I can't erase the place that only my mind knows.
My soul's woes know that they have a place to go.
So my tongue rolls in and out of the doubt placed within my heart.
I speak these things quietly, so that my melody never falls apart.
I am my art.
I admire the smooth beat that sings to me in my sleep;
The dreams that make me weak at the knees.
The power invested in me is sometimes, hard to believe.
It used to be impossible to see my dreams reflected in real life.
Until I realized, I had to say goodbye to the times that I chose to be blind to the light that shined directly in my eyes.
Perhaps that's why so many are blind.
It is not our darkness, but our light that leaves us afraid in the silence of night, time after time.
Maybe we never believed we could be the person we see in the epitome of our dreams.
So let me sing to you this serene theme, until you feel what it means.
If you're anything like me, sometimes you fear yourself.
The power that we hold goes beyond material wealth.
You must listen to your conscience, but first you must cleanse what's inside,
That divine mind.
It will all be fine.
Allow yourself to come alive in these dire times.
It is our time to thrive,
If you would only accept the invite.

- L.G

It is important that we do not run when the fire within burns hotter than the sun.
If we must face disgrace to reach our saving grace, this is a race we must trust.
We have only begun.
We cannot let our demons chase us down into a corner of misery and confusion.
They always tell is that we are trapped with no solution, but we must break free from this misguided illusion.
Are we to tighten our grip or are we to loosen?
My questions always form from a place that is free of pollution.
I am never diluted.
I run towards the place I used to think I was running from.
I have been running so long, i can feel it in my lungs.
But this is the song that needed to be sung.
I pull and tug on a place that is bound to break.
I always ask myself if I should learn to play it safe.
I may be awake in a dream but these cycles revolved around me, not what you think I should see.
I pull and tug on the rope of love that was hung above when you decided you had been running, long enough.
It reminds me to never give up.
When my lungs are fed up, I know I must get up and remember that with myself, comes trust.
This vessel of love is never undone.
We have only begun.
When it is your time to run, I hope this rings in your ear, crystal clear,
in a place where you discover the face of grace that had always been misplaced, until now.

- L.G

If I'm not in my right mind, then what am I left with?
Would it be wrong if I left it?
We live reckless just to feed on breathless seconds that we wish would last a lifetime.
There's no suicidal mind when you're your own lifeline.
We can't run from ourselves.
I'm sure we have all wanted to just stretch out of our skin when the words burn from within
Because you don't know where to begin, avoiding what they would taste as a sin as it drips from your lips.
The conflict that exists in the midst of the mist that crawls upon these fists that refuse to give in.
You don't have to fight yourself.
If I am not in my right mind, then where am I? I am daring to deny that you are not I (eye) - because I see the skies live larger than life.
This time I hate to be right, but the life is stale in your eyes.
You must've never learned how to scale your sight.
Run from this limitation.
A gun to your finicky fixations;
Be one with x in any equation.
Multiply you are not just another number, by you are not just another stutter that is uttered through the lips are the unsure..
And you will get the summer.
You would know that if you ever dared to wander from the shade you hide under.

- L.g

I feel that I am glowing.
So long, I have been floating.
If I'm wrong, my heart will keep on hoping
to be the song that's helping with the coping.
I know it gets hard,
but everyday we walk on the concrete.
Put down your guard,
and i promise to approach you softly.
We could feel like we were soaring.
We could peel out of our minds,
I think we should get going.
By the way, your aura is golden.
It's beautiful how you never let trust in yourself be stolen.
We perfect the art of holding on...
Like your favorite song waking you up at the crack of dawn,
or tension so strong it could break an arm.
In everything, I hear a melody,
presented by "we" the unseen;
I walk breathlessly.
I wonder if you wander aimlessly or if you graze through this maze of life gracefully..
So long, I've waited patiently.
So long, you know I have a place to be.
If I am wrong, I suggest you start chasing me.
Follow me and you might see
what it's like to be escaping free.

- L.G.

Everytime I open my eyes,
I see these strangers
in diguise
just floating through time
with their soft spoken lies.
Did they paint their own mask by choice?
Or did society?
Did they ever know they had a voice?
Or did they learn to roam silently
in a world that deprived them of their own privacy?
I dream of telling each and every veiled citizen that it is okay...
to beg them to meet who they already are - not to run, but to stay.
If you open your eyes and don't see what I see,
that doesn't mean we can't be
like the waves of the sea.
We roll free, and suddenly,
time no longer exists.
We face our fears, instead of running to find the nearest exits.
We won't panic.
Maybe these words should live in a bottle
and travel the waters,
perhaps they will reach our daughters.
A part of me hopes that the bottle lands at the feet of a father,
and he will then realize that it is not too late
to be the author through any falter.
He will prosper.
If you receive this message on the edge of that cold sand,
reveal yourself to the world
and throw me back into the water.

I understand this is not what you had planned.

- L.G.

..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.

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.

Would you please, ride with me into the sunset?
Let your true colors drip slowly from your anxious sweat.
Tell me all the things you've never been able to forget.
Would you please, come as you are?
Never make me have to look too far to see everything, near and far, that has created you into this work of art.
Let me start in your eyes and land in your heart.
Maybe you could give me a part of you that nobody knew, because they always tried to picture you in the same, simplistic view.
I am your eyes. Your eyes are mine.
Would you please allow me to intertwine through your mind?
Give me some time to wrap my vine around the warmth of your shine.
Would you please, lay with me under the stars?
We could rattle Mars with the energy that is ours.
I am never too far if you just extend your arm.
Would you please, reach with me, as we discover something we cannot see?
Something that drops me, please, to my knees - and it will relieve many things.
Roam free with sympathy.
It will extend my wings so I may learn to fly differently.
Ascend into these black holes of imagery.
We dream vividly, like the true colors that drip from the spring showers of my soul.
A symphony of seperate shades becoming whole.
This sunset, is never dull.

Would you please, come with me?...

That's not how it works, that's not how it goes.
I'll show you how it feels to live every day on in the very tips of your toes,
trying to see just beyond a vision you've already reached for.
I'll show you what it's like to need more.
I'll show you what's it's like, I'll show you what to bleed for.
I'll show you how to breathe forth, whispers bold enough to blow the whole world up. How it feels to have your words come out of the back of your throat at half the note that you really feel,
and still terrorize the most perfect ears to have ever listened in years.
To hold tears of people you only picture dressed in a smile, ones that would make you run for miles upon miles.
I'll show you what it feels like but only for awhile...
while all things are true within my truths, sometimes even the recluse refuse to lose the connections that became their muse. Sometimes we wake up, and say, I'll show you it feels to understand the confused.
To make the ironic, incredibly iconic.
I'll show you where I lost it,
I'll show you how I built it back.
I'll show you the line and where I crossed it;
I don't know how to hold back.
Maybe it's that I lack, or that I was given, a concept in my heart that released me from a prison
away from chains around my name and shackles that laid suffocating my veins.
I am free now, no longer pressed in my shame. I was to blame for everyday that I remained a day away from my serenity.
And now, I feel so heavenly.
Flying free, and lately, you remember me.

~ L.E.G

They ask us to breathe, while they stay gasping for air. They ask us to reach, while they pull back on our chair. They tell us to speak, and ask us to be silent when it wouldn't be fair. They ask that we see, only to criticize a question brewing in our stare.
I often wonder if it's something in the air, like breathing, freely, is the only thing I'm chained to.
Like needing meaning is the meaning behind all I've came to. And look what I've come to...
They ask that we hold on tight to the things that are meant to fall through our fingers. They ask us to let go, let go of things we know, let go of all that lingers.
So how do we believe in forever?
When our touch can only offer so much and our cries see so many goodbyes, when our time never really ties into the time we put into the lows to see the height of the highs. But we do. We do believe in forever. And I hope forever doesn't eternally leave us to bask in an unanswered prayer of hope.
You know, I hope. You know, I hope to remain in such a place of trust. The place where I...unapologetically feel just. Where I feel just, the feeling. The same place where I get to hold onto the meaning of what I'm reaching for. The same place where I don't have to explain it anymore. The same place where forever is a revolving door, Or like a revolver to your very core. They ask that we touch the sun, and then they bring us a gun, and tell us to choose.

I am entirely triggered and this is my muse.

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.

I often feel that I have been here before.
Sometimes it is uncomfortably familiar.
I must have left the first time searching for something more;
there had to be something I couldn't figure.
It's as if the picture returned much bigger,
and i was born with my finger on the trigger.
This time, I focus on the stars instead of the scars.
I once lived on Mars and played galactic guitars.
I often feel that I have been here before...
and you knew too, when you opened the door.
I wonder if anybody remembers me or if I have to die once more.
But if I leave this world, I will not return.
My energy will burn into every nocturnal concern
that leaves you awake and alert.
I will play the piano on the blackened keys of your heart,
and turn them into that brighter white so you can have more light to give to your art.
We can travel to the moon,
where these letters often start,
and dig through the craters in search of the things that leave us ready to depart.
I often feel that I have been here before.
But I found an unopened door that lead to something more in store to adore.
I know you can feel it in your core.
I think it's time you get off the bathroom floor,
so we can surely soar.

- L.G.

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.

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 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.

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.

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!

I wrote my dreams down in permanent ink, but the fire inside these eyes burned the paper when I blinked.
I lean over the bathroom sink, aligning my thoughts and all that I seek.
And sometimes it makes me weak
to think that I struggle to keep my head above water,
like I'm starting to sink.
But this is me.
This is bigger than we.
This is the trigger that I pull when it's my time to leave.
I promised to stay,
so I'm just leaving my pain.
I'm dancing in the rain.
I'm transitioning lanes.
I decided to take the road less traveled.
The one that offers good fortune,
where I will watch all my dreams
become unraveled.
You look at me baffled,
like I'm not supposed to push
through the hurt.
You're so used to falling down
and playing in the dirt.
My conscience is much cleaner,
my demeanor is getting much meaner.
I am ******* but I am peaceful,
I am soft spoken,
but these words are lethal.
I am the diesel that sets fire to the flame
to make you say "we are all equal".
But people often jump on the train
that's named "everything here is the same",
and society is the one to blame.
I will spark change
and it will stay.
There will be a sequel to my name
and i will never be ashamed.
It's crazy that when I closed my eyes
as I felt this ink burn,
I remembered everything that I've decided to learn.
I didn't need that paper
with my dreams written on it,
I needed me.
and you need you.
We need we.
We are the black sheep
but you just refuse to see,
that when it all breaks,
being yourself is lovely.
You can still see clear,
even when that water is muddy.

Just trust me.

- L.G.

and I know it's not easy to rest in me when my energy is heavy.
I feel it too.
I'm with you. see, sometimes there's things I cannot shake.
There are things that make me break, and I am not ashamed.
but I am afraid to make the same mistakes twice, because these vices give me life,
though it's not always right.
And I don't need them to validate my state of mind when I see both sides like front and rear.
So everyday is a day to keep my vision clear.
But if I'm envisioning life through water droplets does that really still count to be clarity through these optics?
And sometimes I'm completely off this topic
because I'm often softly spoken and nauseous
at the thought of being cautious and having the contents of my mind being thrown into an object,
as if it were anything anyone could ever touch.
I don't ask for much but to keep your hands off my feelings and to just...
lend me your breathing.
And it always comes down to what they are needing
and I'm caught between,
teetering on a line of giving and receiving.
Karma vs. healing.
Like, what have they given me that I can believe? And what have I done to deceive but didn't really mean?
so I I guess I...better believe in things that I never saw.
I better sturdy my mouth and tighten my jaw.
Only speak when it's more beautiful than the silence that leaves them in awe.
A tension so raw it could be bought, but I was taught not to sell my soul.
Though it wouldn't be gold, more like water,
translucent to the soul that makes us whole.

He wants you to breathe easy into him. Gentle speech, gentle touch. You see, the touch of a woman  causes him to curl into the shape of question marks that rested on his heart, and you are now the art of his mind. His punctuation. The way he unwinds, his imagination. You are all that exists and all that never did. He wants you to wrap your arms around the strength he holds because society told him to do so, the fragile untold woes that they never would know. Because he wasn't raised to ask to be held, or even be compelled to cry. He wants to be elastic. He wants to spread beyond moons, with you being the shooting star to his eye. He wants to fly. He doesn't want you to ask why, but asks that you understand. He wants you to withstand, what it really takes to hold down a man with aspirations, with emotions, he wants devotion. Watch how he opens up when he receives the love his mother gave him, or even the love she didn't. He wants you to be forgiving. He wants to receive what he has been giving. And you should recognize all that he has been missing. He wants you to listen. And you will glisten. Like the sweat that drips within him when he is nervous in the presence of the beauty of you. He wants to break through. He wants to understand the shape of you. And not what he can physically feel, although that appeals, he wants to be able to trust in a love that will always be enough. Because the man can understand that he is hard to touch, with callused hands and quick demands. Because we demand so much as women, forgetting that sometimes even our thoughts could be unforgiven. I just ask that we are reliving the pieces of us that fall into our man that make them harder to touch. They never asked for much, either.

We don't ask for too much. We just want to be loved. We just want to feel trust, like how we feel the sky fall when it all is never enough. We want to be enough. We want to give it all up for you. We want to be true. We want to feel renewed. We want to feel you, as much as we feel our solitude. Like every molecule that falls into our pores, we want to be yours. We want to hold open doors because they were held open for us. We want to travel ocean shores that were once too far and far too much. We don't want to be too much. We don't want to push away your touch. We want to be in love. We want to believe in "us". We want to feel God, like you were sent from him to us from above.Understand, our wants become needs. Desires become things. Things, we can't always touch. But we always ask, would that be too much. Just a sign to remind us that we are loved, when we do bleed this blood and we leave it up...to the men that hold our hands and protect all our plans; the pressure that withstands when it comes to being women. we just want to be acknowledged through our sin again and again.Because we weren't raised to give in, but then again, we find ourselves slightly begging within for him to see us at the very point we begin within. When we were never without, but our past made us doubt. We are empowered beyond reason, we just pray that they don't change like the seasons. Because we feel that too, through and through. That's why our hearts can turn summer into the wet morning dew. Waking up, looking at you, wondering if we made it through to you from the night before that left us separate in twos. We just want to be one, that's why we become so undone. Good morning, when it's all said and done, we become, the sum, of what has left and what is yet to come.

Some days, I can't be what they want me to be; though I never think about it that way. Some days, I find it hard to stay sane in a world filled with pain that isn't even my own. Some days, my home feels more like a broken bone, healing beyond the meaning of growth. I learned how to cope, long ago. There is no need to ask me why I roam into the unknown spaces of myself.I deserve to know. I deserve to grow into me. I deserve to love infinitely. And so I do. perhaps once, I was not prepared to. Premature steps filled with short breaths had me exhausted far before the storm rained down on me. But I would always find a space within me to be free amongst the water, my fluidity. gravity always seemed to pull me down in the midst of a rising sun...Until I learned how to live my life as soon as the moment begun. I rise with the energy that keeps me one. One one one, I am the sum of what my hands have unraveled to come undone. Do not question my achievements, because I can promise you it came from the only place that I believe in. That may be the same place that I have grieved in, never to deceive my agreements.There is a reason, for all that I sleep with. For, all that I ever needed was within. So how am I gonna win if I'm not right inside this heart of sin? Human, so flawless in a pool of imperfections. I am rested, knowing that all that I know,
is all I am kept with.