"I am truly losing faith in humanity." This is the phrase that provokes so much frustration in me. Tell me how this does not hurt you just by being okay with speaking it or writing it. Are you not humanity, are you not of the same bones and flesh as me. Do you not battle through struggles and have the livest moments as me. Have we not mourn the same when we lose something precious or realized the hate that tries to consume our people? Are we not one race of people? Tell me how you do not sit in puzzlement having stated that you do not have faith in yourself. Do tragedies put out your flame so quick. Instead of rising to conquer change no matter the time or loses, you crumble. My sisters and brothers, I am Honduran but my love does not stop at my roots. My kindness does not only affect people of my own ethnicity or skin color. We're a human race and no I do not speak that we should be blind to our cultures and each other's beginnings. I speak that being so different does not mean we are not as well immensely similar. Recognize my skin, recognize my language, recognize my roots, my religion, my traditions, my scars. Recognize all of me. And LOVE me still to no end. These tragedies will not further prosper when you have faith that, with a race with this much diversity, we will find the solution and stop these hate-crimes that make some of us even ponder the thought of defeat. I have grown to learn that this is the change, seeing the enormous difference in each other but seeing all the similarities and having it urge us to close the gap with knowledge and understanding. This is our peace. Learning of one another. This is our hope.

We close our eyes and pray for world peace without any real idea as to what that is. Peace to everyone is different. That's why this world never sees it and our wishes and prayers never birth it. Love. We must pray for love. Love that which we experience from someone or something daily. Something we all can visualize the feeling to. Love is what will change this world because it does not matter our interests or our desires, love always remains the same.

I never really knew what kind of man could find my heart. I never really knew what kind of man could ****** my soul. Make me start to dream. What kind of dream they would have that would inspire me. Until I met him. An aspiring rapper. From Pennsylvania. Dominican and Puerto Rican. Four years. Long-distance. Music was not my calling, but it had awakened me. To writing. Lies had broken us. Nearly 2 years later I fell for the next one. An aspiring rapper. Producer. Jamaican. From Pennsylvania. Close three years. Complicated as ****. Music was there again. And although it was not my calling and it wasn't as important to me as it was to the fellas I fell for, it was there. Linking people to me.

I just always wanted you to ask about me. The more I waited it came to me how pointless it'd be to say. So I stopped waiting and praised you on your talent, it seemed the only outlet I found searching to charge my ego thinking I were useful. My praise in your dream became your dream inspiring me. You never noticed. I shed tears hearing your hopes transcend words parked beneath trees in your apartment lot. I hid them easily. You were so devoted to listening to yourself.  I wasn't much to hold your gaze unless I was tempting or cheering. The amazement in your eyes having had created made me lust after my dream deeper. I was truly thankful for it. But you never seemed to notice how moved you made me. My silence wasn't boredom, it was gratitude, for if ever in our moments I fell silent it was because I felt something vivid that seemed to always surprise me. I wanted to be more for you. Stretch my limbs and soul for you. The way when I closed my eyes it felt you had. The way it felt your lips pressed to my forehead, the small breath you'd let out as you began to smile down at me half asleep. The most living thing I've ever felt against my skin because it was real without me needing to see. Thank you for inspiring me, for forcing me to grow even a little, and for feeling like you were there for me even when I know you weren't.

I want to share something important. Imagine a great grand-mother. Wheelchair. Life's withers and cracks mark her skin. Eye's so wise it truly silences you when she speaks. Hair so fair and thin it's as if each time the wind rakes through it it takes another strand simply trying to prolong her essence to this earth. She's witnessing her great grand-child born. And it's utter joy. Happiness contained in such a small, fragile, portion. She got to live up to this birth moment.
But she knows.
She knows she won't reach to see it grown and to it's end. She absolutely loves and dwells in this moment. She holds that happiness to her chest as she begins to mourn.
Because she knows.
She won't see it to it's full potential, this happiness won't surpass it's temporary time. The possibilities are amazing but empty nonetheless because she won't reach to see. What could have yet become. Happiness turned to ambition, strength, a future, and real love. She has a heavy feeling in her heart like she's missed out on something.
A small existence so innocent, absolutely pure
And yet she knows
She knows that to not get to see it grow it's as if she hadn't even lived to see when that moment of birth first occurred.

it's been five years since I've felt absolute love. I can remember how I was with that person. so free. I didn't even know what restraining or containing was with them. I wonder when that changed? When did I begin to care about holding back, hiding, trying rather than being? when did I worry more about what came out of my mouth rather than listening? conversations and topics flowed easily, now I stress in forcing them. my first love was real love. but I miss it. the feeling. the ability to give and not realize I'm giving. countless hours talking about everything, fewer held in silence but nonetheless never awkward. when did that change?
maybe nothing has. I merely need to find a person once more. a person I care more for than I care about how I'm being seen. someone that makes me forget about myself, but reminds me of me when I do. because they care as much about my well being as I'd care for theirs.
I like reminiscing.

I want to write, story tell, create, and mold. Breathe life into pages. Force emotions in those that have not felt, bring tears to the heartless, and produce empowerment in the weak. When you think there's no words to describe it turn to my writing and praise me; call me a prophetess. As you lay awake in the silent hours of night and send questions to a higher power that you still question is there. As you despair in the pit you've found yourself in again..I hope that you don't need my words to soothe your soul, and in my absence discover the relief a pen and paper would do to a troubled girl.