Look at me pretty eyes,
you do not notice im in dicise,
you quietly stare at skys,
in a dream like hase with love on rise

To watch,
Blood run through your veins and know,
You can stop it, quick or slow.
The lack of complications with which you could potentially be the murderer of your own breath.
And for what?
To prove to the world that you as many others have become vulnerable of your own mind?
Victimized by tragedies or scenarios of twisted "what if"s.
Of love found and lost,
Love from birth and ripped away from your heart like a knife to a steak.
To prove to yourself that you no longer must live in pain or fear.
Fear that consumes your every breath and thought that crosses your condemned mind.
You feel as though it will not get better than sitting in denial in a room full of voices begging for peace in a world that is not our own, voices crawling from no lips only from your own self inflicted insecurities.
But I,
I, am not here to let this monster of a thought consume you.
I, for one, am a stranger.
A stranger to you but not to this monster.
I too have battled the war between peace or life.
I too have swam accross the vast oceans of thoughts screaming to fulfill their wishes.
But I won this battle.
And I will be the knight to stand by your side when it is time to make the decision.
Between life, or a commitment of suicide.
I am the real you I am the one who lives the one who wants to make you smile and find love that will not betray you but for that you must trust me.
You must trust that there is in fact a light at the end of the tunnel as cliché as it may sound.
So listen to this last phrase for it will **** the voices of torture.

You are worth every breath and every tear, you are worth it all and more, be the knight and fight the battle, you will win, because we all believe in you.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros

All it took was one look
One memory
One flashback
One feeling
I'm back again
I remember it all.
The sadness
The irritability
The feeling of worthlessness
The feeling of impending death
The breakdown...
I'm back again.
And this time may be the last.

I need to escape the past,
But how do I escape that which has made me,
That which has developed me,
As a film,
Pressed with the stains of a forgotten time
But a remembered pain.

How do I forget the past I created and in turn used
To create me and my knowledge,
The power I use to circumnavigate
the treacherous waters of the present,
A present so wilted by my distaste and displeasure
One simply cannot fall away
And out of the depression the past creates.

How can something like the past, in the past
Be so current,
Ruling the present and so Forward
As to rule the future.

How can I escape the past,
The past which built me?
Is to ask how can the house escape its builder
When without it, I would suffer no grandeur
And experience no appreciation.

The past has built me,
Moulded me,
The faint moss washing over.

My past has led me to this present,
The present I am so grateful for,
How could I wish it undone?

I am not my past...
But I am my Past's creation,

Watching people perform
Their poetry
Is my favorite thing
Your sharp inhale
Breathing the words
Exhaling art
Your hands
Fly around the room
Grabbing thoughts
And pulling them together
Your body moves
To the rhythm you speak
You look like
You feel at peace
You look so at home
Even though your hands shake
Your voice quivers
I love watching you read
I love hearing your voice
It's smooth like honey
Addictive like nicotine
My favorite thing
Is seeing
Hearing
People perform their poetry