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.

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.

Time,

We take you for granted
we waste you away
we look up to you,
biting the ends of our pens in anticipation
waiting for the day to end
so we can rush to Love.

You take your toll on us
making us mature and wise
and our bones weak
until one day you turn our flesh to ash
how collateral you make us feel
with two words ending in sh.

We hate you,
we love you,
for we are in a constant battle with you.
You take and you give
Love and Death are your friend,
as your bargain with them
like the Three Fates of old.
The Greeks just had it wrong
what the Three Fates really were.

You've played your part through everything.
You lie in war,
you stall in Love,
you wait in Death.

But you are beautiful.
How odd a thing, you are,
truly.
We can't comprehend you,
and yet we try to figure you out
placing numbers to represent your name.

I thank you for what you've given me,
you've pained me
rushed me with a gentle shove through short hours
given me Time that I have and will waste away
but all along you have been a gift.

Time, I should spend more of you.

Spend you in Love,
cherish you in Death,
appreciate you in life.
I want to use you wisely,
a goal to eradicate the laziness from my bones.
So I pray to the Lord on high,
to push me.

Push me to go on adventures,
do what I love,
be with who I love,
hold my friends dear
and hold my family dearer.

Time, you gift of life,
a letter I write to you.
Don't let me forget it.

why do i dream of love
a man running to me
whispering, "it's you,
it’s always been you."

i crave it every waking second
in every sleeping dream
why can't i just find the person i was meant to see?
but patient i will be, anxiety will not define me

Perhaps we were, all of us,
tied by the invisible force
that connected and intertwined our lives together like
a multitude of tangled threads.
Perhaps suffering and loss and pain were inevitable after all in this world
as were hope and happiness and love.
Or perhaps it was only our decisions that really
mattered in the end,
the choices that could hurt and heal.
The point between breaking and broken.

Here I am
trying to let you go
but you've never been closer.

We itch and growl
'Oh the pain is too much,
why can't it just end?'

But why don't we look towards the things more true than we will ever know?

The light within the sun
the love we hold dearly
the comforts of home
for if more people cared less of the pleasures
and more of their comforts
the world would indeed be a much lovelier place
full of the hope and love we crave
and carve our poetry into today.

It's just waiting.
waiting for you to take it
to hold it dear
against your beating heart
your thriving soul
for that is the truth that lies behind our shadow covered walls we build
the safe protection that is really our downfall.

Hold onto family, hopes and dreams
do not give up dear friend
let go of the hardships and struggle
lay it all down
for if you truly want peace
you'll stop running from it
and turn to Him.

a crowded hallway
music pounds through my ears
your laughter aches in yours
and when we pass by
our eyes lock
and it’s as if some unknowable force has sewn my lips together
something in my eyes ache
begging, reaching
desperate to hear you call my name
and sometimes i think
you want this too

you've Forgotten what it means to be you, it's all about the social hierarchy
you're Adamant on who you think you are, locked in a prison Society keeps under lock and key
you Keep telling yourself that you're individualistic but one look at you and you're just like the rest
and Everything about you is not you, but some Forgotten Adamant machine Kept by Society while She laughs in your face, for you my dear, were shaped by She, and i no longer know who you to be

I ditched my ukulele to go play by the sea
it was there that I'd thought you'd be
only waiting for me,
but you were late
just as you always are.
You're such a funny thing
full of quirks and meaningful laughter.
Oh, to what joy you bring me
it could fill up the whole sea.
In those days when we would lay be the shore,
sand between our toes and hope in our eyes,
it's there that we stayed and buried our hearts.
I loved you for who you were,
those deep, dangerous waters that filled your heart that once filled mine,
I knew it all to well,
and still I loved you, there by the sea.
The waves that seemed to crash against you,
and you struggled,
just gasping for one more breath of air,
and I still loved you.
I love you despite the fact that you despise your own heart,
but over time you let me in,
you showed me your own ocean of self-hate and hurt,
the demons disguised as barnacles that clung to your skin,
the sweet ocean air that filled your lungs and breathed your words,
and I didn't leave you,
and the memories we share won't leave you either.
It's here that you and I often lie,
and though one day we may die,
at least I ditched my ukulele to go play by the sea,
with just you and me.

find the fall leaves,
the whistling wind,
and the tickling trees,
the warm brewed coffee that has a pleasant sting to your fingertips,
the enlarged sweaters that's sleeves engulf the palms of anyone who cares to throw them on,
the scarves and mittens,
the bats and kittens,
the delightful treats that consist of pumpkin and cinnamon and a great deal of wonderful things all come swirling together.
it may not be the time of which i was born,
but it is the time where you'll find me
just as me,
laying in a scarf and oversized sweater, full with homely foods and steamed coffee, toes curled with warm socks.
there's no place i'd rather be,
than a large oak tree,
just like this,
in the fall.

I don't think people realize how much I cry.
I cry over people,
I cry over feelings and emotions,
I cry over beautifully crafted films and wonderfully drafted pieces of music,
I cry over poems and long-hand written letters and the realistic qualities human hearts can have.
I cry over a lot stupid things.
I cry a lot, to be honest.
I've probably cried over you, too.

I love to write, write poetry, heck I'm even writing a book that will probably never be published and yet I dream for it.
I love to blare music and dance around in my bedroom even though I know I probably look stupid,
I love to watch movies that scare my mom and sisters, but thrill my father and I,
I love to take unnecessary car rides with my sisters and be goofs while music that is foreign to me pounds through the speakers,
I love to eat a whole pint of ice cream, even when I know it's going to make me so sick, but hey, it's worth it,
I love to lay in bed and night and just let my mind wander into the unknown, strange ideas forming in my head,
I love that I'm weird and quirky, and I love that I have a really weird dorky laugh,
I love that I can be extroverted but hey, I'm also an introvert so that makes me one of those special ambiverts, right?
I love going to concerts and jumping around and being crazy even though that really never happens, and now that I think about it, it only happens at church camp,
I love how I don't really do much, and yet I do everything all at once,
I love that I have dimples, especially because I have two,
I love the feeling of my friends who are all taller than me, just wrapping me up in their arms and hugging me,
I love to watch the sunrise, even if I'm a night owl, and I rarely see it anyways, but heck, it's beautiful and I can love that,
I love finding a new bookstore, the smell of fresh books or the scent of an ancient bound spine,
I love to dance around lazily, even if I probably look stupid, I'm in love with the fact that someone will love that about me one day,
I love to love
and I love to be happy.

But you know,
sometimes I feel so alienated,
so human.  
But all around me are faces that blur together in a line that goes down the same route of feigning whom they really are,
I've been lied to and lied about,
I see the seed of gossip and it's destruction in the form of a short two words,
I see the way the girls all fawn over the same guys, the one who destroy and break who they could be,
I see the way people fight for what they think is love and freedom but they're just pushing themselves down with the lie that their skin color makes them racist and they hate themselves for it,
I hate the way the world tells us to be,
I hate how it laughs in our faces, how all we do is try to please others and then begin to lose ourselves in favor of them.
I hate myself when I too try to be like everyone else,
I hate when I become vain or insecure, how sometimes I don't just love me for me,
I hate how judgmental I get because, hey, she said it so it must be true,
I hate how everyone replies with the same things, thinking their problems are exactly the same and can be solved equally, but they can't because they're not.

I hate this ideal of sameness,
this ideal of equality,
because if we're equal,
than doesn't that make us the same?
And doesn't that make us not us?
It's strange that we fight for everyone to have the same rights,
and yet scream for everyone to be individualistic when we can't even be real ourselves.

We're fighting for and against sameness all at once.
We're individuals,
we're people,
we're dying
and it's all because of sameness.

Where did you go Individuality?
Have you hidden underneath the deepest sea?
Do you float above the highest peak?
Maybe you've left our atmosphere,
reaching for the stars where they twinkle in your light.
But if you're really gone,
than is anyone real anymore?

all the words i’ve let dry on my tongue
now like blood underneath my fingernails
from the unseen wounds i’ve dug too deeply
from looking too harshly
in hopes that one day
you’d finally see me
i just wish
god, please just see me
i can’t fall back into you
only to keep falling
ultimately to my raw and horrid destruction
because you aren’t even there at all
to push me back up when i fall

what happened to ink on parchment
pen on paper
long-hand love letters sent with anxious glances
hopes and prayers that the postmen would be there soon
that my letter would arrive safely to you

one day i wait, outside the door
looking to the postman
"a letter for me?"
"no," he says,
"just some bills for he."
days turn to months as my heart begins to crack
like old parchment paper
torn through the back

as years go by, i flip back through the memories
with tears in my eyes
remembering the old days
when love letters passed by

i miss my love letters, to you i would send
for now all we send is a vague text message
jagged and cruel, for how truly impersonal they are
unlike long-hand love letters
to you i would send
with warmth in my heart
and love in my hands
just waiting for you to open
what is sealed within a man

my words seem to be so tragic
in my heart i’m screaming
in my mind i’m crying out
and my face is just complacent, smiling
never truly satisfied

oh, please,
escape my mind
take away the niche you left in my heart
let the words you once left in my wake
dry in your mouth
leave my heart
for it no longer can house your love
“ you’re breaking my heart. “

"Do you see that!?" He cried to me. "The sun and everything that is bright is you." A slender finger pointed to the sunlight pouring in softly from the drawn curtain that separated us. "And all this darkness, that is me." He said, standing in shadow. "We briefly touch but we can't be one." How could he, my love, think of me so? "Oh no.. How very wrong you are. For I am the light, and you are the dark, but we mold into one, the grey, the inbetween, the thriving storm. A shaken storm of dark cloud and illuminated thunder. That is what we are, my darling. Nothing more, nothing less. And I think that's okay."

we’re all just souls
passing by one another like flames licking a candle stick
only to continually sink down to our ends
together

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.

A poem to you
my dear sweet friend
with golden waves
such as sunlight sea
and bright rays of beauty

Thou art the fairest
The kindest, the sweetest
like honey against the tongue
joyous laughter like a melody newly played
thank you for our friendship

I will cherish our memories
and hope to see you soon
for I already miss the little sunshine
I had gotten from you

So, a poem to you
my dear sweet friend
remember how loved you are
how important you are to this world
and that your words will live on
your gentle soul
and your kind eyes
for the friendship you have given was enough to light our whole atmosphere
every star, sun and moon envious of your brilliant light
that brief, sweet sunrise you shared with me.

"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."

Don't you get tired of them,
How they tell you how to be
Shoving their artificial feelings down your throat,
Forcing charlatan words into your soul,
Cause baby, say all the words in your head
Speak reality versus their facade of life
For they know nothing,
They think they know you,
but let's tell them the truth:
Did they ever know you in the first place?

poetry was destroyed
when my words were used against me
despite not wanting to believe
they were really true
here’s my clapback
here’s my call
my words are my weapons
and you can’t use them against me any longer
my life isn’t a love story
my poetry isn’t a love song
it’s a life
it’s a reckoning

why is it i want to swim within the darkness?
to feel it’s black threads run through my fingers
it’s ebony ribbons curl around my being
your blue eyes are pools of the darkness, too
and i think i’ve just leapt in
only to learn what’s its like to be with you