange mannerisms.
but captivity means being confined and imprisoned too, and that's exactly how i feel about you.
you are the sunflower that bees depend on and love,
and i am the naive bee trapped inside,
and i'm trying to make you realize how much you mean to me, and how i glorify your being in a way that i shouldn't, because you are just a sixteen year old boy fleeting from commitment,
and I am a bee chasing after your non-existent pollen

you told me fear was an illusion made by the devil
to impair our lives and blur our vision
now all i see are flames of fear and my body is burning in temperatures of hell.
i never thought i would use the topic of drowning in a poem
i would always complain about the girls who wrote they were drowning in depression
when their serotonin levels were doing just fine
or the girls who said someone drowned them after breaking the lifeboat of love,
when they can pick themselves up if they use their muscles
but you are the reason i am drowning for the first time,
the cliche, stupid, senseless drowning topic,
you are drowning me in security and structure and formality
i am asphyxiating with security up to my throat, almost vomiting up words of rebellion because of constant confinement
i would rather drown in the ocean because i know there are treasures and unmet species, no restrictions.
i would fill my lungs with the mistakes you don't want me to make because it would give me substance
i would refuse to cough them up just so i could stay underwater without you shoving your beliefs down my throat
you are drowning me in repeating stories about mistakes that are not even mine, you are drowning me with rules, brain washing my mind.
you are stuffing stereotypes into my ears, talking about races, outer images and superficiality.
yes i know genesis and revelation, yes i know matthew, mark, luke and john, maybe you forgot how Luke wrote we shouldn't judge,
and i don't know if you remember how often you **** plants by over watering them.
i told you those plants were teenagers, they had to be left alone, you're drowning everything around you while getting water in your brain too, you're forgetting what its like to float,
probably because you never learned how to properly since you were a little girl
please don't drown me any longer
i don't want to drown people too

You were like nicotine for a while
you filled me up
and I felt whole
but I didn't think you were toxic

I remember like yesterday
how you took my delicate hand
with boney malnourished fingers
with green and purple veins
and you gently kissed it
and for an instant I was fascinated

But from those couple of seconds
that were called an instant
I became completely infatuated
with my head in cotton clouds

But it's been almost a year
and you've moved on,
onto your next victim

And theres a hurricane of of emotions
because you've informed me
that you are happy and whole
(Which was what I was trying to make you)
but it hurt because it wasn't me making you happy

It was the girl with simplicity stamped on her image
and freckles that you probably enjoyed counting
it was not the millions of pages
I had written to you
trying so hard to make you
love yourself like I loved you

And I still sit and wonder about you everyday

And when the teacher asked
us to write about the best day of our lives
my mind swerved back to you
but I knew that you were a few seats behind
probably writting about your freckled face girl

I still remember
the warm ambrosia
I felt fill me up
like blood in veins
and marrow in bones
when our fingers intertwined
and you stared into my soul

I wonder if she feels
the nicotine and ambrosia too

"If anyone botheres you
I've got your back"
You said

So I guess you'll have
To reevaluate your statment

Because your phrase
Echoes in my head
Bugging me each
And every one
Of my days

How you told me
To stop being myself
Because I was a little weird

And now my fears came true
I got to know that everyone else
Thought that too
Because how could a father
Tell his daughter
To stop being who she is

So my smile slowly faded
You saw it less and less
Each time
And my playfulness halted
And turned into series of complaints

I hear it all the time
In your voice
you are disappointed
You are slowly shriveling me up
Weighing me down

I am sorry
I am not enough.

its been chasing me for six years.
a wave that i fear will turn into a tsunami,
something i thought i could mend with other people,
finding hands with fingers to intertwine with,
lips that kissed the crevices of my mind,
words that crawled up my veins and pumped something new into my heart.
any element that could contribute to the dam i was building,
a wall to stop the waves from coming again,
where i would never think about ceiling fans and ropes again,
something that would tell me wrists and scissors do not belong together,
a first aid to bandage up my eyes from envisioning what i constantly saw.
every time i had a connection i would hope this was the light at the end of the tunnel,
drove through boys who did not perceive me as worth while,
kissed lips i'd never see again, intertwined fingers with hands that did not fit right, heard words that did not heal anything.
i was running away from myself...all i had done created nothing but memories that push through the walls of dams, making sure the waves came back year after year,
and now i fear to face the truth, that the only one that can mend this current is myself.

I cannot tell you how I feel because the girl in the pictures is in the way.
All the other people that left shards of glass and metal incisions in my self confidence were also in the way.
most importantly I don't know if this feeling flows both ways
It shakes me in plenty of ways but it is better than the results of past confessions that left me screeching into pillows and burying my face into my knees

(past problems present effects, 10 pm)

you didn't care to read my poetry
you didn't care to know my favorite song
or know my favorite book

you didn't care to know anything about me at all
except my face
my lips
and my body

all you wanted was physical affection,
no mental connection

that's precisely why I chose to leave

Don't be the fluid
that slowly fills my lungs
and makes it harder for me to breathe

Just because my problems
Are smaller than yours
Does not make them inferior
Or insignificant

Dont you dare tell me
I am over exaggerating
Because you are not in my skin
You dont really know how this is

Just because you've gone
Through millions of miles
Of problems and successes
Does not mean my achievements
Are measly or amount to nothing

Just because you are numb now
Doesn't mean you should numb me too
I can't have a life full of anesthetics

**Just let me be

I am rotting
every leaf ungracefully falling
used my branch for temporary support

I won't make the leaves stay
they've lost all their chlorophyll
they were causing unnecessary weight

I know its winter
its been winter for the past few years
I cant keep every leaf
but so many are falling off

I'm staying alive
because with every leaf that falls
winter is closer to an end
and spring comes nearer

*flowers will bloom

I replay the moments in my head
Of when I first grazed my eyes
Across such a wonderful being
And how I had to take a second look
Because you were like the mysteries
That I craved for

I remember how your lips curled
Into the 8th wonder of the world
And from then on
You and your pale face
stayed etched into my brain

It was like slow motion
As if time around us slowed down
Like in the cheesy movies
And from then on
I was intoxicated by you

But you had a greater love
for mary jane
I knew you were no good for me
But thoughts of you sprinted across my head
Back and forth through the days
And soon I had accumulated
Millions of lined pages
With poems of you

I was ashamed of liking
Someone in love with mary jane
But you were one of the most
Interesting people I had ever seen
Without words I felt a connection
And your eyes held stories
That I yearned to discover

Wanting you was like
Pulling a string on a beautiful sweater
(My life)
And slowly unraveling it to become just
An entanglement of yarn
the thread had to be cut off
by authority (God)
and so he seperated us

But I still see you
and remember that moment
clear as day
and I still see your wandering eyes
And hear your voice in the halls

I try to stay away
but I slowly drift back.
In my dreams of you
there is no mary jane
you are not intoxicated

but if you are temptation
why are you in my
God given dreams
I know I can't change you
so
get out of my head
get out of my head
**get out of my head

4am
Cracks on my lips
Blood seeping out
sadness trying to escape
From the frostbite you provided

5am
Chills down my spine
Goosebumps sprouting on skin
Fears chilling within
From the memories you provided

6am
Lavender and jade green
Sinking beneath my eyes
Tiredness is the state in which I lay
From the exhaustion you provided

7am
I shuffle by
knowing you'll see me
But the fog blinds you
From what you've provided

The fact that I am inferior
Is etched into my brain
A weakling in this world,
Just a speck of dust on the windowpane

The other girls beauty
Radiates farther
And the intensity of their
Bleached white teeth
Outshine my metal mouth

It's like the how the colors
of fall leaves
Attract many
But no one enjoys
The simple green chlorophyll
Inside their spring and summer veins.

nobody was who they claimed to be anymore
they changed, mostly rotted
everything is rotting and i wanted to run away
i did not want to become expired at this age,
decomposed into an attitude of egocentricity and midnight humor,
i did not want to ridicule those around, spewing venom consistently
making someone feel less and causing them to decay
i wanted to love everybody despite their capacities, their intelligence, their attitude
i did not want the trend of hating the human race
i cannot stand "i hate everyone but myself" anymore
its time to put an end
i refuse to live my life with negative energy hovering around swelling me up into a mound of stress and forehead wrinkles

hear me out
i need to leave
don't rot me too

November 6
this day
Brought me a feeling inside
Of deep depression seeping in
How I witnessed too much
How she cried over the ring
Of her parents broken marriage
Tears forming in her eyes
tilting her head up so they wouldnt fall
To reveal the pain she felt
But it radiated towards me

And how saftey pins and beads
Ment so much to her
An unknown meaning
But I felt her emotions gravitating
Towards me

How the boy
With rebellion tattooed in his mind
Had a quiet face
That showed how angry he was inside
But his smile was something
Rare and special that I had barley seen

how the girls
Could claim
To be my friends
But swiftly leave
And isolate me
Without a care
loneliness was something
That occured each day
more *often
The the day before

How I have to see
you
The being I once deeply cared about
That I gave my all for
With someone else

How that boy
Stared at that girl
In a way I envied
No, not with lust
But with a love
Searching for every
Perfect thing in her

Observing
All day
is a habit
Which I hate
I discover
Things That
I should
Not know

I started using blue ink more often
because it reminded me of your eyes
which quickly became my favorite in school
along with your constellations of freckles
which adorn your joyful looking face

I wake up at 5:35 happy because i'll get to hear your voice at 9:32
for now i'll stare at blue ink and think of you.

3 am

Eyelids are heavy

Thoughts are stirring

Merging, into new ones

Forming something magnificent

Chills down my body

Feel like hands trying to tickle

And my eyelids want to shut

I want to exasperate feelings

And sleep with a clear mind

Thoughts are out of line

Or unrealistic like hallucinations

I dream of going back in time

And fixing many things

Making myself into something

Something not inferior

Something that is not

Too diffrent or too the same

Critique comes from being

An individual, a follower, or a wannabe

Meanwhile I'm thinking

And trying to create;

To create the most beautiful colors

That I will see when I die.

Please take time
To compliment someones flaws
Tell them how
The wrinkles under their eyes
Are a beautiful touch to their smile
How their eye bags
Are the most beautiful color of violets
And how their freckles
Are like a field of flowers
And how their green veins
Showing through their pale skin
Are like tunnels flowing through
a beautiful city

carcomeindo mi corazon
llagrimas de llama
del fuego que incendias por adentro

algunos dias eres la abeja que da la nutricion a una flor
que es mi alma
algunos dias eres la mano que empuja el viento fuerte
que son mis emociones
algunos dias eres la luna que controlla la marea del oceano
que soy toda yo

un dia terminaras desmonarando mi corazon
pero te dejo el priveligo
mi lindo amor

For fifteen years
I've always exchanged the same words
"Goodnight, have a good sleep. I love you"

Tonight was the first night
That broke the fifteen year streak
Of you never going to sleep angry at me

I'm sorry mother
I really am
I'm sorry for you too

I'm sorry your hands are turning old
With random speckles,
And portruding veins

I'm sorry there's wrinkles on your face
And your greys reappear after two weeks
And you're having several pains

I'm sorry you didn't have a childhood
And you don't know how to smile
Not even for a picture

I'm sorry Ma
I'm sorry I'm having a hard time
I'm sorry I rub it off on you

I'm sorry for my laziness
I'm sorry you even had to have me
I'm sorry for my drama

I wish I could give you all you deserve
Cause Ma
I would give you all heaven if I could.

I am blue
blue comes in all shades
and so do I

pastel blue, small and quiet, almost unnoticed
electric blue, loud and bright, daring
turquoise, brilliant and fun, liked by some
cobalt blue, modern and simple, unique
regular blue, unappreciated and common, nothing special
navy blue, dark and mysterious, often sad

I am every shade of blue, at one time or another
but underlying all these shades
blue will always be sad

stabbing words
cut it like scissors
tough emotions
crumple it up
manipulative actions
tear it up as a whole
flaming slurs
disintegrate it like acid
bad memories and experiences
yellow it

kind words
temporarily stick it together like a glue stick
lovely actions  
fix rips for a while like tape

please don't fracture a paper heart,
it'll never be the same.

The moment you notcied me was something of a dream,
something I would never expect,
becasue I was a mere moth in a garden of iridescent butterflies.

You woke me up at 6am on a summer morning, my oh my,
what a miracle, you worked a wonder,
you left your number,
so I left mine, and the dream froze.

Now I've been awake,
(the kind of awake where you have to stick toothpicks in your eyes to pry them open)
searching for signs of you everywhere.

The thing I want most is for that little blue light to appear so I know that we're both constantly pathetically thinking about each other.
I'm to shy to talk to you first,
and maybe you're sitting there too,
staring for the light on your phone,
like gatsby staring at the green light,
debating if its way to soon to text.

Please do, I don't want to be gatsby, staring for the light,
I want to have the privilege of seeing the light often
don't be afraid.

*12:21 the light hasn't appeared. Please think of me

I dont know
Who I am
And if I lost myself
In the recourring events.
I'm somehow
a blurred fingerprint
out of millions
On a telephone screen
Or a mut on the the street
(Unable to be defined as a certain breed)
Or a speck of dust on a window pane
Observing everyone.  
Its like floating in an endless turquoise ocean
distancing from the people on shore
While they couldnt care less
or even notice
they just keep playing
their games and staring into the sun
until its too late.

the fact that the whole world has so many individuals,
and each individual has their own story,
their own secrets
their own quirks

the number of grains of sand in the world
the number or stars in only the piece of sky above my rooftop

the fact there is so many things unknown,
yet so many things known

the number of unknown species available

how many gallons of water would it take to fill the ocean if it was drained?

blood boiling
causes chills along my back
hairs rise along lanky arms
skin pale, eyes swollen and red
eyebrows furrowed, permanent expressions of hate and anger create wrinkles matching the set dad has
he's blind to the fact he's creating them on his little girl
pain is associated with the secretion of substance P, and is relieved by the secretion of endorphins
anger is associated to the spewing of your words and the sternness of authoritarian disciplines, and is relieved in a year, with college dorms and distance of 453 miles
or relieved in an instant by running away

I prayed
And prayed
And prayed
For God not to
seperate us

My biggest fear
is I'll fade from your mind
like old ink
on yellowed paper

I fear I'll forget
How your pale skin
Is something of beauty
and how the freckles
on your arms
are like a connect-the-dots
And how fascinating
it was to see
Your liquid copper
Strands of hair
Frame an interesting face

I fear I'll forget
your face of focus
and how you almost always
need music to breathe.
And how your swift walk
contains a wonderfully incorrect posture
and how uniquely words flowed
from your mouth
when I rarley heard you speak

I fear I'll forget
the language
our near black eyes
spoke day to day
Trying to communicate
words I cannot say
it was as if
yours were speaking back too.

I strive to stay in your mind
like a coffee stain
on a white linen shirt
until we meet again.

you are a tree
trees are so utterly unique and shaken by the wind
yet strong and rooted

trees do rot
but before that comes
millions of seasons

winter, where you are dying and everything seems to fall apart,
and your tears shed like leaves fall
spring, where delicate flowers peek out of unexpected places
and your laugh blooms like tulips
summer, where things are mediocre and there comes a bit of rain
and your heart feels moderate, like the temperatures
and autumn, where leaves turn gorgeous colors and so do you

it seems you've been through winter
and maybe you're still there
I hope you get your spring and autumn
remember there's summer in between

remember to stay rooted,
beautiful things are yet to come.

you serenaded a soul with words my ears have never comprehended,
overused the concept of love, wringing the word out until it was left dry, there was a hope in me that the author in you would display himself for me as well, that your stanzas correlated to the feeling between us.
i was searching for the words in your mouth, my hands sinking in like a dentist on a mission, hoping to pry out the sudden surprise of a few letters from between your teeth, something to make me feel like there were still things to discovered, that you were not going to be like the others, but everything fit wrong, like when i had not worn my retainer in a week.

count the pages of words i have written over feelings that have turned into ashes, and find a number that is everlasting.
to look back at the words my mind could string together and knit into a pattern of infatuation and frustration, and remember everything threaded together for a reason, to create pieces of where i am today,
yet these pages keep forming, and they seem to be eternal,
fingers will yearn to write about the one who gives me the feeling music creates, about the steadiness i sit in, while watching everyone else bloom into seasons, about the lessons i'm learning that send chills down my skin, where i learn that people don't mean what they say, and barely say what they mean. when the value of words deteriorate to a playful game to keep one around, to twist definitions to please the mind and manipulate one another, to learn that the value of a phrase means nothing to one person as it does to the other.
i never wish to stop feeling and pouring, threading, and knitting,
for i know what my words meant in the moment and outside of it,
creating a touch of sincerity in the world of mixed emotions and illusions.

don't you think it's completely wrong to tell a girl she is being "way to much of a girl"
don't you think its merely disgusting to tell someone they are way too happy
and isn't time you stopped being bitter for the sake of other people laughing when you can barley crack a smile

see I've been there, done that and comments have come and go,
and everyone seems to tell you to be a woman.
to be prim and proper,
to have the posture of a princess and the mouth of a doll
(see because dolls only talk when you make them and the only words that escape their mouth are the ones you want)
everyone tells you to take that frown that takes so many more muscles to produce and turn it into some fake smile and laugh every single moment off as if the world was your oyster,
(which i never understood, because who likes oysters anyway?)

and now you see, i took the worlds advice and now look at me, being criticized left and right and left and right once again,
just for being what i was taught to be when i was a tomboy with dirt under my nails and basketball shorts over my knees and hair slicked back in a braid
for laughing about things i would've never found humorous when i would cry almost every day over some vacuous boy who I invested my fickle heart in (but from that experience i learned not to believe someone when they say those three words that are commonly overused in a fourteen year old's dictionary of phrases)

and now before you spew out venom from your mouth which is connected to your pea sized brain,
i suggest you to replay the little broken record inside your brain promoting the anthem of "self love and no self deprecation, you are beautiful just the way you are! you deserve to be happy!" before you tell anyone that they need to stop laughing, stop being such a woman, and stop being so happy.
think before you teach.

She was
Wasted space
In a catalog of people.
All loudly displaying
Some sort of talent.
Leafing through the pages
You find them
Dancing gracefully
  Playing with a ball
   Singing a melody
    Solving a math problem
     Being a beautiful model
      Strumming a guitar.
Flip to the page
And find an unknown girl
With bland brown eyes
And brown hair
With tears streaming
Down her pale face
Because she could not perceive
her gift.
  She was barley even visible
   And everyone surpassed her.
What a waste of space
In a catalog full of people
  Blooming with talent
   While her only talent
    Was being invisible.

These spills of ink tore the sheets of fantasy which wrapped my eyes from seeing reality. Splotches of heavy ink drops created pieces and problems I wish I could sew back together, repairing everything from the past. What I’ve come to realize is that each spill brought awareness into my life, giving me a new-found appreciation for things I would have never seen or discovered before. My life begins to form an impressionist painting, each dot coming together to form a beautiful life. Some pieces may not be pretty or meaningful on their own, but they each bring along a dot or more around to build a significant part of the painting. I am still under construction.

"at that point, i don't really know what i felt. it was not invisibility nor visibility. i felt like i was floating in the unnoticeable, kind of there, kind of not there fog. Fog is clouds that were supposed to be up high and exalted, but somehow they are brought down. Fog is unreasonable, with no practicality and almost good for nothing. i guess that's what i was too."
-(midnight narrations in October)

I didn't know what tulips looked like when they bloomed
until the day I held some in my vase
and when they bloomed, to me they became a whole new flower
and as they became a new flower I did too

I had never laid in bed to hear the raindrops
because in years past I would run to the safety of my parents bedroom
until the day I decided to stay and watch and listen with my father
in silence that became comfortable like never before

I had never thought that I was beautiful
until I sat in silence doing nothing
and my sister turned and told me I was pretty
and my mother told me I had a beautiful mind
and boys started talking to me more than before

I had never walked barefoot in the grass
because of the bugs that crawled and worms that swarmed
until the night we laid out in the grass in the dark
and exited my comfort zone
as I kicked off my shoes like I kicked off my burdens
and I ran up and down the hill, oozing with laughter and happiness
and I watched a beautiful boy roll down the hill with no care in the world

these are the moments I live for
not the moments of buying new things
or getting a successful grade
or impressing my parents.

I lived for the beauty of nature
for the blooming of tulips
for the crying of the clouds
for the beauty in the mind
for the comfort of grass
and careless, beautiful people.