i guess poetry can be used
to inspire optimism
and make people feel good,

but i'm looking for the kind of poetry that
eats the air
from my lungs and
sifts my holes
with a fistful of dead flowers.

Who is the 'you' that singers sing too?
The 'you' that sends poets diving through vast oceans for poetic pearls?

You're the rain on windows late at night, natures own lullaby.
You're the sun rays in which I bask, you make me feel alive.

You is a collective term.
An indistinguishable figure, a faceless being.
'You' are a silent understanding. Universal.

You hold the promise pleasure and pain of all the bodied 'you's that tarnished your name.
'You' are the silence we scream because the world talks to loud to hear us.

'You' are the nameless, holding up all the 'me's' that aren't strong enough to say this.
'You' are the silence we crave when to speak their names can only pain us.

My greatest fear
Is becoming a woman that needs a man to survive

My greatest fear
Is that you'll wake up one day and you won't need me anymore

Now thou hast loved me one whole day,
Tomorrow when thou leav’st, what wilt thou say?
Wilt thou then antedate some new made vow?
      Or say that now
We are not just those persons, which we were?
Or, that oaths made in reverential fear
Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear?
Or, as true deaths, true marriages untie,
So lovers’ contracts, images of those,
Bind but till sleep, death’s image, them unloose?
      Or, your own end to justify,
For having purposed change, and falsehood, you
Can have no way but falsehood to be true?
Vain lunatic, against these ’scapes I could
      Dispute, and conquer, if I would,
      Which I abstain to do,
For by tomorrow, I may think so too.

Quote: "when I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say: I used everything you gave me"

Only in my dreams
Do I encounter
Branches with real pearls
Rolling down
In a spring breeze

From the depth
Of my gut
I wish to make it real
To build it up
From whatever meets
My expectation

But then I wonder
If I make this
How real will it be?
It was not created
By the vast evolution
We have been subjected to

or was it
perhaps the fact that I'm creating it, is evolution in it's own right*

Overthinking my creative process
Killjoy.
I could draw it
And I did.
It was beautiful
Exactly like in my dream

I could build it from
A real branch
Attach pearls to it
But then would it not be
Totally kitch

Bah- kitch!

I could make it from clay
Yeah. No.
I could sing it's perfection
Maybe it sounds like
A high note
Or the piano...
Can't play the piano.
Can sing though...

Maybe!
I could wait for spring
And take a picture
Of raindrops on tree branches
But it's not the same!
Putting away my Nikon.

Maybe
I'll write a poem
About having
all the talent in the world
And not being able
To express my own imagination.

Cruel irony.

"Mom what doe it mean
The word 'beautiful'?
I mean what is it's content?
What are you saying
When you use it"

She gave a look
Of serious consideration
Took a deep breath
And lovingly she said:

I will not ruin this for you
So I will say it like this
Beautiful means
That you see something
Feel or hear something,
You could marvel at for hours

Perhaps it will be a flower
Maybe it's a pet
Often for a man, it is a woman
And the other way around
But not always and that's fine too

When Socrates asked the same
The answers were extensive
Philosophers have asked this
Many times before
But here's what I learned:

When a cat is a good cat,
It will not scratch you
Or dig it's teeth in you

When a cat is a bad cat
It will do exactly what feels
Natural to it's species

So who are we indeed
To ask a cat to be
Anything else than what it is?

It is the same
With the concept of beauty
It does not apply
To your personal rules and structures
It is perfect
It was made that way

So who are we indeed
To judge it?
The concept is beauty
Is taught and learned
And I'm sorry
But I'm not buying it.

May we decide for ourselves
What beauty looks like to us
But perhaps start
With a good look in the mirror
And love the face
That's looking back.

Because it is perfect.
It was made that way. ;)

My body is sore
There's a stinging headache
My gut turns but nothing comes out
My immunity is next to nothing
I've been sick and tired for months

I fall asleep in class
The teachers call me Diezel
Takes a while to warm up
My memory is blank
Yet I can't sleep during the night

I woke up
I woke up with my clothes on?
Why?
Was I going somewhere
There's more than the obvious
For a difference during day and night
The panic attacks start again
And you're now stalking me

It's been 11 years
Should've been declared healthy
What's happening to me...?

The memories didn't creep in
But years later
What are the triggers?
If only I could connect the dots
The statute of limitation has passed
Couldn't prove it if I tried

A whisper in the wind
Sets the record straight
Rely on karmic laws and heal
Let it come and go

Abuse is never about the action of abuse
Abuse is about power
smile
I'm already a winner...
I'm still here
Alive and thriving
And guess what?
I'm doing great!

You never broke me
I can only be broken by myself
So relish is your failed attempt
I'm still stronger
Than anything you could've done to me
Your crazy didn't infect me

So keep it all
Keep your fond memories
Of everything you did to me
I'm still standing
Keep your denial
You and I both know the truth
It won't eat me up inside
But perhaps it will **** you one day

That's going to be a beautiful day.