there's a spark where you left me and a spark where you lie
a crackling force of thunder and storm
and a girl at the end of it
a wild force to be reckoned with
i was the wild girl in the middle of the storm
the one you couldn't control
the one who fell straight into your arms
as the wind whipped around us both
and you let me run wild
and each night you'd come to me
that force you reckoned with,
the force you fell towards
that wild beauty,
you just couldn't deny.

"hey, how are you?"
"oh, just tired."

that what we all say.
it's the same old boring conversations,
the same useless, emptied words,
that we're always listening to.
and we have the audacity to wonder why so many kids are killing themselves,
when they're the ones who had said the same blatant words,
and they've bottled their feelings in hundreds upon thousands of cellars,
they had plastered on their fake smiles
until they looked around,
sick of what they saw,
tired of it all.
because they didn't want it.
because they wanted more.
they wanted what we couldn't see.
individuality.

all we saw were more hollow faces.

they tell you what you can and can't be,
that you can't be the doctor,
you can't run your own business,
that you'll never make any music good enough for anybody important,
you won't make any film worth watching.
we retaliate, "no, i am who i am
and who I strive to be"
but that's just what we think,
our exteriors scream with falsity,
we bleed fake smiles
and we continue on,
pushed and beaten around
and pretend like it's nothing
as we bottle up who we truly are,
tighten our smiles,
paint on masks of indifference,
while we slowly barge the way for freedom
becoming more like them,
and less like us,
until we completely lose who we really are
and we're left with the vacant bodies
that are too drunk on what society says
to realize that we aren't who we really are.

we're the dawn of the same old ages,
each still going out and getting drunk
thinking it's cool to be just like everyone else,
they all say, "oh you're so special",
"you're like nobody i've ever met"
but they're all the same kids,
ready with the arsenal of sin society gives them.
the same gossip.
the same lies.
we all say,
"same!"
"me."
but is that really the veracity of it all?
we aren't the same,
but we've made ourselves that way by our words and our actions.
we watch films over bullying that make us cry while we watch actors bleed,
and we say, "oh that's so terrible,
i'd never bully."
but we do!
that's all we do!
have we really become so blind that we can't see past our own terrible selves?
we constantly rip each other apart with sticks disguised as jokes,
gossip on our lips as we throw our stones.
we stand up for what we believe to be right,
and then we constantly squander over who's really got it figured out,
but then we turn around and say things that aren't true,
we break people apart just because we don't agree with them,
and why?
because they aren't you.

they say "be yourself",
but the reality of it all is what they mean:
"be like us, or you aren't us,
because if you aren't us,
then you're nothing."
and what better way to strike the fear of being the outsider,
than to threaten depression,
loneliness,
hurt?
the fear of being nothing?
this is the foundation of society,
we keep saying that we're the change,
but really,
we're just machines,
programmed to be the same thing,
doing the same old ***** deeds,
and when one malfunctions,
we make an example of them by making them self-destruct,
and what do we do but mourn the lost, broken machine
that we taunted and tainted them to be.
because being yourself is dangerous,
so it's better to just be fake, right?

"same."

I have always accepted you.
I have watched you take and take and take.
You've taken my family,
hell, you've even taken friends.
Suicide. Cancer. Disability. Age of Old.
I've seen it all.

I've seen you in the pain,
the Love that is overwhelming as people weep over you.
Once have I cried because of you.
One funeral.
A boy, my age, murdered by his own hand.
A classmate. A friend. Dead.

And I watched, as people wept at his funeral,
and how easy it was to pick out false Love.
How untrue they were.

You take, and you hurt, dear Death.
But you show the reality,
our truest forms,
our deepest souls,
the Love buried deep down,
how real you make us.

But I see you,
even in things you haven't yet taken.

I see you in the trees,
as they turn to feathery golds and crimsons, oranges crisped as they crunch underneath our toes.

I see you in the morning,
as birds flutter amongst my window
fettering amongst the trees.

I see you in the river,
horses that run rampant across my memory,
as I long to just run away and ride,
to feel the wind rush through the curls upon my brow.

I see you in my mother's eyes,
in her laughter and smile.
Her eyes when she is pained, how hurt she has been, or as she dawns things anew,
or when she cries of the loss she has grieved.
Giggles and joy erupt from her lips, as she dawns on the silly things her father did.
The curve of her lips, as she remembers her past, what Time has given her and what has passed.
Oh how she looks of her parents,
how kind I remember them,
always full of Love, even after I have seen them leave, depart the land of the living and go onto the gates of Heaven.

For they live in memory,
and that is the gift you have given.
You have given us peace and memory,
and for that I thank you.
Most are angered by your name, oh Death,
but I?

I am not afraid for you,
and rather,
I welcome you.
Take me when you will.
I'll gladly take your hand.
I thank Time for what he has given me and countless others,
but you, I thank for the bargain of Time you have given each of us.

It is a treasure,
the memories we are able to hold dear
and the peace we don't have to fear
when we take your wrinkled hand,
and step into you fully,
without a pain left to feel,
because that pain is left in our world
as we step onto the floor of Heaven
and gaze upon the greatest sight of all.

Perhaps we as humans need to stop seeing you as we want to see you
but to see what's in you truly;
the collateral beauty of it all.

My Woman
the more
I try to understand,
the more
she fall into myth..
a tiredness in understanding
a clear confirmation
You never going to
hear the bell... that
you have understood her..

How do I write to you?
You're the fabric of life,
you've screamed it throughout all history
through every waking thing
through every collapse and creation,
you are there.

At times you are a ghost,
appearing but not being.
That longing feeling for you
everyone gains at least once in their lifetime.
I believe we as poets feel it the most,
the ones with too many words
the ones that ache the most.
For you are our muse
and often aren't even there.

I hear you in the music that plays against my ears,
the sweet strum of his voice, as he sings to me.
The longing I feel to have his hands on my hips,
as we sway across the kitchen
with Marvin Gaye in the background,
as he hums the tune against my scalp.

You're there in my sisters smile,
the glow in her cheeks that arose when he finally said,
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
and for almost three months, I have never seen my sister ever so beautiful as you have made her.

I feel you in the atmosphere of a Saturday morning
spent with groggy eyes,
but with full hearts,
as my sisters and I jump into our parents four poster bed
excitement in our eyes
and You in our hearts
as laughter erupts from all our throats.

I see you in the rage of couples,
as they disagree on the trivial things,
and don't just focus on what brought them together;
You.

Love you are impractically in everything.

I feel you in the tears I've cried,
when I remember my grandma and papa,
oh, how they used to be my everything.

I remember how empty you made me feel when I was a little eleven year old girl,
a whole new world set before me,
and it seems I took a wrong turn,
tumbling down a rabbit hole of depression.
I tried to claw my way out,
but I just couldn't
until you led me to the greatest love I'll ever know,
the only One who will never forsake me.

The frustration I felt when I first had my heart broken
how he had played my heart, twirled it across an empty universe,
before tossing me into that black abyss of loneliness,
forcing me into one the darkest of solitudes.
I'd given away too much of who I was
and that memory will forever leave me guarded.

You led me to one perfect boy,
one who soon became my world,
but you placed fear in my heart and whispered,
"Time says you're not yet ready, nor is he. Just wait a little longer for me.
Focus on me, but in different forms.
Focus on Him,
focus on your words,
I'll give them to you,
you need only ask."

And I have.
I still await the man you'll present to me,
the man I hope will be too engaged on Him
that He will have to whisper in his ear and say,
"That's her.
Get up, go my son."
He will be the one, who will break down the unbreakable walls around my heart,
because the only one I've let in through those walls it seems
is the He who created me.

And I'll be patient.
I will wait for him, because I know that whomever he is,
and wherever he may be,
he and I were predestined.
Two stars, destined to crash into each other,
creating such a Love that it is the brightest anyone had seen.

I feel you in the way I'll run
when we have waited long days
and wasted nights away from each other,
and he'll spin me and around for forever,
and then keep holding me close,
sighing as he breaths me in,
and I breathe in he,
his head atop my brown bush of curls,
a hand around my waist
another tied into my hair
while both my arms are clinging to him
as if he's a cliff,
and I'm going to slip and fall
and lose him.

I don't need to fawn over the young boys that pass me by,
barley giving me a second glance,
because one day he'll be there,
no longer a small boy,
but a man of God
and our Love story will be devotedly imperfect,
for if it were perfect,
our story would go nowhere,
for we would be stuck in Time,
just awaiting Death,
and not experiencing you,
Love,
which is in everything.

You are a collateral beauty, Love,
perfectly imperfect,
unchangeable,
just as you should be.

You were in my pain,
in my suffering,
but oh Love,
you pushed me the way I needed to go.
Onto your path of light,
towards the Kingdom,
through the people I've encountered,
through the words I've read,
through every feeling I've felt at once.
You are there.
You still are.

You always be.
And still you will be,
the only feeling we will need in our days on high,
upon the highest of clouds,
our fingers brushing the stars,
as we now can touch the cosmos
for you're all we need in Him.