Often times I don't know what I'm going to write about, so I usually end up writing things I have already said, trying to say them in another way.

The art of losing yourself is a very slow and complex situation that happens over a long period of time. For some people that could be years and it seems like it happens in a day, and others it could happen in a day and seem like years went by before they even realized what happened.

Either way, some how it takes a while, whether it's reality or only in our mind, we eventually lose ourselves somewhere in life.

We like to blame false lovers for stealing our heart, our thoughts, and consuming our whole mind, but honestly it's just our soul chewing away at the doubt inside of us trying with every bite to numb the pain.

We choose to blame the lack of income and the multitude of outcome that leaves our pockets turing over and over for our pain.  We expect money to be right at our command, at the tips of our fingers every night, and stacked in our account with tons interest to water the greens.

We feed off of happy memories, expecting life to only be them, and anything other is a disappointment. We are so blind that we can't even appreciate the color that has already adapted in our brains.

The art of losing yourself is worth it, because in the end, you will always find yourself and a little bit more than what you ever dreamed of.

(j.a.r.)

being a poet, i live through the words
i transplant emotions i've found
no matter how they think it's absurd
these words keep pouring down

being a human, i'm cursed with these thoughts
what else am i to do?
i write them down to untie the knots
just trying to think it through

being a poet, that's for the birds
i try to sing to the clouds
i set my pain free through my words
the words i can't say out loud

I suppose he thought I needed to be tamed,
or required reprimandation & obedience training,
because he could simply never
let me BE...
myself without an open invitation for some harsh admonishment
or crippling criticism.
I must have painted a target that begged for his attention
on the core of my soul
because he loved the thrill in taking aim & shooting to ****.
He still colors my characterizations of the men I meet,
who ask me for insight into my mind,
& he leads me to question the intention behind
any stranger's simple gesture.
He told me he loved me, but he held me much too tight
like a petulant child who refuses to share
or suffocates a butterfly clutched in between his hands
- because its beauty inspired a selfish need
to seclude it away for one's self.  
He told me he needed me, that without me he would be left
to falter blindly through a nebulous black night,
yet he stood so close to my flame that it was inundated,
& he smothered his source of warmth & illumination.
A fire needs to breathe if it is to rage & be magnificent
- he knew that & he feared it tremendously.
He taught me to fear myself & undermined my capability
to silence those who shook my confidence.
In doing so he left me teetering on a decrepit foundation
& he so delighted in kicking bricks out from beneath me.
He pushed me down & taught me to be terrified of falling
dreading the arousal of self empowerment & ambition
to welcome an opportunity to pick myself back up again.
He tried to tether me to land,
like a flightless bird
- inert & with no purpose.
He thought he had me hooked like an inhumane bully
who allows a fish to fight his line
until it believes it has once again attained liberation,
then roughly reels it in, relishing in sick indulgence.
He thought he had me tethered,
but I am not worn-out & weathered
like an old leather ball
& I am not to be beaten round in endless circles,
the obsolete plaything battered by systematic violence
made into child's play.  
I said no & walked away.
I broke my tether that day.

& I never looked back.

I woke up this morning
I saw our old photo
We were so happy
I forgot why we both have that kind of smile
Just like how you have forgotten about us

Crime scene near the house
Police rushing to that place
Me locking every single door
Oh what else could I do
Grabbed every single thing that could be a weapon
Even things that aren't effective
Scared that these evil doers will come at my door
Countless thoughts keep coming at me
I'm seriously praying the rapture would come instead