the world has
asked me why I have become
so blatenly cynical,
when the irony is within the way
that it has so
willingly wounded me.

i have spoken
to the ghost in which
resides within the depths of
me

for it resonates in my heart
and lives within
the ache of my chest
       it haunts my home
  &
       my body hurts
it crawls like the spider
spindling through my veins
deforming the vessels that once
so beautifully sculpted me
nobody said you weren't beautiful
for the sunflower that grows,
nay,
      thrives
even though i hadnt tended to it
lives on without me but

maybe it was the ghost

because
i have spoken to it ,
for it dictates the lack of
productivity within me  
      (they had mentioned that the
economy was weak)
however,
everyone told me that she was beautiful
but even the arc de triomphe
is flawed.
i wanted to believe otherwise but

maybe it was the ghost

who are you?
because i had heard that the ***** dishes
in
     my sink
weren't going to get washed unless i found
out who you were
you blasted old thing
      rotting away
                   at my soul



i bet you had
heard otherwise but

maybe it was the ghost

three words that linger
in the stale, blatant silence
horrific statement

i find broken tree branches littering the floor of your bedroom, and as ive searched forward, i have come to the blatant realization that the physic resembled closely to your very own build. your own kind of relative nature. cut down and abandoned and stripped of your blossoms once quivering through the wind and giving into the storm. a frail heart etched into your side, telling a once colorful story, now rotting away at your roots.

i liked watching you grow, how your roots shared your thirst, and entangled with mine.  but your roots have been exposed and mine along with them. now the earths crust splits to welcome us home. you, already being picked again, watch as i lie next to your replanted seeds.

dont be disgusting
you say
like i had a choice when i spoke
like that thought wasn't
rotting within us to begin with
it isnt like that at all

im thinning
youve never driven me this far before
not in the dark like this
a sticky
sugary
dark
where cavities are opened
and emptied
and what you say isnt quite true
even when you say it twice
it isnt like that at all

i want to use you and she
interchangeably
so there can be more or less distance
between us
not armrests
or elbows
or six months
but a world
a breath
a ******* butterfly epiphany
it isnt like that at all

and i think even to this day
you are no more grown up than i am
but now youre driving
and youve suddenly decided that
i am the innocent one
it isnt like that at all
how disgusting

i love you.
so much more now than i ever have.
for the incredulous love, passion, and sentiment that you have held.
for the heartbreak, self imprisonment, and emotional torment you have
been dragged into.
not because your soul has made it out even more beautiful than before,
but because of how you have grown.
i love you.
for prospering in a world where others only told you
that you couldn't do it
or it wasn't practical.
because you are growing older now,
and it is no longer about the outside voices.
it is about what makes your heart throb
your body shake
and your bones rattle.
because someday,
you will look back and regret
every moment that you did not cherish.
so stay here
right here
where i can always
love you.

dont you think it is time
to forgive yourself for
only breathing in
half of the air
your lungs begged for

you already know
they took the other half from you
and it is not your fault

but breathe in again
forgive yourself
fully this time

i want to see you make it to the finish line
while they breathe only half of the air now
-- for the air you took away, was always yours
you have always had the potential to heal

do not let them have
the air

I always had a way of romanticizing my life
Which sounds really lame and probably
A little childish
But I didn’t leave my dress up shoes behind
When I started my period or
Grew into a new body  
In fact now saying it out loud
I don't think I could leave behind those
Pink, plastic Cinderella shoes
I mean honestly
Just that intangible item makes me think
That ill never really GROW into who I really want
To be
And it's not that I'm trying to victimize myself for
Making the choices that I made
See
I gave up my innocence the moment
I let a man undress me
Who would never be my knight in shining armor in
Fact he wasn’t even a frog  
Or much of a charmer
he was the epitome of my
Self doubt
And thats where those fairytale ending got it all wrong

"The Princess Saves Herself in This One"  
Is a nice title but I don't want to save myself
Because if I fall while doing that
Im afraid the cement won’t catch me -
Like seriously I struggle to just put a book
Back on the shelf
And my apartment is never neat
and at the same time I call myself a clean freak
I feel like my head runs a million miles an hour
And at the same time I cant even decide what time of the day to Shower
And speaking of that don't get me started on my workout
Routine I have almost an entire novel written in my
Head about how I want to be seen
And ill never be seen like those
Girls in the pictures
"You're losing weight"
But
"Honey you just look sicker"
I want to scream and cry but at the same time
Be up at 6am to go work at a job
That I physically cannot stand
My rings never close
But hey I'm always on time
Because maybe if I get there early
I can go run and hide
In the back where nobody will see me
Because I don't have Cinderella shoes or a Gucci bag
To carry at my side
I have ***** converse sneakers that I wear everyday
And half of the time I just want to give up
Because if I catch myself in the middle of a crowd
I need to know how I'm going to get out
Or else I feel like I will crumble
In front of everyone around me

And thats not the way a lady should act
You need to keep your chin up and
Arch your back
You need to
Present yourself well and always smile
Because its unattractive
To be "CRAZY"
And you ask me why I'm hostile?
And make sure you run that extra mile
Because if my thighs touch while I walk
The knight in shining armor will have too much grab
Be sensitive and kind and for Gods sake
Hide that flab
And listen those
Converse sneakers need to be retired
Because in the eyes of a proper woman
Those would never be admired
I guess this doesn’t really sound poetic right?
But it would just be so be pathetic if I didn’t write
About that girl that I think about
Who played dress up everyday
And wonder how I let her slip away

Because I know theres nobody really there to save me
Im not someone to be pitied I was
Handed a silver spoon the moment my mother
Took her last push and
Let me into the world as a proper lady
And another day will start and maybe just maybe
It’ll be the day that I throw out all the chocolate in my cabinet
And not spend 40 dollars on drug store makeup
To make me feel more compassionate
About myself and the little girl who’s dad told her she was beautiful everyday
Maybe it will be the morning I can look in the mirror without dismay
About how my stomach sticks out just a little farther than I want it too

So thats why ill keep romanticizing my life
Ill keep telling myself that a morning routine will fix all my problems
And ill stop reading all the magazine columns
About celebrities that I really don't even give a **** about

Maybe when the sun rises tomorrow
I won’t care about how many calories I eat
Or switch out my bread to whole grain or wheat
Like really maybe I'll finally clean up the crumbs
I keep stepping on every time I walk into my door
To remind me that who I am is so much more
Than a pair of ***** converse shoes
That ill never throw away because I don't want them
To to waste in a landfill where my pink plastic
Cinderella shoes probably still lay

And I think its funny that more than ever
I can rearrange words in a sentence to make myself sound  
More clever and cover up the hurt
That I might feel for not being the brightest and best
and no ill never forget those little tuts and my dress
And the knight in shining armor can finally see
That his princess wears
***** converse shoes
And maybe then I'll finally feel pretty
I don't need to be what everyone says I should be
Because truly theres bruises on my knees
From falling so ******* the cement by myself
And I promise I finally put that book back on the shelf
But for now I just want to lay down on the couch
And not think about my little smooch pouch
Ill never be what society wants to see
But the little girl
In cinderella shoes
Will choose to be happy
For now and  
Until tomorrow
Ill romanticize my life
And stop wallowing in self pity and

Cinderella’s sorrow

do not let the healer know they have already died

they cannot afford to recognize that human suffering - let that be physical or not -
is not theirs to fix, just to cradle

healers push their own suffering down
to make room for others’
until there is no room left for their own
a twisted safe haven

do not let the healer know that they died long ago

they are already tired of death
they try to cheat it everday
let them be foolish so they may save themselves when others suffering can no longer be cradled by their own soul
let them die with a million others
so they may carry the healer home.

my college professor always told us not to be spiritually unhappy. he told us to search up and down and sideways and abide by all truths and rules instead of teaching us calculus. he told us to let the flowers on rolling hills and a man walking alone in paris to be the most beautiful things we have witnessed and the boys snickered and the girls cracked their gum but i listened.

my college professor once told us that somebody, someday, will look at you like you were the best thing in the world, and i could tell that he'd been hurt before. then again the word hurt could mean an infinite amount of things.

he was young, about thirty, and i could imagine him with his excuse for a girlfriend sitting on a park bench with him at two in the morning cautiously blowing smoke into the air like it meant something more than happiness. and tears running down her face mirroring his in the limelight. street lights glistened at the appearance of any human body at this hour.

“have a cigarette with me. what were we talking about? do you remember?”

her own voice echoed in my mind. oh god he was happy. he liked the way she dressed in all black on saturday nights and she appreciated his company because smoking cigarettes in the park alone just wouldn't be the same if she was without him.

"i’ve written my number and my name on old benches clutched my sweaty palm to the edges, too afraid to ever give up the security of a lone object that quite frankly had quite a bit of meaning to me.” she said.

she found herself sitting on park benches alone  not because she had to rest, or maybe another destination to go to, but because she liked the feeling—

"everyone in this world is all together but we’re apart. alone. it doesn’t matter whether the man standing next to the bench will sit down or not, i sit on park benches to be anonymous. even if somebody did ask for my story, i could make up anything i wanted, and that person would fade away and another would come along and i would make up another story just to pass time,” she said.  

and that made her spiritually happy.

and maybe thats just the reason why our professor wanted to pass that along to us.

If walls could speak they would sing you a song
Of the memories that once lived in this quiet room.
It had been two months in passing, two months too long
A tide of memories like a sea voyage gone wrong.

A ship headed out on a mission to please
Those who dared step off of land for a change.
But ships do sink even when the storm is at ease --
When a lost longing for salvation is no longer strange.

So pack up the memories and store them away
Forgetting those who chose willingly to leave
And love those more deeply who did choose to stay
When the waters were rough and give thanks for today.

Because the still sun rose and these four walls still sing
Surely now without them, you are destined for great things.

oh mother
you are so beautiful.

oh mother,
you have endured so much pain.
you have braved an entire lifetime more than many.

oh mother,
your bones are strong,
and your smile resilient.
your hands may quiver but they are passionate with the hands of life.

oh mother,
your soul is pure and the elements are jealous.
if only the sunset could radiate your colors.
if only flowers could uphold your strength.
for they wish to
uphold you.

oh mother,
do not be weary, remember who you are.
for the leaves of green must return
to their original state
and remember who they were before the cold
even if it means becoming
bare.

oh mother,
even the sunflowers rest in the winter and
I know you cannot.
but the brevity in your existence,
the elegant movement of yourself is
needed.

oh mother,
lift yourself like the lords rein.
for you have carried crosses,
but only the strongest ones walk
alongside Him.

oh mother,
I love you.

i had been blind before
but never like this
i knew you had engulfed my soul
the moment i felt my heart shatter
and my lungs collapse
at your absence
how lucky am i
to have something
that drowns my
chest into a sullen
nostalgia when you are away
your touch ignites my senses
and i would
climb mountains
and dare
to touch the moon
just so i could extend your hand
out to mine in this very moment

the very sound of your name
makes my heart flutter
and i crave you when you are gone
more importantly
i long to stop time
when you are near because
i simply cannot bear
saying goodbye to you
countless times over

i thought i had been in love before
but he has taught me
that i have never witnessed love
not a love like his
not a love
that makes me speak to soon
and shatters the walls i have built up
around me

this is the fairytale little girls
dream about
and how lucky am i
to be so painfully broken
in the midst of pondering
losing him

keep me blind, i am happy here
if i see again
without these fresh eyes
i fear all colors will be lost

without you

if i had to put into words
the sour feelings in which i had toward your
hold onto me; rather an explanation of the joys as well,
i would start by analyzing your complex personality to
my hair.
as if a security blanket of tiny strands had not been enough
to hold my satisfaction.
too afraid to cut off, and watch fall to the floor
the pieces of the past.
the dead and dry ends of your humor
these feelings: an etching of the damage i so willingly forced
to make it look absolutely perfect in my eyes.
they say, they mock actually,
the presence of change in a woman,
a mark of symbolic movement into the future.
a haircut.
well i have changed
just as you have
but the maintenance of it as well; has become much too expensive for my taste.
the highlights were always too bright: but remarkable
because not only did it change the way my hair looked
but my whole appearance.
isnt that silly; to compare you to a completely
unrealistic dead component of myself.
yes i think so as well.
but as i am changing i realize: that you are very much alive
and so are you growing.
and with it bringing back the joys of the past; a new root in our bond  
the ones i should have remembered
before the haircut.

I used to lay with my mother in the morning
my brother and I
half asleep in my parents bed
I remember taking her hands into mine and
feeling her knuckles
she had a green pillow
sewed in with flowers
even at 5 years old - the hands that raised me
were mesmerizing, they were my safety
I did not realize it at the time
she was tired
and their bed was monumental
it was what I looked forward too every night
as my father sang me to sleep
100 bottles of beer on the wall
and ill buy you a mockingbird
I looked forward to the morning

I held my brother
In his zoo pajamas painted with pandas
and I held my brother
as fast as the sunlight radiated in my bedroom, he was small and he was and is -
my safe haven
my brother snuggled up against my neck
and she held us, half asleep
and morning doves sang their songs

—-

that is now my lullaby
nothing mattered as I held my mothers knuckles
nothing mattered when my brother
squeezed my arm
I was never afraid of my mothers knuckles
I was never afraid of my father singing
I was never afraid of my brothers grip


I woke up this morning in my own bed
alone and tired
morning doves did not sing
they screamed
and my brother is still far
and my father is taking care of my mother
and my mother is taking care of my father
I woke up —- and my brother is far away
my father is growing older
and my mothers knuckles are nowhere near me
I ran my fingers across my
own hands
and I pray that one day

my knuckles will be remembered
the way I remember hers

it hurts
but it’s okay because
the sun still rose this morning and
the birds still sang
and I never noticed that
while you were
by my
side

within the night comes
tremulous forms of
soul flooding heartache

those thoughts of which are
often unspoken when the sun rises
and the day begs you to partake
in another anguishing routine
of here and there, hello and goodbye

within those moments i admire those
that can roll a feeling off of their shoulder
as they agree with the skyline and
happily hold out their arms --
much like a wavelength of gratitude
accepting the flood that they will
overcome on their own

however, in these moments in which
one recognizes the complexity
of their own consciousness
it is evident that one thing
must remain in a world full of
anguish and demise

that being love
where a night may then offer
a tinge of sunlight
so that the dawn may then
ease into another day
and pain of tomorrow
would be a quite
happy here and there
hello and goodbye

its funny, i sit here most of the time with metaphorical phrases churning in my head as i write. everytime i sit down to create i feel thousands of gears turning in my head.

sure, i’m real when i write. my passion lies here, my heart the same. but to me, maybe writing in metaphors is a way to mask a little bit of the hurt, a little less real then telling the truth.

it takes a lot of bravery to go back in time and reflect, to create poetry. writing takes you to a place, not always light. not always beaming with happiness. and i appreciate that. i appreciate the pain that poets go through everytime they relive, rewrite. because it should be. i know that.

i think that’s why i sit here, hurting most of the time. i think, wow, the one thing i love to do hurts. and that’s why i’ve been wanting to write about you and so many others. those who have escaped me. those who have stood by my side. maybe through my own selfish mistakes. maybe by their own demise.

every person that enters or exits my life has been written about. be that in my soul, on paper, or displayed on a computer screen. you’re there. and that’s pretty ******* special because its nice to be seen. i can’t tell them in person how much they meant to me, because i’m simply not good enough at doing that, i mean cant you see? i crave acceptance in all aspects of my life, and i am too fragile emotionally to let them know what i really mean.

for me to sit here, to dig, to romanticize, demonize, glorify. willingly be vulnerable with myself and others, it’s a lot. i’m nobody to be pitied, not by a long shot. no poet is and that’s not what we look for. just harmony, balance and not too much more. it is something that writing gives us. because the pain of retelling the latter and the late is almost worth the harmony that the release brings to create.

maybe aspects of myself have been lost throughout the years, but one thing remains. my writing. my poetry, my endless drafts, and journal entries stained with fallen tears that could be around for centuries. they tell my story. of you and everyone else who has left a mark on me. i am who i have been given and THAT is what i mean. what i have been given will forever be apart of my writing, therefore, a part of me.

this is a tribute to poets everywhere, as they caress their soul. as they mourn themselves in even the brightest of times even as they grow old. when they reminisce on the nostalgia of greater moments through rhymes. but most of all, this is a tribute to me as i strive to make myself feel. even if it’s anything less than alive.

of hurt that i feel alone in the middle of the night
is mine anymore
i know it's not yours
or yours that you inflicted on me
nothing that belongs to me belongs to you anymore
this kind of hurt runs deeper than this
a hurt that is permanently encrypted
into the cracks in my soul
i want to scream because it is
one that i know i
cannot fix
one that i cannot
even put into words

and i can put
anything
into words

I stopped losing my hair and I started waking up again
I returned to a mundane routine
In a similar place with similar people
I found reprieve in the love that was given to me daily
And I stopped feeling sorry for myself
I started pouring my soul into my career
Because people need me
People count on me
I have a dog now and I pay all my bills
I smile at the sun and breathe in the air that is so
Graciously given to me everyday
I clean up when there is a mess and I check in on my father
I make sure my appearance is presentable and I take care of my body
I love my friends and I keep up with phone calls
I thank when there is thankfulness to be given and I am humble
When achievements are made
I hold on to memories and I cherish the good ones
I bask in nostalgia and I stare at the sunset
I look up at the birds and I appreciate their songs
I thank them for waking me up and silencing when I am sleeping

I take care of myself and I -

Cry when I am alone
I try to keep up when I am behind I-
Struggle to find my purpose, and I actually don’t really sleep
I return to my mundane routine because
People need me?
And in the back of my mind I know that I am easily replaced
My career is advancing in a way to attempt to succeed
In a world that is so disappointed in less than ordinary
I clean up when my mind is so distressed from the weeks of mess that
I so solemnly swore would never appear again when I was in crisis
I’m presentable but it was from the night before
I “bare minimumed” the expectation
Which surprises me when it is so deceiving to others
I have three maybe four good friends that check in
I give what others would expect
I pay when I can, and I keep my workouts at a point where I don’t choke on my own sadness, maybe even selfishness
Nostalgia is interpreted as pain these days
I self medicate to wake up for others
And call it a day.

I hold onto to memories that haunt me
The birds make me jealous
And sunsets only remind me that a new day will start.

And I am tired.

why gorge and wallow in the darkness?
why take in substance less likely
to harm the living?
minds deteriorate quicker
than flesh after all!
and bodies
were not built for fear.
so build the strength while you have it.
folding words like origami,
and stretching beyond
the sick feeling of failure

you lived.

you cannot write about
what you don't feel.
and heavy weather
cannot stop a driver
from reaching a destination.
really, vitamins were only
long stings rolling down internal skin.
you always got sick anyway...

i knew that (you) had changed
and i (accepted) that
people grow, for better or for worse
estranged individuality is truly quite a
beautiful and conceptual concept
for (me,) i have endlessly tried to morph into
someone whom i am not
and cannot be
(the girl who) is touched
but untouchable
and not to lie through my teeth when i say
that i cannot give you what you need
the complication of my entirety
is much too complicated
i do not trust
and
i (loved) every minute of it
but all of that love died when i became much too
exhausted
to be the person that (everyone) wanted me to
be

i wish i was a rug
because maybe then id be used
to the feeling of others
walking all over me

i wish i was a rug
because maybe then id be soft
and give people a reason to say
"what a nice addition this adds to the room"

i wish i was a rug
because if someone soiled me
i would be able to be washed
and cleaned and brand new once again

i wish i was a rug
because even though its used
and ***** and old you just... couldn't get rid of it
because its been there all this time

and you couldn't imagine life without it
but if you do

i still would wish i was a rug
because that way, being thrown out
wouldn't seem so permanent
because my time would be up
and i wouldn't feel a thing

and i wouldn't have any idea that you replaced me
if i were a rug

if i stare at the empty wall
for any longer, i fear that i will
start to mimic its lifeless brevity.

simple. but heartbroken in its execution.
refined, but lonely.

i can hear the water drip
drop
from my sink.
if i listen any longer i fear that
i will start to mimic its monotone nature

forgotten in its own space.
but embracing its own flaws.

i fear.

“you’re so beautiful”
he said through his teeth
with his head cocked to the side
like a child after a scolding
nothing he said resonated as true
because he couldn’t choose
he couldn’t choose me

“i don’t feel like it”
i said stone cold sober
with a guarded heart
like an ancient wall about to crumble
but preserved through time
remembering i never deserved to be
someone’s second option
especially after years of always being
the first

“come back to me and you’ll feel like it
everyday”
he cockily pleaded
as if he knew it would be
the last words he said to me
in a long while
or maybe even the last time he said it
at all

i sneered and he threw me over his shoulder
and i laughed and screamed
like an innocent
like the past five years were not just a
memory of us
but
we were always meant for hurt

then he walked out the door for the last time
and i went to sleep
and dreamt of new beginnings
and caressed closure

and i felt beautiful
because i wasn’t chosen

i wish i could live in your world of
"what life was like before you"

because now i feel as if i will become
your

"life before you"

in the most
utterly non-nostalgic and guilty ways
and i don't want you to carry what i carry

I don’t think I stayed so long
because I was afraid of hurt
I think I stayed so long
because deep down I know
that I had lost myself
to him
and facing the truth
about leaving
with a shell of my soul
that I had to repair myself
was harder than
saying goodbye

if i could have given you the world
you would have lived forever
but love cannot maintain life
love is truly not enough
and this is the biggest lesson i have learned
in my series of unfortunate events
that i call my life
i think phrases like
it wasn't meant to be
is a coping mechanism
because it is easier to spit out words
than to accept the truth
the truth is too painful
and the sun still rises
no matter what the truth is
and we are all trying to live

even if that means ending life
you forever will be
my everything
and I will run to you one day

i broke today.
i watched my bones shatter on the ground
and fall into a million pieces onto the floor.
as i stared at my breaking body,
i came to a realization.

the pieces that were one so beautifully sculpted
were deformed and
unfamiliar.
a distorted picture of who i once was.

i cried for the person who resonated
darkness in me,
staring
standing
still.

i will conquer and fix myself
someday
but for now
im okay with not being okay

there is a comfort in the silence because you are with me
replace the ringing in your ears to steady whispers and
abolish the goosebumps caressing your flesh into silk
if i wanted to be afraid (oh i had been) i could
but
you make it impossible
everything is more consolidated in your arms
even death
and maybe if all i can see is a sparkle in your eye
than i have achieved the greatest realization
of      them     all

oh how i  have witnessed a miracle

the crook in my mothers arm, the shadow of my fathers figure, the rhythmic cadence of breathing.
it was stitched together with strings of comfort to create a creature of unusual habits.
the shadow was never once afraid of the turning pages and the crook was transitioning to a state of playful wincing.
black teeth and ink stains run along attire from chewed words and twisting metaphors.
dry definitions of glued together meanings of the less lonely.
remember, give vivd contrast to stained windows and dusted fleshly faces within each page turn, but let shadows overrule the light and rooms fill with silence.  
why gorge the darkness on a substance less likely to harm the living?
minds deteriorate quicker than flesh after all, and bodies were not built for fear,
so build the strength while you have it.
folding words like origami and stretching beyond the sick feeling of failure, you lived.
you cannot write about what you don't feel and heavy weather cannot stop a driver from reaching a destination.
vitamins were only long stings rolling down internal skin,
after all, you were always sick anyway.
coming to this realization,
suddenly,
my eyes were playfully wincing and the black teeth and ink stains that remained on my body,
while i gave vivid contrast to the rejuvenated definition of the less lonely.
and i liked the silence.

I place myself alone
sitting on a wooden dock
overlooking the ocean
imagining myself as
the wind because I believe
that would make me happier than
the emptiness I constantly feel
at least the wind has the water
but
I fight fire with fire
I **** out poison, yet not enough
I am toxic
so I sit, so I envy
and I curse a higher power
and I wait for you to walk
with a heart of steel to comfort me
to hold me, to love the poison
that is I
I don’t let you in
and I am still alone
I watch the snakes wrap themselves
around you
but still you do not understand
even though you do not feel them
and I don’t believe that you ever will
so in turn, I will sit alone
until my demons escape
until the wind and water show me
that I am free

i didnt know how to start writing again  
because i didnt know how to write about you
in a way i hadn’t before

but then i learned that you were no longer my muse
and writing was more beautiful without you

do you ever sit
quit, still
and wonder who
may be thinking about you
at that very moment

do you ever sit  hunched over in lecture
wondering
if your car is the car
someone has picked out to watch
speed by on a rainy day
passing the time

or ponder
if your car headlights are the ones
shining in through the little boys window
at midnight
singing him to sleep

have you ever thought about
who is longing for a way out or
what the person on the train
sitting next to you has to say about
polotics

do you ever smile at a raindrop
cascading down glass
at a child lauging
or being right in class

how about the wind
on a humid summer day
or the way you can change someones mood
by the little things you say

have you stopped and held the door
for the man that walks with a cane
or wondered why
others cant do the same

have you stopped to thank those
who have helped you succeed
who have clothed your back
given you everything you need

have you looked in the mirror and
said hey its okay
i like this better
than eating a salad anyway

when was the last time
you held out you hand
for someone in need
and said yes you can

have you been the best you
have you ran the extra mile
have you high fived
yourself
and finished with a smile

do you ever sit
and wonder of things to come
or imagine all the things that
you could have done

the taste in my mouth is sour.
how typical of you to take over my senses
like this.
i envy the past, it deceives me so quickly.
driving into a foggy, caramelized darkness
until midnight.
i hear the wind, and feel the strands of my hair
once again
i would get the chills, the cold wind smelled like freedom.
it would billow out of the window,
and your hand would be entwined in mine.
i still feel the touch .
i didn't mind your thick skin.
but it played me so well.
it peels now,
i can still sense the old you.
and thats what makes me purse my lips.

i need to find my senses again
just like you need to find yourself.

september came and went
and the dew fall
steady fell to the
wilted blades of
grass - to mimic
my soul sinking
under the
season's change

i give praise to
the weather
as it so confidently
shift-shapes - boldy
and on time - as
i whisper jealous
praise toward
its consistency

while i know it
is reliable and approaching
i still wish the planet
would coddle me
and defy its
punctual drift
to make me feel like
i am caught up with
where i desired to be by now

maybe if it did i would
feel less guilty for not moving
forward with it

but

september came and went
and while my body is still
in season my heart is left
in the warmth of june

my fingers are
still absorbing the
heat from the sun
as it solemnly
waves goodbye
and fearlessly falls
away - i tell september
not to wait for me this time

ill catch up next year

There is strength within the masses,
For women who face injustice.
But as you walk with your head higher,
Your voice speaks to trust us.

Because you are so much bigger,
Than the monster that lives within.
Than the marathon you ran,
As you walk away with a win.

Even though you're tired,
And even though its hard,
Your beauty resonates stronger
For your heart will aways guard.

Now your footsteps turn to gold,
Once you battled evil with glee,
Just know I walk alongside you,
A perfect roll model you are to me.

And the women who could not stay,
To tell the tale of their feat,
Will rejoice up above,
For you have not walked away in defeat.

I'm here to say I'm proud,
And I hope one day you will see,
That the strongest are these women,
And the faith we put in she.

steady love holds me
in the night when
vivid dreams
turn to melancholy

i feel my brain waves
humbled by you
in the dead of night
as you hold me
it feels like
music notes
dancing across my eyelids
treble, bass, treble

steady love grounds me
when sun greets the sky
and though you put on
a dress shirt and shoes
and walk out the door
your touch still reaches me
slow, tender, soft

steady love stays humble
as it teaches me kindness
like i had never received or
reciprocated before
like the moon cycle it meets me
half, full, whole

steady love breaks down
my walls and shatters my
anger whist patience engulfs me
as i don’t cry on the floor like i did before
you take my tears and turn them to
peonies and remind me of spring
breath, wind, air

steady love makes me tremble
as i imagine it leaving me
something to hold onto
while you are gone
with the reassurance that it will
come back through the door
stay, click, lock

steady love leaves me speechless
i have found my hope
i can’t leave now because
there is nothing greater off
earth than

steady love

you, me, always

rays steady shine
& radiate into my bedroom
earlier than usual this season
they say the warm season is one
of new life, nourishment, flourishing
but summer is even more sad

the summer reminds me of the feelings
that will not change even with the seasons
at least the winter mirrored the way
i feel inside
the irony is uncanny
i say i hate winter
but im beginning to think it is my favorite season
because i relate to winter

i dont relate to sunshine

when i was younger i was afraid of the dark
but now, i frequently find myself stuck in it
when i was younger i could turn on the lights
but now, my lightbulbs just seem to burn out
when i was younger i could run to mother
but now, i am too old to hold
when i was younger i used to be afraid
but the dark taught me that it was time
to realize that i had to grow up

and being afraid of the dark
was the only thing keeping me young.