it’s not about finding, it’s about attracting.
it’s not about forcing, it’s about adapting.
don’t keep your head down, unless you’re staying focused on your steps.
but even then, i hope you keep your eyes to the sky, whether rain or shine.
i hope you always weather the weather that comes your way.
it’s not about, wishing the pain away.
but more about, understanding the rain that drips on your window pane.
It’s not about complacency, it’s about relativity.
it’s about, remaining patient, holding onto your dignity.
it’s about understanding, withstanding. trusting in, something bigger than yourself.
it’s about asking yourself, are you worthy of what you swear you’re deserving of?
your mistakes, are not the answer to this question.
it’s what you hold, what you choose to invest in, what you’ve digested about your character, what you have to offer for the greater more, the greater good, inside of you.
it’s not about blocking your blessings, or being less than what your lessons have taught you.
do not be afraid to give way to your destiny.
it would be a shame to cry out in the middle of the night, only hoping that your negativity doesn’t tangle your feet.
because it will.
it’s not about self sabotage, it’s about self preservation, letting your soul live on, far past the moment you are gone from this life.
to give to this life, is to be it.

When we are left with nothing, can we measure our happiness? are we really happy with the nothingness
we are laying with? is it really nothing? Or is it everything?

Happiness isn’t a measurement, it’s what defines our life, how we lived it and what principles we live by.
And the mix of emotions we carry is a blazing rift,
unpredictable like the things we see in our eyes.

Or what we see in our minds, the figment of imagination that helps us see or leaves us to stay blind. Something about the times, feels timeless or less exhausting than before. how can we open more doors if we need to feel more?

A silent heart stuck in a dimension unknown to reality, beyond comprehension, beyond nightmares and dreams;
A fantasy, concocted by the very same minds
that would not hesitate to disrupt out peace.
And if it remains silent, what do we feel?
Can we understand what is in front of us, is it real?
Is it something we believe, simply because we see,
or is it an enigma far beyond what we think is reality?

Because my reality seems to be everything to me,
but the imaginary seams are closing spaces between my fingers, where the imagery sings my favorite song. I just hope what is real decides to
sing along so that I can always understand.

I pray your reality is the manifestation of your wishes,
your desires; your dreams and everything that bliss is. I pray you find the answer to the eternal question,
one in which our heart finds no rest in succession.
And when you find it, let the world know dreams exist,
that this dimension is real if we truly so wish.

Let them know that what we search for, we are capable of discovering. Uncovering dreams, unveiling relief, reinvesting in beliefs that come when we no longer to the other cheek to doubt.
when we start to indulge in the things we cannot love without. And I hope that anything you are without, finds it’s way to you,
or stays far away from you. Whichever suits the sanctity of your soul.
I hope you know you are in control.

What is said of the harmony of when our pens meet,
for we have the power to create the definition of world peace.

we have the power to create a beneficial release, more than what they see, more than what they read,
it’s a feeling of planting a seed in spaces that need me, spaces that need you, spaces that need us.

The magic in words can destroy but they can also heal, and that process starts from the heart, from how we feel. If we unite our pens and the ink that flows our rhymes, we could bless this world with a cure for tears and create a dimension for infinite time.

And we will live forever. we will redeem ourselves in the presence of our legacy. dripping blessings like water that comes from the rain that will pour and water all that are parched for love, parched for wisdom, parched for hope. we will live forever through the love we inflicted on those that basked in it through our life and those that would soon understand it in our absence.

Yet hypocritical it shall be, as I know not of love,
I know not it’s touch or the bond of affection & trust.
I am a soul who knew not of such magic, so how can I talk about an unknown undefined love? How can I write about it when my yearning is tragic. How can I write about it when I never really had it? A broken heart tells many tales and not enough.

Yet I write about it and I live like it’s real to me. It’s my dignity. It’s setting me free to feel like I know how to touch. But maybe I just know how to heal.
perhaps not always myself, but they always tell me i helped them to know how to feel. I just hope I brought the right emotions to the center of their wheel, so that when they steer, they follow a path that resonates in the direction that shows them the way.

Your words bring comfort to my hallowed heart, and bring forth to me a hope within a shallow dark. Therein no longer are the whisper stars, yet even so far, perhaps their light may reach me. Perhaps it will illuminate again the emotions I believed in, and ignite the passion I once had to inspire, to write all my wishes, hopes, dreams and desires.May we continue this journey with our pens a flow, so this dream that we invented is something the world will know!

These days, im letting myself fall from all things that bruise me. These days, I'm letting all of these people that knew me, say that they knew me. Like all of the places that chose me, are never spaces that could move me now. These days, they say that they moved me, from something that was true to me. And the truth couldn't be...further than what they could have thrown to me. I'm not new to me. And these days, God and I talk like he pulled Himself through me. And I ask for forgiveness through Him for ever believing that He ever felt unclear to me, or me unclear to Him. For ever distrusting the god in me. I'm sorry you failed to see the deity within me. And that's all I will apologize for. But when I walk my pride to the door, I'll apologize once more. For not being what you thought. For not being what I forgot to be. For seeming to be what I am not. Or...for believing when I ought to doubt. You see, I had to figure it out. Deception being a deflection or a reflection of what I'm about. These days, I'm looking far within and far without. And what it amounts to, makes me want to mount you in a space where I am allowed to dismantle the sounds that you find serenity in. But I am peaceful within, or else I would sin like this. I will let you swim. Backstroke on high hopes, and I have high hopes that you learn from your wrongs. These days, I know the depths of these songs. I sing on and on, until my voice is trembling, explaining why my words are completely gone. These days, I'm moving on.

Some of us do escape pain. Some of us do withstand the rain. Some of us do love throughout the blame. Blame it on us - that people still discuss the concept of needing more. Blame it on us that people still feel the right to explore what they are really looking for. Because what they have seen here, is what they have not been able to hold, there. Blame it on us. We are strong enough to endure your reasons. Because we do, understand the seasons; we are the roots to the trees that constantly, remove their leaves. When they see, that people always leave, we stand. Blame it on us, for implanting what they cannot unsee. We are what they cannot forget. I will not apologize for the regret that remains. Because some do become aware; some do know that a pretty stare can climb down the stairs next to evil and still swear to be true to heart. We all unveil. Some of us do appreciate the art of the struggle. Some of us do find ways in the face of the troubled.
Some of us do find the answers, or at least stumble upon, the right questions. Some of us do become entangled in lessons that they routinely run away from. Some of us do stay. Some of us do want to understand. Some of us love so hard that our hearts become a garden of thorns that they adore, or have adored. Some of us still know how to touch softly. Some of us are still willing to offer our offering, far from our bodies. Some of us still do need to be held throughout our personal hells. Some of us don't know what the hell it would take to get through to you. But please, don't blame us when you plug your ears to our screams. Blame us for the meaning you are seeking when nobody is around to explain to you, the lack of reasoning. We have always been here.
We will always be here. Our presence is a present to the present days and we are here to stay; a reminder to the ghosts of your past ways.

Through their eyes they see me as this..something that is not it. But I wonder if they see me questioning, everything I've ever known. questioning the things I have outgrown. The things I left alone when I was alone, when my home was not a home to know. Things that I own, as a whole. I wonder if they see these question marks curl around my body and end at the period of all my sentences, statements that I make that are that of a trace of things that I feel. I wonder if they ever question if I feel my confusion. Is it an illusion? I hope. But for somebody so focused on being in touch, I would hope that they would clarify their own. Reunite their stares into something worth meaning. Something worth rhyme and reason, worth perfect timing, that would remind me that without the seasons, we would never appreciate change. And it's ironic because I live in a place where the weather remains, constantly encased in an ever changing pace and my mind stays the same. I wonder if they recognize that I still stay the same me through storms and rainbows. Any way the wind blows, I refuse to stick my finger to the wind and tell them which direction it shows. Some things are not my responsibility. Some things are not part of my dignity. Some nights I sink. Some days, I wreak of testimonies I recite to ignite my truths. But what are you? What are you made up of, that could ever judge the questions, the answers that I seek? Just believe. Just, please, let me be. I already told you, I am free.

Some days, I speak so soft. Some days, I speak with a sting from the stiff of my upper lip. Some days, I'm sorry. Some days, something's really gotta give. Sometimes it's like, can I live? Can I love? Some days it's like, is love even enough? Some days it's like, maybe they don't know the definition of such. Like when nothing is just a little too much, and too much just can't be touched. Some days, it's like I can't be touched. Some days, everything moves me. Some days, nothing can soothe me. Some days, the misunderstood stand right next to my heart. And in the same day, I am indefinitely a part of what we all hold on to just to depart from. Holding on to let go.
Some days, my timing couldn't come at a worse time.
Some days, my aligning teeters on a tight rope where I have to walk past my shadow just to get to my light.
Talk about balance. And speaking of, sometimes my balance shows me the definition of gravity. Some days, it's a tragedy. Some days, it's majesty. Majestic, some days I'm pathetic. Never mind that. No I'm not. I'm human. Everyday I am authentic.
My relevance relates to every day I stay, making a way to say, I'm not just aiming to make a way,
But to create a peace I constantly pray in, and I lay in, such serenity. And so in every way, I am I diamond, no matter which way they try to say my name. Lauren, you are exactly what you make.
Some days you need to play it safe, for the sake of your heart. But these days you need to barricade through whatever is in the way, so that you can confidently remain sane in the face of pain.
Whatever you are, you are a stain of what has come and what has came before. And I know you are reaching for more. Lend yourself, to you. Lend yourself your hands. It is all within, the skin you are wrapped in. Amen.