We are all so vain

We cannot even stitch our own cloth,
Or eat any food that is further than our own lands-
Everything we do has to be in line with everyone else's...
Naked, pail bodies.

As giant astroids plummet towards us-
The skies spiraling with streaks of purple and red;
Colors we've never seen before.

We worry more about running away

Than looking up at the sky.

We cry for our soon demise

But we never once think of it as a new beginning.

We are so absent-minded these days.

A promise
Is when someone vows something to you
In order to maintain a temporary trust;
A strong
Abundant trust.

A promise
Is when we let that abundance of trust
Fill the whole in our hearts where we need reassurance-
And like the white whales in the Red Sea,

We are resiliently hooked.

A promise
Is when we are given a hope,
Even when we know It's sometimes false.
People make promises they can't keep;
In our hearts, we all know this to be true.
Sometimes false hope is the heart-pumping blood we all need.

Red in all its glory; It's our life support.

Sometimes a promise cannot be fulfilled, but only vowed-
Our involuntary recipients,
Harrowing over our grotesque stabs at being their very veins.
Like the vows of a marriage,
We say them to prove we can provide some sort of air for them;
Though as if we live underwater.
We give people their air, though it is only a bubble-
Just to put in their lovely heads that one day,
Maybe they'll get a whole breath.

I just can't help but wonder

If by you saying "I love you"
Is just another way of saying "I love the feeling of you".

That your fantasy of us
Was just an illogical fallacy of lust
Because in truth, I fear you do not think with your heart-
In betrayal, I will always trust.

I wish we were back to those beautiful days;
The days where we would pick strawberries,
On the coats of Norway-
Swing carelessly, on the seasides of Whales.

Now, we just pick fights on the depths of our insecurities,
Say careless, arrogant things out of spite-
I miss when "I love you", wasn't an apology.

Maybe you can love me for real this time,
and not like the times we've shared.
I hope that one day "I love you" will mean no more
than just a few words to show mediocre affection-
And I won't need it as my life line,
Or my everlasting addiction for approval from you.

Maybe one day, we won't even have to say
"I love you",
Because on that day, we wouldn't have to wonder
What the answer would be.

For once, I deserve that.

I love your animosity
The way you hold your amnesty
Higher than your sanity

But at the same time
You don't know you hurt people
But I guess you've never felt anything yourself.

I loved your generosity
Until I found out it was publicity
Oh,
The audacity!

Your sins are reckless
But I suppose family is timeless
I still love you..
Though you've made me heartless.

A lovely little poem
Written under a willow tree
The leaves tickling your soft head
Your skin
Caressed by the soft touch of it's soft sisters
Flowing down the branches
The pen runs smoothly
Across a perfect piece of paper
Resting blissfully on your favorite pair
Of memory-lane jeans.
You feel nostalgic as your poem is about someone you love
All the lovely times you've shared with them
Coming back to you under such a lovely tree
With your lovely head alive with emotions
What a lovely little poem you've written.

Disposable likes

Dispensable loves

I wish I could throw it all away.

Somebody tell all these recyclable guys
To step down from their endless pride
and just be sustainable- but reusable for later

Reducible heartbreaks

Reprized 'I love you's'

I wish there was a safe way to get rid of our minds.

Without polluting everything around our youth
Because none of us want our children knowing
That one day they might be susceptible to that typa thing...

The world would be such a better place if we didn't waste

Maybe if we all knew

Sometimes we need to dispose of things the right way;
Instead of putting in on top of another pile-

It would be.

growing up is
so inevitable
to the point where
you only notice it
in subtle moments.

like when you see
the once perfectly glazed over scenarios
that your parents once shielded
you from,
now graded and ugly, years of iron-curtained rust covering it whole, for the first time.

like going to highschool and realizing,
everything is not just a comfortable
sunday afternoon,
where we all love to learn and enjoy your individual merits;
but rather a concealed house fire that a stranger started at your bedroom window,
but calls your name from your front door, saying he’ll save you.

when i was young i wanted to be a singer-
to sing about my childish fantasies- where
the world was all colors, not just monochromatic, and the art of language was interchangeable beyond just its origin, but within its people.

in school we learn about the aspects of originality.
how conformity is better in some circumstances
and how nonconformity could have the same premise, if done the way we were taught.
take this test, take that.
effort becomes meaningless when there’s no rhyme to your reason.

we spew out information from the day we can retain it, then on to the day we decide to spew it on to our children.
regurgitating the ethical analytics of our 9-5 jobs or hobbies until we can go home, indulge our brains on our skin tight routines,


just so that we can do it all again in the morning.

this is not the direction that we were supposed to go in...
when the ****-sapiens started off as hunters and gathers
they realized they needed something easier.
they meant so that they’d have more time to live the lives they longed to.
they didn’t mean to make their lives so comfortable into which they cannot have one,
as we are not ourselves these days
without a phone in hand.

we only take things in that we want to hear.
we fill up the entirety of our minds with pointless ideologies
uncomical celebrities
mixed with discombobulated news stories
the phone between our fingers is so focused in on that we can’t even achieve a longer attention span than a goldfish.

we’ve cast a metal, deceiving hero’s cape over our backs, and a sneering mask over our eyes. the shoes we wear, coated in the the soot we didn’t see on our path,
and the gloves on our hands, in the words of Langston Hughes,
are giving absolutely no protection
against the bearing frost over our fields of opportunities.

how old we are, we could not say.
the days go by so fast when we know not
the aspects of our self preservation.

Climbed down from the pedestal,

Because I realized nobody wants to be up here-

Worked so hard for it....

But then again nobody knows what they sign up for.

My white gown is stained-

How could anyone do such a thing?

I guess nobody remembers the values of accusation
Because nobody was charged...

Sitting on the ground-
Warm like the memories I instill in this town;
I'll eat the fruits to remember what it all tasted like.
A taste of my own medicine.

It's kind of ironic how one thing can be taken for another

Maybe the pedestal after all was a pit of thorns..

Luckily I didn't stay long enough to get cut..

At the same time, the ground here is giving me a bruise!

I'll have to tell someone that one day.

I've been swimming all my life.

Treading; Floating.

Inside the infinity of all infinity pools.

Yet I never learned how to swim-


                                                                              Until I learned
                                                                              I could drown.

A story of a boy
Adolescent, flowering glass heart, surrounded by stone
Green-eyed misery that stayed in the back of my mind
When I didn't want him to
He was like that;
It only takes one kiss
From his tender lips:
The forest-eyed catastrophe engulfs you whole
Those emerald daggers sink into your throat
Trailing painfully down into the pit of your stomach
Then slither back up into your lungs,
At last, sinking your heart all the way down to the ground
The Earth-eyed nightmare seeps into your skin
Writhing its roots into your veins
Living there forever
Digging its branches into your bloodstream

Taking him out would tear you apart.

When I'm writing a poem
I feel at an all time high.
Beautiful words
On the rim of my crystal glass

I'm drunk

When I finish writing the best line the world has ever seen
I look over the mountains of emotion
Sad times
On the tip of a golden spoon

I'm intoxicated

Looking over my works at night
Reflecting
Reliving the memories that cloud each sentance
My life
On the tip of everyone's finger

I'm finally alive.

You know it's time to address your mental health,
When a smile is reassuring,
When "hello" is a digression,
And every stare is an evaluation.

You know it's time to confront your inner thoughts,
When you turn off the lights, and you give up.
When you dream of the possible, rather than what you actually want,
And the memories that made you nostalgic,
are now acidic in your heart.

White turns to black;
Sick turns to indisposed,
As the imposes turn to diagnoses.
I feel dizzy, my head is spinning-
In reality, I'm healthier than when I was winning.

It's just an imbalance, a lapse in my deception-
Little do I know, I've been blind for years.
Only when I opened my eyes, did I see-

The potential in my complexion.

The beat of my life abruptly was on pause;
For my passions were out of reach

I was out of service-

In the middle of nowhere;
Inside my mind.

A poet
A writer
   A singer
    A doctor
     An athlete
      An old soul
       A free spirit
       A quiet person
      A loud happy mouth
     An extrovert
    An outgoing girl
   A curious minded individual
  Someone I wish that was more confident

I am someone who is like a great Canadian Lake-
I'm quiet but open in physical form

But really, I'm a deep, dark but beautiful body of something amazing
Only the adventurists know me

I'm water and my blood makes me wine
Sweet but hard to swallow after a while
I am anything and everything in this world

Just let me.

Why am I so

Unbelievably unimportant to you?
Are my gestures of kindness
Too much for you?

Are my average amounts of attention
Towards you
Too Suffocating?

All I have done to and for you

Has been and will be in your best interest.

I've been with you
For ages now.

But I guess all time is limited
Because importance in the end

In all its importance-

Becomes unimportant.

Like water runs down a dry African River
My body takes in.
Feel the trickle down my empty stomach
Feel the cold fluid run down my cold and barren veins.

I've forgotten the feeling of that.

It felt amazing
I knew I would soon forget once more

Like water dripping onto a dry towel
My body desperately absorbed.
Feel the breath of fresh air
Feel the cool heaven on my throat.

I'll always forget this.

I like the way your laughter reaches further than the room you stand in

You're pretty.

The way your hair flows just as long as our conversations

You're  p r e t t y .

And when your eyes sparkle off of the lakes filled with your sympathy

You are PRETTY.

Especially the way your hand fits in mine

I hope we were pretty.