Sun rays, moonlight, skyline, land.
I approach my destination, transportation waiting.
I board the vehicle, nothing in hand.
Lock eyes with the driver, but his features were shaded.
He seemed giddy at the thought of a new passenger.
Concerned only with taking us toward where we were destined to be.
His gaze full of intent, satisfaction, pure happiness.
Every person seated seemed held a face adorned in fear, but not me.
I’m anticipating my arrival, because I know this is not the end.

What is our culture?
Not the stereotype that most play into, but our real culture.
Are we defined by our purposeless music and suggestive dances?
Or are we controlled by our sparkling jewelry and gaudy apparel?
Are we empowered by our educated leaders?
Or brought down by societies generalizations?

“Society” sets the standards that many feel we must live by.
“Society” controls the mind.
But what is, who is “society”?
“Society”, the man behind the curtain.
“Society”, the message between the lines.
“Society”, the legend from which no one knows the origin.
Are we not “society”?
We are ruled by ourselves.
We blame “society”, yet we are “society”.
We hurt ourselves unconsciously.
So many are unsatisfied, yet nothing changes,
Why?

I'm piecing a puzzle, but i cant seem to finish it.
I mean, its finished, but its not;
its all there, yet something's missing;
like, the correct complete puzzle, but somehow the pieces don't fit.

So I fix it,
at least I think I do.
Rearrange some, replace some;
finished? No, not quite.
Now that I look at it, its worse...
Can I fix this? Of course I can.

So I do.
This time its perfect.
All the pieces fit, its wonderful, finally finished!
but of course I'm wrong, looks can be deceiving.
What appears to be a finished, perfect, model of a puzzle,
is in reality a forced fit.
Simply gold plated, or cubic zirconia if you will.

Maybe I can't fix this.

I don’t usually write love poems, but this one has to be written;
Because I completely blame you for all the thoughts and feelings that I’ve been getting.
like, the smiles, the laughs, the everythings are from you.
so, I thought I’d let you know.

I don’t usually write love poems, but I can’t stop the words from forming.
You just make me feel different.
I’m happy to the point where I just sit and wonder if this is even possible.
like, could this be real?

I don’t usually write love poems, but this is so necessary.
because you are what I am, what I want.
You are what I have and what I plan to keep forever.
You are love.

I like to play the fool sometimes.
I know that may sound wrong, but at least its true.
its like I know what you do when you’re not around, but I’m not worried about that cause when you are around... its like magic.

I feel some type of way when you look me in my eyes, but I look away, cause you caught me by surprise. Then I smile and you smile and laughs and blushes follow, and I think to myself, “I hope its just like this tomorrow”. But I keep looking away cause I don’t want you to know, how much I truly care and how much I dont show. Cause when you look me in my eyes, I just know you can see through me, and read every thought and judge every scrutiny. I heard eyes are like windows, so I keep my shutters closed. To never be opened, less within be exposed.

And then you touch me..

Oh, when you touch me, my senses ignite. every taste, sight, smell, touch, sound is sampled, seen, felt, smelled, and heard. My heart goes into overdrive and the tingling tries to override my body, but I won’t let it. So I pretend that it doesn’t affect me.

Cause its like, if you knew. if you only knew.
If you knew how I thought and how I felt, would you think and feel the same?
Or are you already there and my pride won’t let me show truth.

But you can’t be..

Cause when I’m not with you, I see you making someone else smile like I do. and I wonder “Does she really know you?” cause I sure do and to be completely honest, theres nothing in the world that can stop me from loving you. and I hope and pray that one day you could love me too.

So again, I say.
I like to play the fool sometimes

Its the light at the end of the tunnel,
the weight off of my shoulders,
it says what couldn't be spoken.
Its the opening of a cage,
the releasing of a thought,
the pattern of silence is broken.

Its a peep into the mind
of an introspective, outspoken
teen who just likes to write.
Its the insight into a language,
quite abstract, just unnatural,
from the usual verses that fly by night.

Its the opening of doors,
the realization of life,
a whirlwind of opportunity.
Expressing the unexpressed,
revealing the hidden,
high above scrutiny.

Poetry is saying what cannot be said,
yet speaking anyway.
Writing words to change the world,
because letters are life upon a page.

The rhythm of life so fast, the beat so contagious.
The harmony wonderfully ear-pleasing, the note on one accord.

The waves of life turbulent, the motion so changing.
The ride a beautiful crashing sight, the current a fierce pull.

The color of life so varied, the lens so resolute.
The shade magically mobile, the hue slightly wavering.

The heartbeat of life so steady, the lungs so pink and full.
The brain magnificently retaining all, the body fully functioning.

The possibilities of life so many, the opportunities so endless.
The experiences psychologically mentoring, the stages slowly passing fast.

The pen of life so permanent, the pages so stained.
The story so irreversibly absolute, the book a never ending continuation.

The reality of life so hazy, the consciousness so unforgetting.
The love so heartwarmingly touching, my existence fleeting.

And when dust returns to dust, I  pray that I am remembered.

No one understands me.
I'm an intricate, unsolvable maze.
I'm a grain of sand lost among the shadows.
A particle caught up in the haze.

No one understands me.
I'm rocket science to a child.
a rubiks cube with ten colors.
The leader of parliament in the wild.

No one understands me.
I'm undefined by the laws of physics.
I'm illegible handwriting.
Undecomoposable by chemists.

No one understands me.
except the words on the page.
the thoughts of the mind.
The music on the stage.

My bear is with me nightly, as I fall into smooth slumber.
Sometimes I dream, most times I don't, but its there through it all,
Its there when you aren't. My only friend, confidante.
For two years I've had it, as it was two years ago you left.
Its slowly falling apart, I tried to fix it, but to no avail.
with every mend, there's another tear.
maybe, to save it, its best that I just put it away forever.
Push it out of remembrance so that its well being is preserved.

maybe, just maybe.

Life is made up of complicated simplicities.
Never meant to understand its confusion,
May it be real or imaginary in this world of duplicity.

What do you see when you see me?
Race?
Dress?
****** expression?
Or just a person?

What do you hear when you hear me?
Enunciation?
Word choice and placement?
Voice Pitch?
Or does it just go in one ear and out the other?

You only see what I show you.
What you don't see, is the churning of my mind. Constantly thinking, pondering, just trying to slightly fathom this conundrum we call life. You don't see me struggling to gain constant understanding, while my knowledge is constantly expanding, and my inner constantly flying and landing, but my outer is just standing still, like feet caught in wet concrete.

You don't see the daily processing of people, places, things. Like are they the superficial type? Thinking the physical is the best that life brings? Or are they the intellectual type? Figuring out why things are the way they are, and doing their best to make a change because in contrast to popular opinion, sometimes, freedom doesn't always ring.

You only hear what I say.
I know that statement might sound stupid, but it means so much. Like duh, you only hear what I say, but I want you to feel it. You have to get beneath the words. Dig deeper than its literal surface layer meaning, until you get to the bedrock of truth and discovery. Then and only then are you capable of recovery and possibly creating the eighth wonder of the world solely from shrubbery. You don't hear the pain behind the syllables. The valleys between the pinnacles, the undercovers and subliminals. You hear me, but you don't feel me. You see me but **** sure can't read me.

Sometimes you just have to look a little harder and listen a little closer.

The cup is empty, so i fill it;
to the brim, to the top, on the verge of overflow;
As full as possible, yet still room for more;
almost too much, yet never enough;
slightly running over, but containing it all simultaneously.
I just keep pouring. It just keeps filling.
A never ending, never subsiding task.

What did I do to deserve this?
Was I not a good friend?
For you to demolish everything that was built?
For you to leave me in the end?
What was really the problem?
Was my personality too strong?
Should I have been a little softer?
Should I have known what was wrong?
Why didn't you let me know?
Was a warning too much?
Would it have hindered your intentions?
Would it have hardened your touch?
When will this end?
Is this a temporary disconnect?
Or is this a permanent separation?
A time to sit back and reflect?
Do you think this is best?
Would you prefer this or the latter?
Sometimes you have to let go of people right?
To get to the ones that really matter.