i've had a lifetime debacle
yet you came, my miracle
i thank heavens for the serendipity
let me show you our little infinity.

baby, don’t cry.
you’ll be alright.
I know right now, you’re terrified.
I know that you’ve found the best place to hide.

you live in a place where guns equal power,
and where laws don’t protect you so you’re forced to cower.

gunshots fire and you can’t tell if they’re near.
the only thing you’re sure of is irrefutable fear.

you hold your breath, frozen in place.
all you want is to feel safe.
tears trickle down your innocent face.

you question whether or not you’ll make it out alive.
well, baby, don’t cry.
no matter what happens, we’ll continue to fight for your life.

what did you do to me
you showed me world i didn't want
and now i want all of it
it's unfair you know
leaving me here by my self
...
/M.A./

God. How am I still not okay?

God. It's been so long.

God. I'm so tired of life right now.

God. What happened to me?

I was such a nice kid.
I was calm all the time.
Mature for my age,
Little but so lively.

I was so helpful.
So loyal.
I always supported my trust.
But I never really spoke my mind.

I was shy.
I was small.
I never stood up for my feelings
I never stood up for myself.

And now I'm older.
I realize I don't need support.
I need myself.
I need confidence.

Speaking your mind is not wrong.
Standing up for your feelings isn't rude.
Standing up for yourself isn't mean.
Saying what you feel doesn't make you imperfect.

No one's perfect. Not even them.
The ones you hate for being so amazing.
Maybe she has anxiety.
Maybe his mom is alcoholic.

No one has a perfect life.
There's not one perfect family in the world.
There is not a person in the world who's perfect.
There's not a person who doesn't have one bit of strife.

But just because you aren't perfect.
Doesn't make you less worth it.
You're amazing.
You're still charming, kind, and strong.

You're just more experienced.
You just understand some more things now.

And maybe, just maybe,
You just aren't as shy anymore.

"There are two types of people in the world," he laughed after a heavy swig. I laughed and anticipated a mindless reply.
"Those who are pens, and those who are pencils".
An eye-roll dismissed the statement but a curious brow stayed in place.
"All I'm saying is that some folks have a certainty about them. Everything glides off their tongue like cursive dipped in black ink".
I thought of where I might fall on the spectrum.

She treats grace as an abhorred enemy.

Resisting has become a place she’s grown to love.

She longs for freedom forgetting that it’s already hers.

Ensnared by phantoms

albeit,

she knows
In having nothing, she possesses everything.

Her shield is refined by aberrant foibles.

Scarred, yet covered in the Only perfect love

She’s

flawed, but good.

+ crowned saint