Where dawn meets the sea she lies, broken,
her laugh echoing the moon
and pouring with salt
across the morning waves.

I am halfway to becoming an artist,
someone who will have the power
to weave beauty at her fingertips
into true masterpieces.
However, the journey
is no longer one I can enjoy
as it has become a race;
I am halfway to becoming destroyed
and what scares me most
is I feel as if the killing
will happen sooner than the awakening.

Remember the sacrifice
With a warm humility in you heart
Embrace your neighbor
Painted eggs as a symbol
Of mystery hidden in the unknown
The potential of nothing
To become a universe
A mystery in the shell
That faith transforms
Into eternal hope
Three kisses on the freckled cheeks
And all households are
Open to a sense of unity
And the church choir is
Singing with such exuberance
And the sun never fails to shine
And the point is not in someone's power
But in your ability
To absorb the sun into the pores
Of your being
And shine

My sister likes to smile and is always positive & passionate. I think that is what the fabrics of her dress are made of. I also think her skin has some Teflon as well to keep her strong from the annoying talkers.

When we were 21 I didn't understand my sister, until I grew up. That was because she had found herself early. And I saw she had a gift from somewhere, which was a natural spark when I took the time to look closely at her eyes.

People of both genders will try to put you in that woman box and talk, because they have no outside view and follow each other.

But, that spark U have my sister is also a fuel that allows you to fly, jump, dance, paint, sing outside that box. And move away to create your own box.

So, my sister just do what U always do by enjoying winning the minutes, hours, days, months, years and that reality will build that beautiful box you're chipping at.

He hopes like the firestorm
He runs like tomorrow
He moves like a lizard
He smiles like the sun
He sits with the pen like concrete.

So that I can purge
these feelings inside of me
The feelings and urges
Of recent heart cracks
That make me
Want to hurt you
The solution it seems
Unsurprisingly to me
Is to
Write
More
Words

I don't need to talk.
Talking is circles
And friends agreeing
With every view I see
Even though my view
Has been skewed
By you.
It's no secret
I'm no fool
So why do they do it?

If I could just
Gather these feelings
On to a page
Surely my rage
Will subside
And then
Like a full body sigh
Things will-
...feel lighter
And you will be
More memory
Than constant reminder

So here I am
Madly scribbling
All this time later
These words
Which allegedly
Will release me
From all the
Convictions of you

But
I write with a pencil
Just in case
The seasons change and
I should ever want to erase
These documented tears
And instead
Pick up the phone
And talk circles
With a friend
Or even
talk circles
With you.

one day I will listen to your words harass my ears in song,
and those words will no longer be about me.
instead it will be white noise,
the static enemy that murmurs paranoia through the stale air
of a room left unkempt
a knife stabbed in the lower abdomen
pull it out and let me bleed out
and maybe you'll be able to apologize after i'm gone
or maybe not
in the early hours of dawn
it is a challenge to vigorously write your name down on the paper
that lays crumpled by my bedside because I can't get the "A" in your name right
it reminds me of the day I didn't want to get out of the car but did
you spot me, i hear a gasp from my friend
but i keep on walking
because i know if i look back
I'm a goner.