For an odd reason,
we place our pencils at rest.
We tuck them to bed,
and the darkness aids their slumber.
It is not to blame.

We,
now the blossoming future,
bring upon life but yet,
have nothing to show.
Our journal,
it yearns for the ink of our great minds.
A secret,
A tale.
A new beginning.
But yet,
we have nothing.
We are nothing.
And thus,
our pages remain blank,
and our lamp lacks oil.

It seems quite funny how,
though the world is spinning
round
and
around
everything appears quite still with you.
The ever sweet feelings of consistency.

The outside,
can never compare to
the sweetest of insides.
The skin as soft,
and gentle at even the firmest grip.
Fragile,
but never fearsome.
The inside,
oh how can one depict.
A core,
of pure blissfulness.
A heart,
which yearns to bring out a smile.
A sunrise which
yearns to bloom and bring warmth.

And after?
What is one left with?
The pit of to be disposed?
No,
rather a memory.
One is often said,
to be "true to their roots."
And for just as this peach,
its core is a symbol of home.
A yearn for a future.
The seed brings you home.
Home to those who love you.

I shall forever bloom with you.

"Don't drink your calories—
unless you want to get drunk."

Her eyes trembled with tears

Weakness stretches out,
not searching strength—
for another soul to be
weak with

A heavy languor spilled into the room
all she can think about
is the patterned ceiling,
which was a book for her to read
while entwined in damp blue sheets

I cannot hate you.
I cannot create a sense of anger and discomfort,
Because our chapters do not align.

I cannot hate you.
Footsteps pull one forward,
Unless to choose to have them constrain you backwards.

I cannot hate you.
For love is defined as one who has a full heart.
One who cannot be without,
A sense of comfort and yearn.

I cannot hate you.
A prayer to God may not heal the future.
For though I cannot hate you,
I can make a move to love myself,
And continue my chapter..
Without your silhouette on the cover.

Him and I are unalike,
that is why we fit together.
You and I are for one another,
that is why we are meant forever.

Life takes turns,
as a windy path.
Perhaps leading somewhere
in which you cannot see the end.

Life leaves questions unanswered.
Why do we live and die?
Or perhaps something more simple as,
why do red and blue mix and produce purple?

For once,
I do not yearn to have the question answered.
I sit and ponder.
Late nights can drown me and leave me even
more wide eyed.

The future.
The future is as a blind driver.

The future.
We have the ability to become an artist.
We paint the canvas now,
for a step towards tomorrow.

As I said,
I do not wish the question to be answered.
For,
something has altered.

Have you ever had one moment that changed all?
It makes your head quite less dizzy,
as if you could see your future through a crystal ball.

Euphoria is often an end goal.
We see ourselves somewhere.
We see ourselves with someone.

He/she makes the future less a blur,
and more a world of color.

Maybe,
we cannot paint this someone.
But,
we can search.

It is a question,
in which I refuse to have answered.
Because for once,
I am letting it be.

I told myself,
Something does not feel exactly sound,
And I realized I had not written a poem,
A good poem,
In about a month.
So I came back.
I am here with
something rather visual
And known,
But very uncovered.
By myself,
At least.

I yearn to be blunt,
But as a writer
I am a dancer with a pen.

I have an issue with food.
Now,
This is not a plea for help.
This is not a secret.
This is acceptance.
I have come to an understanding with myself.
A concept,
I am rather proud of.

I would not speak,
That I do not love myself.
Because
I have a wonderful and beautiful life.
A blessing day after day.
But,
I have an issue with food.

Something,
Just keeps my mind,
Versus
My mirrored image,
Not in accord.

I spend a great deal of time,
In deep thought.
Often,
In the darkness before I close my eyes.
I contemplate,
If food,
Is worth it the next day.

Do not get me wrong,
I enjoy sweets
As much as the next girl.
Yeah,
Her over there.
But often,
After I do enjoy,
Everything blurs around me.
All I can do
Is reminisce
On what has just entered my stomach.
Is it worth it?
The bathroom is right around the corner..

It’s not sadness.
It’s not a cry for help.
It’s just an issue with food.