There’s a certain beauty in a woman who assures her beauty, who believes in herself and contains her assurance. A woman who doesn’t want to be someone else, yet who wants to do better not be better. A woman who invites you in - helps you surpass your fears of uncertainties. She sings along in delight and joy; living, loving, running along the rivers of natures gift. Plainly a woman with a past, an unknown future who she is not afraid of, but looking forward to reach it. A woman who isn’t afraid of getting old, who is gaining knowledge and strength daily. The past is something she learns from, the present is her best friend and the future yearns for her substance.
This -  Is a Real woman.

I am watching you,
every step, every breath, every word and touch.
yet still I keep a sense of  certitude -
that you may believe you have befriended me.

I am a television, a mirror, a frame in your home,
I am a friend you can trust.
I am a child playing swing,
I am the woman you sneak around with,
I am the unexpected friend you trust,

Yet I am the one who snitches on you when we part.
Trust me, you'll think we’ve never met.
Yet when we do, oh man , you’ll know it.
For in the oddest of times, well catch you, grab you,stop you still - Until you cry out, BIG BROTHER , I .. - ....Confess.

The intolerable cold wind had sprung out,
obliterating anything on its passage.
The hours Spent outside felt more extenuated as you walked on.
It wouldnt be long until you'd feel your own audable behaviror freeez -
but vanish.

Alas that unwanted love has gone!
Drowning in the sorrows past-
Curse the night, with its shining terror;
And haunt thy lovers new.
Avail me, pray me as none other woman.
Give me love as a farm girl does to her knight.
For there will me no fortress to smuggle your screams,
Nor will there be a hostess beneath your arm.
My beauty stands waylaid;
And my chest longing for your skin.
Come! Come! Now and again, until you grow old and I, tame.

Love, if I cry it will not matter,
If I weep you will not suffer.
Honey, when you laugh; I do not care
and when you flinch, I do not move.

Death, Yes you! Take my husband well,
For he is none more than the word pitiful.
Unto thine I am a classic material-
Mearly here for thine image.

Unto thine woed, am I?
For I do not blink
and not do I smile;
I am far past filled by thine not feeling.

I am a cotton dropped on floor-
soaking in everything I touch,
Everything I breathe;
Whilst feeling any feeling at all.

I am a whiteboard marker pen, getting used up daily dry.
I am salt in the bath-
slowly disolving,gone.

I am the darkness in the night,
Giving way to another day.

I was echilerated after comming across an iredessant sun
Twas shining on a perpendicular humanThat had been hung.
I was a very exotic environment,blood,guts,and beer all over the ***** bar.
The dead corps had a flamboyant ****** expression yet whilst hung -
Untouched ..Un-moving.

There are certain memories in life that you can not count, but that you cherish and remember. That one number you sustain and uphold to the upmost of importance. Those thoughts you write, the images you draw that make no sense - yet unconsciously that sense lost, tis found in millions of little waves hidden within you’re throbbing heart. You linger upon those moments of insecurity, and want - yet not knowing what but intentionally thinking about them. It is that unknown man is afraid of, yet wants the attention of finding. It is that fear of loneliness that people avoid, yet long for it's grasping. Thine question still persists in mind, why art thine heart so kind yet consists of ones foolishness and pride.

Ci lamour, tell ci lointin-
courageux soi l'homme qui ladmet
Care soigneusement , il controle son amour
sachent qun jour, -
Son amour revienderas.

I feel like I have already lived the life I have yet to live. I have loved more than I could ever love again - and hated more than humanly possible. Tis not the suffering of wishful thinking I knew not - but the wrong fortunes one equipped me with.

Memories of the walks, enjoying hot dogs and sugared lemonade in the parks
Now a closet, an empty one, an empty house and heart lives on,
Shattered memories of circus fairs and tram cards played -
Lest the joy of salty tears slip of my face and onto the black, cemented ground.

‘oh, how dark tis the air I breath, heavy, a smothered breath it is.
The remains of those past, not yet investing in the calling of his that, and that his.
Leave me, until a later date, another time when dusk and dawn shall meet.
‘Till the sun ripens, arises emerald green, with a smile upon its face and five lines beside it, encircling it
‘Till death does part of me this body, that I may also - leave this earth.
‘Till the ground paints itself with gold, with biblical prophecies embroidered in that ground.  

This journey, once named life now carved, engraved in stone abiding fates decisions -
as if thou life consists merely of one's destiny. As if life, my life tis thought of, precisely.
Possibly, just perhaps, maybe it is.