Happiness is Christmas decorations in April. Good memories  trapped in time that we never wish to release

Happiness is release

I wonder,
If the sunrise ever looks down on our inhabitants,
And holds it's breathe as the beauty of life overwhelms even that of the sky

As I first laid eyes upon her. I realized I was in the presence of a queen. Her very essence sent a surge through my spine godly enough for her royalty.   And as I learned to walk as a king
As I learned to talk as a king
As I learned to act like a king.
Her gaze never broke that of the ceaseless horizon

When you talk to people,
Look them in the eyes.

You don't know how many galaxies lie in those things

Bleeding honest hurts a lot more then bleeding wounded...


But god is it beautiful

Her smile was more radiant than any sun. Her eyes deeper then any body of water. And her heart, warmer then any volcano. All these elements mixed seamlessly into one soul?
No wonder they call love a hurricane

As we wage war with our loneliness, We must be forced to face our deepest desires.
Our deepest needs.
Out deepest unknowns.
Our deepest fears...

As we wage war with our loneliness, we must be forced to face our greatest enemy. And often times, it proves to be ourselves.

As we wage war with our loneliness, we must force ourselves to love the parts of us that we hate. When 5 am consumes you, there is no choice but to crumble under it's pressure. But we shall make like the April Lilac and bloom in beautiful praise of our constant struggle.

I write this poem in the presence of others, and I can't help but long for my own solitude.

Poetry has never been escape.
It has been solitude.

My poems will not stop the world from falling apart.
But for a moment,
No matter how brief,

It is bearable.

When you walk like you have 12 gage shotguns for lungs,
Your very breath is a weapon.

When you walk like you have pistols for hands,
Your very touch is deadly.

We did not ask for such a violent biology.
But we were born in the tide of oppression and forged in discrimination.
We did not ask for this.
This skin is a painting we do not get to wash away.
This story does not end when we wake up.

We live with the audacity to think we belong, knowing.
This was never out fate

The back of my throat is covered in the hieroglyphics of all the words I'll never say to you

Perhaps beauty is not the glitters and gold of perfection. But the scarred cracked frame of reality. And as we explore these trenches; we find the most rarest forms of honesty.

When the world gives you a choice.
The easy way,
Or love.
Choose love.
Always choose love.
There's something beautiful in the way a rose blooms through concrete.
There's something beautiful about the light surrounded by so much darkness.
You wouldn't know how to smile if you were happy all the time.
So love,
And lose,
And fall,
And cry.
And love,
And win,
And rise,
And smile.

Life is a knife in a gun fight,
But God at least you're fighting with something.

Love is like flying.
You could fall at any moment.
But the clouds are so beautiful up here.

As I smile with a gallivanting smile that stretches the horizon of my face I can't help but think of when I believed moments like these were made for only the movies.

I now realize they are for those willing to smile and embrace the silver linings when the world shows it's darkest of days.

Sometimes you have to lift your head up and look to the skies and remind the world what survival looks like. Show the world what it means to wield your spirit when all of your armor has been ripped off. That even with nothing, you will contine to fight another day, and do it with a smile in your face