I have questions; Questions regarding the lessons, disarming me. Like why things that would be alarming to the majority, no longer surprise me..Or why they look at me crooked when I've straightened parallel to the ones aligning. Or why when I'm crying, the ones I thought would be beside me are prying away, like they waited for the perfect day to say goodbye. Or why, despite it all, I've yet to feel so alive, as I do now. Because in order to survive we must not crouch down, or bow down to the things that would never amount to the amount of love we wish to give out. Avoiding handouts as if my hands were tied my back. because to receive for free what I can't live without would have me living only with what I lack day in and day out. A soul priceless and timeless, and I'll bet money that they'll always be able to write this, even if I left this world in the name of righteousness. I have answers, though the questions hold much more. Like why the things that I happen to adore, have me hugging the floor. Is it a passion to implore into more? Or a clashing that I ignore until it hurts like a sore that I thought I never asked for? But still I remain, as fluid as the ocean shore that only asks me to soar and welcomes me into its core. I'm learning to dive. Back stroking waves that sweep me out of the bad dreams to real life, where I get to choose what keeps me alive and what I thank God for at night. As long as I can see the moon shining bright, I know within my heart it will all be alright. Goodnight.

..And although I am content as I write this,
I have found it hard to write through my happiness. For days, months, years, I continued to harvest this pain. Self inflicted; sometimes, one might say, that I was to blame - inflicting pain on my name whenever it rang. Or maybe sometimes, the world, I found a little too aggressive to tame. Trying to remain centered in my frame while all of these picture frames around this place starting taking center stage on a new terrain, or an old one: focal points of the past. Look at all that I have passed. So many leaking words, screaming to be heard but never last; perhaps only pressed into the pages I turned and still turn, that may be the only things I know assured. But I choose not to see my life as depicted so blurred. My vision is not perfect; but a vision when you know that you're worth it can create a mind that is certain on what's pertinent. I am a servant to myself. Health, wealth, and all combined. yet they still wish me hell while they stand beside the wishing well. Oh well. What am I to do? When the hopes of tomorrow might not ever become true...but to become so succumbed into thinking that we are inevitably doomed would have my mind, heart, and the very force that never holds them apart, separated in two. And so I choose. I choose when I speak, I choose when to heal.And it's like writing my pains allowed them to stand in an image a little more real, whereas my absence to the page represents my ultimate appeal: applying a happiness where words just can't seem to peel back the genuine feel. I guess I am healed. I thank you for guiding me here and allowing me to hear. I'll be near.

If you knew better, you'd do better...so they say. But they say and they say again today,
and always change like the new weather.
And these days are so cold - but I never fold. Balancing on my tippy toes,
the clouds smell my lofty goals,
while my nose is so awfully close to wherever my chin goes...and it's to the sky, every time. They ask me why, as if I felt I had a choice;
as if I didn't know that I have a voice that deserves to be voiced.
And that's a matter of opinion - they say to pick one.
But sometimes the sides within question are missing certain lessons,
and placing my feet into either step then
would have me left with what I was only trying to leave.
I stay in the middle, centered, finding myself - moments to breathe.
That's what I need...moments to breathe.
And what they want for me would come with a cost that I am unwilling to toss
into their wishing well.
It's like they wish me hell under their breath -
so unkept to the love that they claim to project. So let me interject.
Even the reject can sense the concept of neglect, or disrespect...
some things that a chest kept locked in a chest filled with regret and words unsaid.
And so I said "this is my last message";
I forgive, never to forget,
that the hands that shake mine
should hold more time to align the mirror, before they judge what stands before mine
when I write these rhymes.
It is now my time, as it always has been...
to never give in to what is less than positive.
I am sick of my stomach turning to walls yearning to cave in, ever so blatant.
I am done running in a foot race that I was never raised in.

And it seems that lately,
they run and hide when inevitably,
their actions no longer can be seen through the words they spoke, so openly.
And yet, they notice me,
but not the things that I see, or see through.
I see you.
But when the mirror is perfectly placed, towards their face,
they are off and away, again today,
to run away from the day that could teach them to stay.
And so I say, we will never learn the lessons we do not search for.
Or even more, we will keep running to closed doors
that were built to remind you that you ignored they keys that jingle so dormant
on your soul's cold floor.
It's in the fire of my core that I learned to be as fluid as the ocean shore.
Being as vast as that,
my mind becomes confused when they run from all that they lack.
Moving fast just to stay in place,
now I know why they can't look me in my face. It's a disgrace, the way that they blame the day. Everything they say,
while looking the other way,
reaching for the things they only would push away when day breaks.
And it seems like lately,
they are wasting their breath, spoken so shaky. this is why they do not shake me,
I am so unmoved by anything that does not move with me, genuinely.
A stale tone never would break me,
though my voice travels, ever so faintly.

I'd hope that you'd see my perspective through all my projections,
all these interjections that came from the lessons in moments I have been tested.
And now it feels like I am testing the deity that moves within me.
Though I am not He, He is the sum of I.
Oh my, time flies through the darkest pits of my eyes.
Watching the sun rise and night fall,
when all befalls - the very reason I used to crawl, being held up by the only walls in the home that I would call,
or the walls that I mounted up to protect my heart from the very things that would ask me to halt or at least stall.
looking at them like "don't you know that I want it all?"
They ask me why I want it at all,
and I'm glad they asked.
Recognizing my purpose through every task is what I have asked myself to master.
Through disaster and through the water, the intentions that I offer will be as pure as water at the alter.
And I can be even softer than that.
But I can also be the one that never calls back, Depending on how you act.
Depending on how you blend with my plan of attack, we can be vast or we can retract every statement ever spoken when my love was awoken, out in the open.
They leave me exposed,
fully clothed,
stripping me of the trust I pulled from the instinct of my gut.
So it is a must that I, remain in sight, to self love that I, composed tonight.
It is the same love of yesterday, that never ran away, even when they, hold my hand while they turn their face.

Trigger. Pull on my ankle like an anchor when I reach for something bigger. Trigger. Provide me warmth, then leave me for all of the winter. Last winter was a cold one. Trigger. Compare me to your old one. Like what has even yet to begun isn't already there and above a love you would love to love. Trigger. Tell me I'm not enough. But I called your bluff, and enough is enough. I won't come undone into empty space. Trigger. Disembody my grace. Waste time trying to save face, knowing this is not the place. Own your take and give me back my shadow I had perfectly placed. Trigger. You aimed it at me. Trigger. They came exactly...how I would never approach, yet they say I am their only hope. Trigger. there's things you should know that don't go down the throat easier than swallowing pride. And you'd rather live less alive, than to be quiet in the night making sure your mind is right. Trigger. Or how that might, just send you to the sky, and you might survive a high you've pinned down your whole life. Trigger. Let it ignite. Trigger. I could be wrong. Trigger. I could be right. And sometimes it feels like, they deem me wrong before my mistakes. Trigger. So I ask, what does it take, to not break, before day breaks. But before I could finish, trigger...pulled. Echoes break. Trigger...pulled. Death to the ego that tried to save its face. Trigger...pulled. Death to the disembodied grace. Trigger...pulled. Aimed at anything severing from the misplaced. Trigger...pulled. The insane pointing fingers at the sane. Trigger pulled. I remain.

They say that it could all be a dream. Just breathe.
They say my disconnect to the normal scene took away my normalcy.
I've fallen into the cracks between a desire to leave and a calling to lead. Breathe.
Don't let them see.
They don't see behind the same mirror as me. Breathe. Anxiety fogging up the mirror slightly; begging it to fight me, like I don't fight it nightly, like my fingers don't grip tightly around this pen so much that it's frightening.
My mind is an aggressive typewriter that walks along a tight wire - falling in love with the nights I get to admire the view of my feet dangling over the fire. Breathe.
You are safe up here.
You could disappear and still be near to all that will forever appear to be as real as what goes on in front of your mirror.

I hope you never fear her.
Breathe.