When Summer's heat
gives way to
autumns bliss,
I will kiss this
world goodbye
and walk to
the woods
to save
the last sliver
of my humanity,
where the creek
meets the river of
my destiny.
Far away from
the ****** city of
sick Streets
and broken
dreams.

Poetry is a hard life. Writing is a hard life. Art, in any way, shape or form is a hard life. But we do it because we feel it in our souls. We might not necessarily be good at it. It might not be able to earn us a living, and all the words in our heart may threaten to tear us apart, or to overflow and drown the world. It may seem like too much of a burden, to have the power of the pen, to feel like you're drifting out on an ocean of emotions that flicker so quickly past you don't have time to grasp it and put it on paper, thoughts and feelings too beautiful to ever be captured by words. And so many times we want to walk away, to stop, to give up. But I think what makes it worth it isn't the result. It doesn't matter what happens in the end. Whether the words are clumsy or not. Whether anybody publishes it or not. Whether or not anyone else approves, even. It doesn't matter in the end. What matters is the journey. And honestly, for people like us? The journey itself is enough.

I’ll play the bad guy if it’s what you want,
shine the light at me in a way that portrays me with horns,
let the shadow deceive the others.
But still, like the spotlight, I’ll shine.

Just like a false spring,
you’ll portray me as colder than ever,
Just like summer,
I’ll come to rise.

Tell them I’m like a rose,
whose only intention is to draw in to hurt.
Tell them my thorns,
my thorns ***** worser than the rest.  
Tell them who sharpened the thorns.

With the bud coming out,
I’ll sprout
up from the forgotten soil,
I’ll vegetate.

I will grow,
Because I’m meant to grow.
I will wilt,
because I’m meant to wilt.

I look inside myself
and see the drops of pain

I look around me and
see a sea of hearts the same

All are seeking comfort
for their losses or their shame

All having their doubts
and fears they will always be the same

A word of consolation
will never be enough

Don't pat me on the back
or give me that silver lining stuff

I need a purer living heart
A comforter of
words will never suffice enough

Someone who takes on the responsibility
for my sins
The sins that had my soul handcuffed

Someone to forgive the iniquity
To wash a soul clean as the wounds would be by rain

Someone I can trust upon
to take away the pain

The deep ache
That cannot be gotten rid of
She must be embraced
Her sweet longing
For union
For hungry mouths
And souls that need each other
Love like that- of Eros and Psyche doesn’t last in reality
Soul’s can’t live with that intensity
But they never forget one another
Psyche and Eros
Dancing together
Invisible threads
Weaving their story
Surrendering control
Opening to the mystery
Feeling the sweet pull
Oening beyond it
Surrendering to God