How is it,
That in the toughest concrete
The roses can blossom
But he has no potential in your eyes?

How is it,
That when my heart flutters and thumps
Like the beating drums and marching of the ants
I have to conceal my joy around you
Like makeup?

daddy’s little girl
The perfect little doll
How is it that I can be what you want
But what I yearn for,
Can’t have at all?

It’s this kind of mindset
That turns on the reset
Button
In my mind.
In my darkest hours the river of tears stream and I shake till
The hours pass
On the hourglass
Of my patience.

What I’d give to be
In a field of camellias
In the bitter frost
Of January
Looking into the crystal white
skies,
at least in the arms of the beloved..
whether in the eyes of you it is accepted or not.

from other perspectives,
it may not have been a nightmare,
no clowns nor ******
no frowns nor blood,
a different fear may have been present
but not one that any understood.

the room was brightly lit,
a stairwell encasing so high
you could feel the tension thick enough
to cut with blades.
I couldn't breathe.
my chest closed in tighter,
throat clasped.

as I began to escape
the never-ending
constantly winding,
bending
prison                      
there were other people in my presence
two,
perhaps three.
I couldn't tell if they were allies.

it was broad daylight,
the sun gleaming in the background and
yet
something was different.
the feeling,
the weather was so cold...
in my reality its bracing chill hits me.
mom,
sister,
young and old,
grandmother,
brother...
their stare,
their piercing eyes
looked right through me.
they gave me such judging eyes
but at the same time,
their smile was less comforting,
I was their pique of craziness
the epitome of insanity...
I needed help,
I need help.
a way out,
their smiles were that of concern and fear.

I had so many questions,
where was my father?
what did I do wrong?
why was I such a...
a basket case?
the mental disgrace
of the highest proportions
I awoke very scaredly,
frozen,
angry like a wounded animal
with a feeling in my chest
tighter in my chest than I could know.

in the cascades of rain
farthest from any distraction
away from the sight of any pain
cuddled with a good book of passion,
this is what escapism feels like.

sometimes being alone,
without a necessary rhyme or reason
maybe texting one person on the phone
who is easy to talk to isn't an act of treason
because that's what escapism means to me.

in a whole new state or place,
of forestry and oceanic breeze
over a life of hustle and bustle fast-paced
is where I desperately choose to be at ease
for that is my concept of escapism.

with an old fling from the past
in rhythm and in as tune as song and melody
united by a ring to last
for all time and for eternity.
for love in it of itself can be its own escapism with me.

tell me how it makes sense
to point fingers and say
that I'm the one in the wrong
yet you refuse to see the truth
past halfway?

it was a simple matter
the smell of soap and burning
steam
a single chore you asked of me.
it was my job, I should have done more
but did you once ask what happened before?

pain,
straining,
a lot more than mere complaining.
blood dripping,
*****-inducing,
felt like I was slowly losing
my mind.
I fell weak,
ill to the point
I could hardly speak
or eat
in the fight for consciousness
I admitted defeat.

the summer sun
burning into my skin,
sweat dripping
body shivering from the outside in.
I fell asleep
awoke in confusion
as to when my chore had been done.

next morning,
in a troubling dream
fighting monstrous beast
awakened
internal screams I stumble downstairs.
the dishes,
I see,
the soap and bubbles
visible
as though the dishes were unclean.

but I'm wrong you say,
that's alright
let me be the failed little doll
lazy, imperfect doll
a failed daddy's girl
for all I care.
perhaps I should curl up
in the strings of my own mind
with my chamomile tea and aspirin
looking towards the outside world
from within.

you think that blood runs thicker than water?
that the very existence of those
that saw you from your beginning blossom
to the dangerous, thorny rose
gains seniority?
ultimate priority
to cast away those
that represent
and support me?
you must be crazy
thoughts a bit lazy
outdated
like your mind simply entwined
with the demons combined
with the society's sedated
binds.
catch me if you can
while I swallow this ***,
as my heart pounds louder
then the beating drum
of my adrenaline
growing faster
causing chaos and disaster
that even you would run from.

let's see you try that hypocrisy ****
on me again.
see what'll happen
when the double standards
and expectations
the flawed doll's
liberations
are gonna catch up to you.
you won't be satisfied
til you see me most alive
in isolation.
away from the place
where my mentality curled up
tighter than the snake in a basket
like hell I'm gonna put my
freedom in a casket
to put up with the
dagger words you say.

I'm not your puppet
I'm my own master
and believe you me,
this hypocrisy
is breaking the chains
you've had on me
faster,
faster,
til you're gonna wish
my shine wasn't brighter
and your hold on my strings
was just a bit tighter.

softly the moon rests in the sky
it is still, yet wandering with its mysticism.
when you begin to lose yourself in its charm,
you find yourself enchanted by its light,
entranced by its beauty
and hypnotized by its glow.

such a feeling happened to me once before,
it was soft
warm,
the feeling in my veins
didn't rush,
they didn't ache or show pain.
for once, I welcomed the utter feeling of
being driven insane.

perhaps I was too young to call it so,
maybe it was too soon to say
that,
childish as it seems
I sort of liked him
just maybe not the same way.

clouds can change as feelings do right?
so puffy and unpredictable,
deceiving at first
simply the worst thing imaginable
when taken the wrong way.

I do like him, yet my heart craves for another
that iridescent moon
so hypnotic that it draws me closer
I watch our love grow like the cherry blossoms
in late spring.

this other interest, think of him as the little owl
so cute,
so full of mystery
it's interesting to see its development,
to watch it spread its wings.
you cannot help but wonder
and love from afar.

I sit in the sky's infinite pool
of stars and constellations,
with pure love for its wonder and beauty
complete adoration,
but sometimes, I must embrace
the warmth in my face
chills down my spine
with which the little owl makes my heart
sing its eternal tune
just one more time.

poems are written
as extensions of the mind
as expressions of the heart
not too far apart
from the spirit's mark.

poems are written
in the reflection of the writer
pay attention to their past
the clues they give
whether they live only to die
or truly lived.

poems are written
without plan or action
with passion and attraction
the very puppet master
strings its dolls close
beauty and rhythm the most
you pick up like the music's tempo
faster, faster.

poems are written
for people we love
written like constellations
internal sensations,
law of attraction
interactions foretold from the
stars above.

in poems,
they give us motivation beyond
earthly limitation once more
for just a moment
time stands still
and it is them that we suppress
our darkness for.