Did you see the stars
As they shone on you
Vivid like a thousand scars
Inside the darkest blue
Did you see the hero

But that hero was you
Onward for people feel
When music becomes true
In the end you're never gone
Eternally remembered in a song

Twisted sheets, mind on stutter
Unable to sort through this midnight clutter
Put it away for tomorrow
But what to do with my gnawing sorrow?
I circle soft blue on color book pages
Hoping the repetition eventually assuages
The raw edged reality of lonely dark hours
Filling the void with Crayola flowers

my mind is constantly going
going and going and going
worried about the day head
and still trapped in yesterday
i'm always dreaming about the future
but hardly do I sleep
even though i walk this earth in a visibly awoken state
subconsciously unknowingly
my sanity is weak
trust a higher power is what they say
but even that we cannot see or touch
who's to say god is real anyway?

walk with me

let me show what it is i speak
because to explain in spoken word is something not of my expertise
so i will paint you a picture in poetry
place yourself in cloth sneakers
standing in the middle of the rain
arms open wide head tilted back
and when the lightening strikes
you'll feel a wave of pain
you see the storm will let up, and you'll see a slight break in the clouds
but you'll never fully see the sun
that's what my life is like now

and in all this going and going and going
i must rest my weary head
while nightmares make the best of bad weather
planting the damnest of seed as slight as a feather

fear
worry
fright
anger
sadness
happiness
delight
sickne­ss
wellness
day
night
grief
loathing
pity
spite
jealousy
hatefuln­ess
weakness
fight
acceptance
willingness
wrong
right

if there's anything you haven't felt
at some moment you will feel
for the mind is a tricky being that may fascinate you into your very own doom
because in your waking life
you won't know what is and isn't real

walk with me

i think about life
i think about death
i think about time i've wasted
i think about time i have left
i think about my future
i think about my past
i think about my happiness
i think how long it may last
i think about god
i think about faith
i think about my love
i think how long will he stay
i think about who i am
i think of who i am to be
i think of my imprisonment
i think of being free
i think of my thoughts
i think of my fears
i think of leaving this place
i think as if i'm still here

who's to say i've succumb to my mind
i am well aware that what i search for
may be something i'll never find

peace

does it truly exist?
or is it a place in our imagination?
a place of harmonic endeavors
a place where our souls may finally
seek self proclamation
a place we may finally rest our hearts
in full adoration and acclamation

what's that you say?
peace?

walk with me

To the girls who are secretly so broken
You WILL be alright
I know you have scars on your soul
Maybe your heart
Possibly your wrists
None of this is your fault
And even if you think it is
Let it go
Not that you can, that easily
But try
I know you are broken
I know you're not okay
Especially when people ask how you are and you answer "I'm fine"
When what you really mean is "I'm alive"
But what do you really care about your own survival anymore
Well I just want you to know
There is beauty in broken glass
And to me
There is immeasurable beauty
In broken girls
So don't you ever forget
You cannot be defined by pain
You're too beautiful for that
Stay strong, broken girl
Nothing is ever really broken

the ocean of my bloodline calls out to me
from the sinew of my scars

we walk, strangers on parallel shores


the cigarette butts have been rubbed out all over my inner thigh

a flash there

another here

the platinum shackles on my ears and hand
betray my animosity

- this is no social call

You, you only, exist.
We pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense
that you arise: beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love, or enchanted
in the contraction of work.

To you I belong, however time may
wear me away. From you to you
I go commanded. In between
the garland is hanging in chance; but if you
take it up and up and up: look:
all becomes festival!
__

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

You've ruined blue eyes,

For when I gaze into his,

I'm still seeing you.

When the rose is gone and the garden faded
you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil.
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Love wills that this Word be brought forth