When love is being born,
The world is announcing,
The blooming birth of love,
That's unstoppable, racing.

Love is like a storm,
Intruding into your heart,
Infuriating passions,
Building bridges inside.

But, sadly, sometimes...
It can't find its own home.
In the hearts of two people,
Where love shall be grown.

When two hearts don't meet,
One goes left, one goes right.
The power of love fades,
Dwelling deep, deep inside.

When I grow up
I want the world to be happy
Because as of now
It is not

For you see
This world is shrouded in hatred
And love can be bought

All around conveyed love is being traded for physicality

As the players get stronger
And the girl
She cried out to a diety
She doesnt even believe in

Because he left her
Broken
Bruised
And
Pregnant

Leaving her for another girl
One with a bigger rack
And ***
Even though she shook hers
Every night on stage
Baring her body for strangers

Only so when she goes home
He can unleash his rage
So she gives him her money
And he loosens his grip on her
Freshly
Dyed
Hair

Then he'll pretend to care
As he invests her money in his new Jordans
Instead of rehab for his
Crack head lover.

because he never loved her.
If he did He wouldnt be saying
"That baby isn't mine."
So he can spend more time
With the new girl by his side.

A girl who's snorting coke
And lets strangers hands
Travel up her bruised thighs

I Cant be happy seeing this world in this disgruntloed state

Because A young boy hangs up
A flowery dress in a closet full of
dusty skirts and heels

His moms attempt at making him
"Normal"

Because what you don't know is he was born a She
But she wants to be a he
And he doesnt know somewhere out there
A he wants to be a she

But they feel more alone
As their parents threaten to send them to camps
In failed attemps to make them
"Okay" In the eyes of
Their God

So he lays in bed
Blood pouring from his
Self inflicted wounds
One for every missed label
As they call him a her
Or he a she

But they don't see it
"It's just a pronoun right?"
Maybe to you
Because you haven't fought
your whole life
To be called something few
are open eyed enough to see you as.

But he can see it clearly
as he pins back his hair
and puts on his binder

your touch
it ignites my bones
it leaves me breathless
it leaves a trail of love that I once had
and I hope it will come back

“I love you.”
There, I said it.
“I love you!”
And I mean it!
Every time those words come out,
They kiss my lips and tickle my throat.
You say it back, quietly in my ear,
And my mind goes completely clear.
“I love you”,
You’d whisper,
“I love you.”
I’d smile.
You’d kiss me.
I’d kiss you.
“I love you”
We’d smile.

Beware: Do not fall in Love with an artist.

An artist is definitely the most dangerous to fall into a relationship with.
You won’t even know you’re the exact facsimile of their work.

They will tear your heart to bits,
more than likely to generate a new showpiece.

They will watch your irises go from fields in bloom to dull skies,
and your black pupils go from metallic to charcoal.

They will be able to stroke your hair softer than a paintbrush,
and watch your little detail emerge from something pallid.

They will be able to memorize the structure of your face,
then round your cheeks and chisel your dimples into rock.

They will sing lightly the melody you’ve made,
as they cling to your torso as if a life source.

Do you see the danger?
For the love of god, beware.

There's something familiar
About the pale sky
And the way the snow falls
Like wishes of past winters
And the way it covers the earth
In a blanket
Of cold, forgotten dreams