That’s the complication of staying up at these early hours of the morning.
These early hours are when your mind is most naked, when your heart is bare, and your body numb. You hear the rain pouring down, and you look outside your window, and stare at the droplets falling, you think about what It must feel like to drown in the inescapable water, it quenches your thirst yes, but at some point you would have enough of the water coming down on you. There’s a point where the water fills your intestines, it soaks every part of you until your practically drowning. But then the rain starts to fade, and all you hear are the drops falling from the roof onto the cement. You watch slowly in those milliseconds from the time the drop falls to the cement, and the cement consuming the drop, until it’s practically non - existent. And in a short amount time, the whole sound of rain becomes non - existent to a point where you forget that it rained, and the only evidence left is the dark, grey sky above, that within time will fade as well.

m.d.

I never liked crying in public. Matter of fact, I dread crying in public. Because to me personally, crying means attention craving and weakness. Two of the things I wish to not have in my fragile bones. But today, I couldn’t help but cry; nothing could describe the hurt I felt inside. Those tears were more than tears, they were my months of hard work, they were the nights I spent home studying when I could be out having fun, they were my spring break and all the time I spent hidden in my house, they were everything I gave up. And now the feeling left inside me is more hurt and loneliness. I sit in my room on this Friday night, alone. I drown out my pain with the blasting music coming from my laptop. I turn up the sound to the maximum and have the sound bounce in my eardrum.
Thump,
Thump,
Thump.

My eardrums yell at me to turn the noise down, but what I rather fight is the feeling inside of me, the devil soaring in my soul.

You know how you can really determine good friends?
The times when you’re crying your eyes out and you want someone.
You go through your contacts figuring out whose gonna actually care for you.
You scroll down looking at all the names and for a millisecond your mind checks them off them one by one.

Until you get to the end of your contacts and realized none of them has the time for you.

****.

I let the music reach the limits of the stereo until I can practically hear thumping in my eardrums. Does it make me reckless? I hope. Cause I never done anything reckless in my life, so this must make me a bad- ***.  HA! I am so bad I will keep blasting my music up to a point where I lose my hearing.  If I cannot hear, I cannot listen to the words I have been petrified to attend to, the truth.  

Don’t you ever have those times when you picture yourself losing it? You picture yourself throwing glass bottles at your bedroom floors? You see yourself throwing your phone as if all the memory of the phone meant nothing?  You get so angry, so furious; you don’t know what to do. You look at your swollen face in the mirror and you cry, because you know that it’s Friday night, and everyone but you is having a blast, and your sitting in your room, crying wishing you could be in anyone else’s shoes but your own. ****, how did I get like this? Maybe it’s my fault for isolating myself to a point where I was my own best friend.

Have you ever been in love?
I know it’s an utterly ridiculous question, but it makes you think doesn’t it?
Have you ever stayed up till the dead of dawn talking to someone about nonsense?
Wake up to the thought of them, even when it seems hard to get out of bed?
Cried your eyes out about meaningless problems that will one day past, but have them be the light that guides you out of the glum tunnel?
Laughed for no reason just because it seems like a dream to be in love and have someone actually feel the same back?
Not care what others thought about who you love, and at the end of the day stand up for who you are and what you believe in?
Be oblivious to the past that lingers in the depths of them, because what mattered was not in the past but in the present?
Be struck with the fact that for once in your life, you were genuinely content.

m.d.

I write on anything.
It's an obsession.
I look around and I dig deep into my thoughts.
I write and pour my thoughts on cheap, crumpled pieces of paper.
Then throw it away.
Along with my past.

m.d.

From the peckish flow of pollen perusing in the air, that irrevocably makes my reoccurring allergies flame up, permitting my nose to looking like a cherry tomato.
From the awakening of blossoms omitting the sweet smelling fervor of my senses. From the warmth of the weather making my heart feel festive and splendid enlightening my dreams, my thoughts, and my aspirations molding me in to a blooming, arcadian blossom.
From the dandy breeze making my hair go in all sorts of directions.
From the waves of all these winsome works of nature renewing as a sign of “new life.”
From the carelessness of our being, because what comes out of a cold, tepid, bleak winter is none another than the effulgent, heavenly, lush aura within us.
  From the amicable walks and chats with open – minded acquaintances and the urgency to thrive in these unpredictable months coming.
From the change from hot, crisp coffee and lattes to the soothing, teeming tones of tea.
Spring is here,
Spring is awakened.
And so am I.

- m.d.

I rather sit in a coffee shop in a small town, and sip on my latte and look at the pretty people walking by.
I rather dance in the rain with my friends then hide out from one of the simplest pleasures of life.
I rather have a deep conversation with someone about life, death and the passion that lie with themselves.
I rather go to a little joint to see a up and coming band, because I know one day this band is going to make it big.
I rather get roses on random days, than get roses on the one day of the year that people actually care.
I rather sit in my room at 2 am in the morning burning candles and drinking tea and reminiscing on my life.
I rather be alone sometimes, and not be bothered.
I rather be well known for the poems I write, the books I publish, the opinions I produce, and the mind behind it all.
I rather have something to live for, something to give me a purpose to breathe air, I rather have that reason be myself, because what lies ahead of me is hope for a tomorrow.

Secret talks, Late night walks
Glistening eyes, Cute lullabies
Blushing cheeks, the knees going weak
Hearts beating fast,
Embracing one another like it's the last
Watchful stares, walking by without a care
The smell of sweet cologne, the melting of ice cream cones
Record stores, the books scattered on the floor
The sunsets in the evening, the sun rising in the morning
Holding hands, designer brands
The long lunch lines, the expensive traffic fines
The first kiss, the suspenseful bliss

m.d.