"Future"
The word alone is dangerous
So full of blown-out-candles,
Long-drowned purse-change,
And hundreds of thousands of shooting stars gone still.

I have so many hopes pricking into my skin
that I start to think I'm stitched of impossibilities

As if my soul was drenched in daydreams.

I laugh at the paradox that is "Future":
Today is yesterday's tomorrow,
And this poem, the past.

Every time you ask me who I want to be
In ten-times-three-six-five I sink
Deeper in my body
My skin tinged blue
Dye creeping from my chest to my toes
Dye for blood, blue for heartbeats.

Pardon me, Future? Who am I?
No answer.
Sorry, this poem is too
DIFFICULT
too STRENUOUS
to think about right now.

I know what's next: tergiversation.
Ask me who I was before

My poetry will be a compendium of a girl
I never knew.

Head in the clouds,
Feet on the ground,

No need for a mentality check
Comfortable in a blanket
and my anxiety wrap
I'm chill.
I'm good.

Got food for thought that'll last of days

A connectivity check
Emotions relaxed
breathing....in
smiling....out

Walking a steady pace
when "I hear a funky beat
The music is so heavy
It's going straight to my feet"

On this mellow brick road.

Not impassible.
Buried in snow, I
will bring back my moon.

There was no divination.
I still stand on my legs.

I will not talk about shadows
or any haloes. An urge to find
unknown. Touching the feet?
No I don't submit to body.

No rewards. No citation.
I will walk alone in the jungle
of prying eyes, in my
visible bones.

The flame-test. The truthless
blames, and a naked god.
I have come faraway from my childhood.

She wanted someone to save her.
She needed someone to save her.
What she failed to realize was that she could be her own hero.

how do you tell the difference
between
who you are trying to be
and
who you truly are?

Does life really have a purpose?
I always thought it was peace love and happiness.
I know it's cliche, but i think it's all about the experience.
Now i'm not so sure. Everything is more or less a blur.
As the days go by it seems what's left of me and my life is withering away.
And the happiness that's always been fleeting is making it's great escape.
I never thought i would grow so cold and bitter.
At least i managed to make it through winter.
I guess i never found the right people to open up to.
To try to be myself around.
What do you have if the seasons never allow you to grow?
What's left if you're always cast out on your own?
I know life isn't supposed to be easy, but it's also not supposed to constantly knock you down.
Maybe that's why no one ever sticks around.
I guess i was just never strong enough to experience the world alone.
But until i've reached my end i'll continue to find my home.