You talk of the future,
One of picketed fence dreams
With little ones running
Giggling
To olden days
Wooden rocking chairs
And paired glasses
of dentures.

And yet, you refuse to grow up.

You listen to the spills
Of a woman,
Mentally further
In her years
Pour her heart
Mop up her insecurities
Dripping with love

And yet, such trivial matters are the topic of discussion.

Wake up,
You arrogant, pretentious
Peter Pan.
Can you simply
Smell the roses
Of responsibility
Drink from fountains
Of dignity,
Feel the air of change
Brushing through coiled,
Unkempt hair locks?

And yet, you still ignore all the signs.

Break the
Looking glass
Where you fall into
A sense of dependency
Stand tall
Like trees packed with
Experience.
Wisdom.
The answers lie
Deep in
The core of all
Curiosities:
Research.

And yet, you remain still, shocked that such words could slip through my tongue.

And yet you find me ******
And yet you find me childish over
Petty
Playful
Concealed matters to shield you from the
Dragon’s breath
For you dear Pan,
Would be smoldered in its flames.

And yet, you feel like Neverland’s missing member,
So painfully
Ripped
From your true home.
Cursed
To live out your days
As an adult.
Pulled away from the
Warm blanket
That mommy
And daddy so carefully
Have woven for you
To remain in.

Poor, poor Peter Pan,
The alarm clock
Has been ringing
For some time.

And yet, there no longer holds a “snooze” button.

I dream of freedom,
surrounded by
fresh air
and romance.
A place unlike any other,
one where the evils
of this world:
stress
worry
financial ruin
is but a memory
washed away.

I long for nights
not plagued by
dreams of failure,
ones that seem so real
I question if I'd ever wake up.

I crave the will to breathe
without wonder of what
I need to sacrifice to
simply
survive
next week.

I wish to remain a grown woman,
with the responsibility,
care-free, yet
stability of a
young child.
I wish to soar among the clouds
without worry
of smashing
amongst the pavement.

this,
however
is my conflict.
I can almost
touch the wisps
of the sky,
yet here I remain
on the ground.
the gravity,
slowly pulling me further
from them.
so big,
pure white,
as though drained
of darkness
and negativity.

please,
if nothing more,
let me hold on just a moment
longer
so that I may join them.

see what I see,
walk in my shoes.
go down the paths I do
when the road winds
in forever opposite
directions.

feel what I feel,
embrace the earth,
the winds,
the simple touch
of water upon
my skin.
let the feelings I feel,
pain,
restriction,
joy,
pleasure,
and despair.
let them sink beneath
the skin,
into the chill
of my veins
the individual
cells connecting the tip
of my fingers
to your very touch.

go back to the second line
of the first verse:
walk
in
my
shoes.
how can you not see
the flowers
ceasing to exist
without the help of the
lowly bumblebee?
how can my heart
not flutter without your
existent touch?

but you don't see what I see,
you're not feeling what I'm feeling,
you say you care about the bumblebee
when its your flowers in the garden.
so my flowers sit,
alone,
wilted and waterless
in an unattended garden.
with me in the middle,
kneeled down,
the autumn chill
blowing us all away.

order.
I crave order,
the need to straighten
the crooked paintings on the walls
the urge to going for a walk
breathing in the air
of today,
looking back from the mistakes
the wrong turns
the wrong words of yesterday
and simply exist.

i want life,
one that is messy
but can be vacuumed away
with conversations and watching sitcoms
just to see our envelopes of stress
the complications of work life
unfold behind locked doors and dimmed
lights.

I want an "us."
A genuine "us,"
where every smile is authentic
not just a cover for words that
could have been left unsaid
where tears have not been blotted away
with an expensive concealer
and cheap wine.
I want people to look, not stare.
I don't want them to be "us"
but to look at themselves and
see the difference.

self-love,
the kind where
you see, in real time
not locked on a social media
screen.
the one where waking up
is an embrace of gratefulness
and not a separation
from woman and bed.
the one where my feelings,
my intense emotions
can be harnessed into
fitness centers
and highly caffeinated teas.

I imagine,
in the dead of night
in my dreams
or simply on a walk home
from work... you.
I imagine how we blossom from this
how we sit quietly in a lit room
hair tousled
glasses firmly against my nose
as we discuss our monthly budget,
what we did at work today
watch our comfort show
as the time passes
before we sleep.
I imagine,
every day
something as simple
as the air we breathe
in a life we choose,
together.

hold me.
the way you do a teddy bear,
fill my eyes with childlike
wonder
the purest content
without explanation.
squeeze me,
as you look into my eyes
and say
but three words:
"i love you"

keep me.
the way you do a teddy bear,
put me on the highest shelf
admire the way
buttons simply exist
on my shirt.
go on about your day
thinking of me
with the intent
of wanting our eyes
to meet
yet again.

I cannot
make the clouds push away the rain.
I am not responsible for the sun that shines
afterwards.
I am human,
I do not command the tides and winds
to bring fresh flowers in spring.

I cannot
draw the arrows towards the lovers
nor will I intervene in their paths.
I will not push the heavens together
the way the myths once did before.
I should not be able to feel disdain
as easily as I am to breathe.

I cannot,
no,
I will not
force you to love me.
I am not able
to lock my heart
in a display case
and open it
when convenient.

what I am,
dear reader
and what I can be
is a lover.
I can be a wife.
I can be what you desire
even if the picture
is not perfectly mirrored.

what I will be,
dear reader
is patient.
still.
like the cascades
of color
in Renaissance paintings.

I am a good person,
a loving woman
and a patient one.

though the thought
the mere mention
of putting what I want
and what you want
in a jar,
scrambled together
bobbing for the apples
of compromise
makes me feel cold
and incapable of
understanding,
I can do it,
dear reader.

so I draw myself back,
to the "I cannot"
one last time
and say in one
breath:
"I cannot get lost in myself."

better lock your doors
past the vibrated floors
of an argument gone wrong in bed
journey into the world
of the introverted bird
for some things are better left
unsaid.

unleashing your anger
piled into relationship danger
for not slipping the lock and key
best to lock it up tight
for things unsaid just might
be better to swallow down
in liquor and internal winery.

partake in these writings
where irritation comes biting
like fire ants in the summer breeze
"better left unsaid" flows with ease
another glass til it becomes more exciting.

just like that you're officially sunk
reserved, considerate and possibly drunk
probably in that same old bed
thinking of which book is unread,
still pondering the possibility
that there's a rule so silly
as
"better left unsaid."

hallways,
fluorescent lights
the faint scent
of
latex gloves and
sheer nightgowns.
you stand there,
slowly breathing
in rhythm with
the ticking
clock.
he holds your hand,
the very touch
the transfer of
warmth
between your fingers.
you feel,
somewhat relieved
like if this were meant
to
simply
happen
you were glad
he was there.

didn't you always want this?
to be swaddled with
twinkling toes
and miniature socks?
was it not you
who felt the movement
and prayed for the unexpected?

the results aren't
even the hardest
part.
it is the waiting,
the absorbing
the acceptance
the denial,
it is the
in-between
yet also
the after.

as the blood
swims through
the plastic tube,
the liquified
decision
right there
in crimson red,
waiting to tell,
wanting to whisper
"your life may change,"
you look through
memories,
moments,
like catalogs
in magazines.

what happens next?
no one knows,
except the specimen
painted
masqueraded
in crimson red.

there are three
things,
concepts,
in this changing world
that make life
interesting:
roses,
thorns
everything in between.

roses,
the texture
against painted
hands.
blurry vision
seeing nothing
but the sweet
alluring smell
of a simple rose.
life is good,
for the most part
everything else
anything else
fades into the blur
of naivety.

thorns,
the nature
of which they *****
pick,
control your mind
in the way it was seen.
you finger is touched,
the skin breaks
you bleed,
not in the normal sense
there's no red
no liquid
no pain,
not until you begin
to bleed again.
life, is messy
it's unpredictable
it's still beauty
yet not the kind
you want to stop
and stare.

and then,
knowing this,
taking this in
breathing it in
how do you handle
the "in-between?"

in the same way
that birds travel south
abandoning reason,
intuition,
where it's warm
you choose to escape.

you wait til the air is crisp
enough to cut
tension,
you wait until the moments
are still
and you sink into the crowd
your shadow blends
with the colors of night.

in one swift breath
your troubles are gone
for the moment
anyways
and you seem to forget
those,
simple things
that could snap
reality back in its place.

what about me?
am I not enough
to take your personal
pains,
your burdens
and give you a place
no,
a moment of peace?
does it not take but a moment
to simply breathe,
the air in your lungs
passing through you
in such a way
that you don't feel
threatened
anxious
to simply breathe?

from the moment,
such bright brown eyes
opened to view the world,
illness
acted as a close
companion.

she spent her days
in bright colored beds,
on tissue papered
chairs and attached
to medications,
respirators,
inhalers
icky cough syrup
and smeared
substances
with traces of
mint.

every school year,
it was a contest,
a game she often played
how many times
could she stay away?

when would the sickness
be the fool
and not the ruler?
when could she call the shots
instead of taking injections
to fight its virulent grip?

even as she grew older,
her skin grew colder,
the very blood in her veins
rejected her so,
in such a way
that summers were glacial
and her winters were
unbearable.
it felt as though death were a witness
constantly knocking at her door.

the pleasures of hunger,
were only a reminder
that food was a mere match
to the flames of discomfort.
how she slept at night,
knowing her loved ones
constant in a state of fright
that she may not wake up
one day from her slumber,
is one of the questions
with no apparent answer.

a bottle to aid in sleep,
a pill to survive the day,
a cup of tea to last the night
and tears wiped away,
how the little girl inside
wished to be in good health,
instead of sitting here,
curled up against the comfort of plush
pouring words into paper,
hoping for a way out of herself.

slower.
slower.
you're going too fast.
clash into me,
crash upon my lips.
go slow.
go steady
like the tortoise
I cannot bear
the speed,
the feeling
fleeting,
running like the pesky hare.

look at me.
lose yourself in my glance.
tease me.
play me like violin
strings.
use your bow,
make me bow,
don't surrender
without a fight.

let me feel the tension,
thickening through you
like clogged arteries.
stop my heart,
make me want to spill
my secrets
fears
darkest desires
in the light of moon.

Give me what I want…
in tiny,
bite-sized
increments.
Make my heart race.
Let its pulse
pound
catching my breath
as the sheets
catch your beads
of sweat.
Let me submit
to
your every desire.
slowly,
ever so slowly...
fulfill mine.

My hands,
should they tremble.
should I resist
your flame against
mine,
make it
a
sin.
Let your touch turn
my spine
into chilled bones and tremors.

give me a reason
to leave
reasoning
behind.
let your soul
pressed
in the heat of mine
be that of dancers.

let our rhythm and music
be the tempo of movement.
make symphonies
of cacophonous
sounds,
cries,
ones I can
no longer hold.

slow.
slower.
let me feel all
that the groove
can offer.
let your
forbidden
lips
open
the gates
to no return.

let my secret be
that I feel this way.
that my lips
remained sealed,
my soul silenced
and the flame in
a glass jar,
burning bright.
waiting,
shaking
flickering
for the glass to break.

break the glass
take me.
have me.
walk through
the rose petaled
garden.
dance
with
me,
fellow dancer.

I will not
disclose the secret
plain,
exposed
like the
words
you once
wrote.
I cannot
bare,
the
embarrassment
of giving you
such satisfaction
that I,
of all people
fall weak
to your alluring
scent.
to your
damning
eyes
and skin
so soft
I'd mark
with official
stamp.

no,
too easy.
far too easy
to keep my pride.
I will endure
the flames
screaming
begging
to be released.

the way
you move.
act innocent,
breathe.
it stirs me,
moves me to
abandon
reason
like some sort
of
insatiable
angel.

it's sickening,
I can barely
stand it.
I must,
even for a moment,
distract myself.
just to avoid.

do you ever notice,
that in the heat of summer
when the grass is still
and the crickets
sing their
distinct
songs
everything seems eerie?

in a closed room,
behind the white door
where lovers dare
to dream,
there's always
doom lurking
crawling,
waiting to seep
into their skin?

when she looks
lost,
hypnotized
into his
wanderlust
of eyes
she can't help
but wonder,
fear the unknown
that would await
the next day?

how can moments
of growing old,
four bedrooms,
the master suite
two lamps
lit in unison,
a glass of
wine,
silk sheets
turn
into the
darkness
that follows
when those lamps
no longer burn
bright?

when the moon grows full,
and the rhythms of the night
become still,
I drift into a state of awareness.
my subconscious,
its twists and turns
are of no surprise to me anymore.

i think of my father,
his expression
monotonous,
displeased,
lost all hope
in his beloved
creation.
it beats into
my heart
like crushed
glass against the rocks.

I see my mom,
holding hands
with her husband,
soft,
exhausted
not from a day's work
but from the tears
burning down her eyes.
it is a pain
I inflicted,
one I can never take back.

my regret
is not the
action,
but the execution.

even when given the final
opportunity,
the ultimate chance
to spill my heart
along the wooden
kitchen table,
I constantly
sopped up the mess
with silence.

my resentment
is not the response,
but the recurring
reactions.

believe in me,
dear parents,
cast your eyes
in shame and regret,
but not wavering
in hope and respect.

the same little girl,
in tiny black shoes,
in ribbons and drowning
in stuffed animals,
with an appetite
so finicky
and a pursuit
for the betterment
infinitely growing...
is the same girl that
stood before you
that summer day.

my bitterness
is not towards
your opinion,
but rather your
assumed reasoning.

I did not choose love,
one greater than the other
one more willing to
sacrifice.
I did not choose sides,
father
pitted against
lover.
this is not a 16th
century love story
where I renowned
my name
for the attention
of a Montague.

my demise
will cease to end
here.
it is bound to exist in
constellations,
where dreams are stored.

if it were only just a touch
to magically make things okay
wars would cease to exist.
if a simple shake
of human hands in tranquility
erased the evils of the world
there would be no battle cry.

if only the world were so
simple.
a man could converse with his
wife
in a way more civil
without the wasteland
of tears
beside the pillows.

if we were so lucky
to live
in such
a world
would there be conflict?
would it be euphoric,
or simply a nightmare?
Perhaps it is normal
to watch the darkness
cover the land
so that we may look forward
to the sunrise...

sad to say,
the world
is not
such a place.
there will always be
anger.
bittersweet.
a sourly sweet,
less enjoyable
for the palettes
of the sensitive.

I report to say that I am
one of those unlucky ones...
the wrong words are said
in the comfort of my bed
and I begin to feel
that wretched nightmare
become real,
of restriction.
conflicting.
nausea and affliction
of that god awful
taste,
one I'd give my very soul
just
to
erase.

when the world took its eyes
and magnified its focus
on simple,
insignificant you
it snickered and sneered.
the world saw you as nothing
more,
a mere mortal
in a fast-paced world.
lost,
like a wounded bird
with clipped wings.

your skin like
khaki pants,
ones you would wear
for not many
students
in a jam-packed
high school
could stop and
just
stare.

the way I saw you,
I admit was not
as flattering
at first.
there was no original
zing
nor sparks
no emotions waiting
to burst.

you surprised me.
your charm
your smile
your laughter
your touch.
the way your lips
fashioned words
and a kiss,
I once thought before
was unheard of.
this weird,
heart fluttered
feeling
was this...
really love?

did I fall in love,
as if chosen from above,
or did I simply feel what I wanted
to be real?
I hadn't known,
that is, until time had passed
things were said,
challenges that had
potential
to declare our love dead.

I saw in you,
untapped potential.

I saw you were destined for more.

I saw, a relationship pure and raw
that I wanted to pursue no matter what.

I saw the world stop,
for me to notice my mistake
to go about life wondering what
worked for other's sake.
people I wanted to impress,
to reach out and say
"You're doing good, kid"
or "I'm proud of you today."
maybe I am a fool to want such things
but when I'm with you,
I feel I am no longer bound by strings.

I know the risks,
the leap I am going to take.
Just know,
without a shadow of a doubt
I love you... for my own sake.

from the way his disheveled hair
a hypnotic entranced stare
into your milky way eyes
one I'd give anything to keep
you here or me over there.

a thoughtless action
flying through clouds,
heart racing
skin jumping
to cross into your land.
in the mist of night
when the sun no longer stays
in the painted skies
I grab my bags and race,
race to the ends of the earth
just to meet your grasp.

you pull me in,
like a sailboat to shore
in your warm embrace
with a goofy smile
on that handsome face
and hair like silk
in innocence and intimacy.

a night of passion,
a day long overdue
the sun peaks out yet again
and here I am,
bare,
grinning
waking up right
next to you.

mid-morning breakfast
of pancakes and buttered
kisses
hands at my waist
as though my dreams
and wishes
were born at this place
and time
forever yours
as you remain mine.

two idiots in love,
where reason and crime
treason and bad times
no longer matter.
so long as I stare,
into your candied brown
eyes
just to be in your world
erases the darkness of mine.

the sun sets again
the day I must return
bitter tears
lonely fears
my heart begins to ache
and burn.
I see the sorrow
in those once candied
eyes
and I work,
endlessly
for a familiar face,
that joyful
goober
that started
the race
in my heart.

my love,
I swear
there will never be another
for your smile
your heart
you spirit affects
me like none other.
one day,
my heart,
I swear
I'll join yet another race
through friendly skies
and free of tears
to spend my life
with you
as your wife
for the rest of our years.

with my head up
to the constellations
I thank the stars
to have left the mental prison
where you still are.
your rules
you called the shots
they twisted
contorted
like ****** up
pretzel knots
I smile to know
I broke free from your web of lies.

your smile,
your words,
your notions
they used to mean everything...
now what?
I see fun house mirrors,
clowns with painted faces
a circus of *******
takes the place of what once was.

I look at you with no surprise,
no wonder
no amazement
like an open book
like glass on gravity
I smash you through the pavement.
no matter the time
no matter the distance
your actions boil my blood
seeping my dark energy
like an enchantment.

why are you like this?
why is this **** okay?
like I didn't give the world
and back
for you
to say I was doing okay.
"pride is a sin"
you said it once yourself
back when I was little,
now I'm no longer small
I stand proud
stand tall
knowing if the tables ever turned
the lessons you made me learn
good to know
I can only count on you to say
"welp... **** it all."

in shiny black shoes,
with tiny knee highs
things were different,
life was simple
people were scary
my friends,
my interests
were imaginary.

four little walls
sealed with a door
whispers and giggles
stuffed plushies
strewn along the floor.
looking you in the eye
struck me with fear
raising your tone
twisting your face
into disgust
disappointment
or simply blind rage
made me want to melt
deep
into the contents of the floor.

when I grew older
I felt I was stronger,
the will to cry
when I looked into your eyes
was suppressed much longer.
my friends,
once imaginary,
started having faces
going by names
like Susan
or Gary.

the little flower
still waiting to bud
began to bloom
to blossom
to develop new fears
from choosing
the right spot
on the
big
blue
rug,
to rejection
in my high school years.

now
here I rest,
in a dormitory bed
short, velvet hair
spread across the pillows
night after night
snuggled close
to my plushies
picked up from the old
floor.
nightmares,
night terrors
panic attacks
low-self esteem.
a smile on the outside
isn't as it seems.
I may grow older
may shut off my
emotions,
grow colder,
seem stronger,
the strength not to cry
lasts longer,
I still am that little girl,
that moonchild
sitting
waiting
eager to burst through.
ready to expose
my weaknesses
like moonlight
upon the river.

sunrise,
sunset.
the chill of the air crawls under my skin
like a newborn infant
innocent,
overthinking it,
wondering if something I did
would put an end to it.

the personas three,
three little girls
each in their different ways.

the first one in her puffy dresses,
covered in crayon-stained messes.
it was the one I used to know.
so small and helpless,
so happy and carefree
kept to herself
like a young turtle in its shell.
when I saw her in a puddle's reflection
of rainy days and gray skies,
I saw pure, untapped happiness.
a state of mind that no longer seems
attainable.

the personas three,
three little girls
each in their different ways.

the second girl showed anger.
like the flamed rage
of one thousand demons.
a dragon in her heart,
no filter in her mind
scorching the world and leaving it
with jet-black ashes.
she is the girl, in the rear-view mirror
that I fear will draw closer.
closer, so that I can feel the steam
of her troubled breath
rush past my shoulders.

the last was the one I've come to accept,
the one I choose when I am down.
sometimes I wish,
for a shadow of a moment
I was down for the count.
the number reached ten,
no coming back
and making those crayon-stained
messes,
nothing but torn little dresses
and when I look
in the bathroom mirror,
tears pour down her face
like the sorrows at the bottom
of the glass.
at the end of each puff of smoke,
the bitter taste after every pill,
and the pit in her heart
once filled with love,
is now fear and regret
doubt and insecurity,
all of which makes
little boys and girls,
men and women with curls,
genuinely upset.

the personas three.
three little girls.
each,
in their own
different,
perturbed
ways.

after the sunset stilled,
throughout the house,
with a day of regret
and multiple factors
that changed my mood
dinner was done
laundry was spun
and today
I wanted to choose
good.

as my love far away
punched in the clock
I sat trapped here
in a house
where lunacy grew
like moss on trees.

the clock struck five
father dearest walks in
distress on his face
takes a deep breath
and
views my dinner with
bittersweet disgrace.

next, he turns right
bending down with his might
to see the dishes
are not arranged to his delight
I looked away in sarcasm
to hear the phrase
"half-assing"
and nearly stood up and parted
ways.

I chose strength instead,
nearly laughed when he said
"I know you, my child
I can see your ways
the way you say "yes"
is to run and second-guess
doing things in a rush
because you couldn't care
less."

it's cute, my dear dad
how you think you know me.
never in this house
have I felt so lonely,
so dismissed so ignored
so trapped and so bored
for you to pass
through
your lips
complete
and utter *******
as if you ever took a step back
free of critiques
or attacks
and try on the shoe
of what I do...
to see if it fits.

the other day,
as the moon had risen
I sat at the dinner table.
the morning was sure hell
as you grunt and whine and yell
over something so stupid
as the hair resting upon her shoulders.

her gentle hair on her head
messy and fresh out of bed
needed a sprucing before school
my mother said.
in an attempt
to be of assistance
I brushed away the resistance
of little wisps shying away
from her braids.

a crucial mistake
for my mother could not fake
the misplaced rage
as it reddened her face.
deep into my neck
did my nails dig in
a simple error in
judgment
became a sin.

here I am,
same dinner table as before
to hear her scream indirectly
once more.
in the midst of the bullets
she threw into my ears
there was a painting
nailed on the wall
in the corner of it all
that she should hear.

today, I choose joy,
the words painting in black
the background painted
in colors of warm
made me think back,
she's the one who purchased that.

you choose joy today,
yet anger tomorrow
chose petty next week
and so I chose sorrow.
how could one hang the portrait
of today,
and still,
feel validation
in the words you say?
honestly, it makes me sick
you
two-faced
disgraced
the nerve to make me feel
out
of
place
hypocrite.

as winter approaches,
in the chill of November's beginning,
she finds herself unable to remember
when her withered petals started spinning
off its stems.

her mind, an enigma
her heart in constant anguish
as the darkness inside begins to consume
her
banish her from light
and mock her pride.

her heart and soul
for a smile so pure,
one not fabricated out of guilt
of making impressions
or of shame,
one not to hide the lashes
of words she received
in a fit of misplaced rage.

she remembers her petals
so velvet red,
like silk as music fluttered
so happily in her head,
where it was okay to be okay
where she could escape
beneath her blankets,
in a good book
at the end of the day.

where had it gone?
why would it not stay?
had she done something wrong,
to shatter her pathway?
could she not just go back
before the mental attack
and keep things out of disarray?

instead she sits curled,
on the edge of her bed
the petals once rosy
now withered like the dead
crying the tears long overdue
thinking to myself,
"that girl is me"
and I hate that it's true.

as a growing woman I wonder,
why do I feel the validation of those
closest means something?
Why is it that on that chilling Monday afternoon,
Where the presence of autumn
creeps ever so subtly,
I feel like I am in the rings
of Dante’s inferno?
Something so simple,
The screams of the monsters
in this house
Give me such anger
Such violence
A heart pulsating
Through my little black
blouse.
From the blossom of something
So sweet
So delicious
The perfect treat
There’s a rotten core
growing every time
You yelled
You swore.
It’s the kind of feeling
That freezes your blood
Stiffens your spine
I can hardly stand
Being here longer than
Welcomed.
I’m shaking
Not from the cold
But you yet again breaking
My faith in you.
You are not my hero
Nor my savior
God as my witness
I’m through with your
behavior.
So beyond the boundary
I can hardly speak
For the words I’ll say
Will really give you a reason
To look that way.
Cast me out
Like a fishing line
Gasping for breath
I bet it’d be easier for you
Than to waste your precious time
Yelling at the imperfect shrew
That you think I am.
I’ll just never be there for ya
And you’ll have your perfect little picture
Through the out-of-focus
Hardly noticed
camera.

Being with you feels like
A bitter wind blowing in both
directions.
It whips at you like a tortured soul
It’s screams pierce your ears
Your nose turns a different complexion
One that is like blood in your skin.
The harsh winds continue as you walk through life
And you can’t quite escape them.
Looking back, you realize your mistake
Wishing you could have turned that other corner to avoid it but you can’t
Almost as if...
the wind was your family,
Your close friend.
You could try and look forward
Towards the possibility of better days
But that is where the strength
Reaches its pique.

Being with you,
In a house with contradiction
In a room with backwards principles
Shall I apply it to this child
And **** the other?
Yes,
In your presence I feel enveloped
In a toxic wind of lies and unreachable
expectations.
I didn’t ask to be your test subject
For perfection.
Perhaps you can accept
That no matter how kept
I keep my persona
I
will never
be who you want.

Being with you makes me realize
Who my friends are,
Who my love is destined to be,
How desperate I am
To leave you.
It’s hilarious
As I laugh in the sea of madness
Over the stupidity you let slip
Past those “holier-than-thou” lips.

Being with you confirms my suspicion,
That as the young strawberries
growing into fruition,
You pick the one most fresh
Cut them at the root
Of which they could become the perfect fruit
And you refuse to let them live.
Meanwhile, the other precious berry
Not even going to make it to July
You let that one go, as I watch its life go by
I shed no tears
Show no pain
No resistance nor existence
Of mental strain
since that’s demonic in your eyes.

When I am with you,
Do you even recognize my pain?
Or is the thought of me
Helping you create the fantasy
That we’re as happy can be,
one and the same?
Do my conservative clothes
And positive repose please you?
Does my silence and posture
“Better seen and not heard,” make you happy?
You’ve got more laughs than the joker
More lies than in a game of poker
If you think I’d stay here happily
Ever after.

Your nightmarish charade
Of the perfect family by day
Is impressive I must say,
I’m surprised no one notices,
At least the ones that don’t stay.

the warmth of my face
glows brighter than the sun
where a woman so young,
finds herself in love
maybe not with the prince, the pauper, or king
but by the very joy her new discoveries bring.

I could dance around,
my plain white dress
with lace and velvet hair
in the fields of tulips
that once blossom there.
as the sun's glow dances on my skin
a chocolatey smile on my face and heart within.

like the tulips in spring
I blossom and grow,
from a young quiet girl,
to an introverted acceptance.
discovering me,
in its full form
the awkward, amazing wonderful girl
with a love for 80's music
that everyone should know.
when a tulip grows from its bud
in early springtime,
I feel a connection,
a spark of familiarity.

My happiness,
my identity
resembles within that tulip
as it grows into something more,
shuffled in the grass
watching the clouds disappear.
as I lie next to you.
your hair puffy as the clouds that pass,
your skin as fair as the sunset,
your eyes as deep as the dirt beneath us
and your hands as chilly as mine.

I couldn't be happier,
to be in your fields,
where we can frolic
and feel as free as we feel,
like birds in formation
a clock's hour and minute hand in rotation
you move,
I move
without hesitation.
I love you, fellow traveler,
the way I walk and you stare
the way I miss you when you aren't
there.
the way you wrap me in your arms,
never to let go
never to move on
looking towards what's right
and damning what's wrong
simple,
lovely
wonderful you,
like I am your personal teddy bear.

you ever look out into the darkest of nights,
your hair tousled in the damp grass,
the sounds of crickets tuning their wings
the very evening breeze the clouds bring
and just wonder what life is all about?

does it ever dawn upon you,
when the sun rises in the east,
the warmth it showers
as you're tossing and turning in bed,
fighting off the nightmares, the
sheer reality that things will never get better?

maybe it just happens to me,
alone in a padded wall of god awful
yellow wallpaper
my velvet hair spread across the pillow
with teddy bears of symbolic names,
I wonder if it is even worth opening my mouth
because I begin to find it as much as a waste of time
as the people that "listen."
I try not to,
as I take a sip of the lukewarm tea
with a quirky saying about nerds
and think to myself,
"Perhaps my purpose is of the quiet nerd."
seen but not heard,
powerful when spoken,
yet whispers the quiet words
that are never meant to be more
than a mumble.

it's pretty sad,
binge-watching an old sitcom
for the tenth time
feeling more connected with digitized
"old souls"
more than my own kin,
my own friends
my own love.
curled up in a bed too small
a blanket too cold
and socks too tight
feeling like a misfit among the misfits.

as I play my music,
both cynical and seductive
contemplating my place in the universe
instead of being educationally productive.
my eyes hardly ever close
until the break of dawn
where the sun rises yet again
and the night is gone
only to repeat the cycle
like the little infant I once was
peddling fast on her green tricycle.

perhaps I shouldn't feel this way,
when the sun falls into the horizon
and the day is dark,
the clock shifts into another day
feeling so close together,
yet far apart.

maybe when the gentle creatures
rest their paws in the earth,
it should be as simple
as a simple farewell
where we kiss goodbye,
waving our hands.

is it wrong,
to feel so empty,
to be crystallized
in the chilled air, I feel
when we have to say goodbye?
it is only for a moment,
a simple few hours in the day.
I'd even rest my head
the little moon child in bed
and yet I cannot bring myself
to feel content
that the moments,
laughter,
the exchange of sweet words
spent
accounted for
and blown away.

our moments are that of the dandelion,
so pure
so fascinating
as I caress the wisps of your hair
in the fields once more,
only to have you stolen away
by the single brush of wind
that nature brings.

my love feels like a mirror,
glossy and pristine,
a pure reflection,
extension of myself
until I no longer see me.

I don't understand,
why it is breaking me
to see a little farewell,
a goodnight's kiss
be a funeral of the day.  
my hands shaking,
my heart sinks
to an ether
between love and hate
where parting ways
even for a night,
feels like a grave mistake.

freshly fallen snow,
the area around her whistles with
a winter's wind.
walking along the forest
seeing the words you say
cover the floor,
a blanket of frost
growing cold.

within the summer's gust
of heat and distress
I feel your love
my honor
your trust
slowly dying, I confess
to you without
the help of what comes from above
you will cease to exist.

within the spring's breeze
my heart never put at ease
thinking your words,
so simple
so sweet
misunderstanding and tease
me until I am no longer pleased.
as the thought slips past your lips
I feel my chest tighten
compression,
repression of the accused
obsession over you.

perhaps it is my fault,
to fall so far,
in the season's beauty
buried in the ground where
the leaves are.
my greatest regret,
trying to heal your upset
to only awaken
an anger
a pain
a personal disdain
strong enough
leaving a
friendship severed.

I am the daisy,
growing in the shade
fighting the frost
you caused
without there being love lost
the history of us
through the fields of distrust
I try my hardest
to prevent sudden pause.

I didn't do this,
my plan not to turn you away,
to console you my frost
and perhaps try too much
for a simple touch
of sunshine smiles to make you stay.
instead I lie,
in the fields of July,
the chill of your frost
as the wind carries
autumn leaves by
waiting for the daisies of spring
to gently pull me in
to the soil,
for the final rest.

summer breeze,
the way she once looked me
with delight and tease
only grows
as the wind does,
come and go as you please.
the gentle wind
it flows through me
like memories
of our chats together.
something about her,
as though some power
held over me...
she makes me feel better.
a penny for her thoughts
a mile for touch
that summer breeze worth chasing
for I enjoy the rush.

blissful meadow,
a calming shadow,
my inner happiness.
your words like flowers
the river flowing upstream
for when life feels numb
surrounded by a sheet of darkness.

I walk through your fields
as you feel my presence,
the combination shocking
the result an essence
no true emotion can yield
to.
the kinds of things
you and I have been through
it's astonishing
that we're still present here:
introverts
in our over-sized hoodies
in a small-minded
extroverted world
instead of floating out
into the vast
atmosphere.

Dear Diane,
introverted
beautiful,
underappreciated Diane.
your beauty glows
underneath the mountain
in the crystal lake of which
your inner you go to rest.

your parents treat you,
in a way too familiar,
the toxicity choking you
to the point that you scream.
life has gone to ****,
yet your pride wants them to say
that you are good, little darling
and mommy and daddy love you that way.

despite the pain,
the mental ball and chain
that they put you through
time and time again,
those simplest little words
make you forget everything.

you gathered the courage,
to leave given the chance,
found an eccentric romance
and a job not many would say
are in their bucket lists
of things to accomplish one day.
nonetheless,
you find a small portion of happiness
in the acknowledgment
of knowing your worth
is far beyond a bag of chips.

when you get this letter,
probably written in red,
know that which each syllable
sheer admiration and aspirations
are meant to be said
and that you deserve so much better.
as you slip into bed
with a sip of Dom Perignon,
typing away
the ideas of your new book,
I could go on and on
in my own little tidy nook.

in the middle of the night,
where the moon plays
a game of tag with the daylight
I lie in bed thinking of how much I hate how I appear to you.
sweet,
subtle,
submissive and slow
as the gentle kisses once delivered to you.
it pains me to think that
midnight blues
turn into shades of charcoal gray
when I think of your impression of me.
it is asymmetrical,
a puzzle piece that does not fit
to think that the words
so simple
so basic slip past your
peach colored lips,
"you cannot do ****."
misconstrued, I know
given in an improper way
but it wrestles within me
like demons
kept in their cages another day.
my capabilities are limited
to things humane
but am I that useless
to the point
that I am poison
to your veins?
do I make you angry?
do I make you weep?
are the demons in you
injecting their rage
into your skin with every word
that I am to say?
should I react,
or perhaps
I am to behave
like the little girl I once was...
scared,
cold
fear of what to say
disapproval so close to the corner
that any word slipped through my mouth
felt like an eternal mistake.

it is true what they say,
in the moments of weakness
there is someone,
something
about them that
makes the world's time
cease to exist.
you may not want to exist
for them
and yet
their happiness
the slightest smile
upon their warm face
means the world to you.
just to be in their presence
keeps you tethered
to the present.
such a feeling must be chosen
wisely,
with discretion
because such a bond
is almost motherly.
it is protective
it is kind,
with no room for toxicity
darkness
and distrust.
when you look into their eyes
you want to be everything for them
and nothing all at once.
their mark is branded
into your heart with content.
there is no pain
as the stained heart signs
its name of your newfound
connection.
why you may ask?
it is the sound of their
laughter,
the way they look
at you
with unbridled affection.

when we were children,
unimpressionable
innocent,
happy children,
the nature of a liar
were ill-behaved,
put to the corner
with their pants on fire.

when we were teens,
social lives
romance?
it struggles to
survive
an educational
stress in between
to lie was a sign
of betrayal and blight
one you could detect
from mere sight and reflect.
it was a feeling
a presence
that you avoided
for fear of getting hurt.
it was a waste of time.

when we grow older,
and the jar of cynicism
freezes colder
our definitions change
like leaves in the fall
for the upcoming winter's
frosty display
liars are what bring the bad
days.
it would never release
a more pungent beast
to see them lie to your face
on something that didn’t need to be said.
As adults
we learn to value honesty
Not as the cliched policy
But as a form of establishing communication
and trust in some way.
We feel like fools
when we’re used
abused
mistreated little tools
missing the detection
of a well-coifed liar.
Whether the excuse be
naivety or hopeless desire
Personally I’d rather die
Than to be caught
Or distraught
From something so simple
So easy
As a white lie.

walking along the dampened grass,
thinking of the moments
your hands,
so warm and compassionate
wrapped so tight
into mine
the way they would freeze.

I walked along the park
years later
arguments later
lonely nights
instant delights
later,
and I almost cried.
it was as though
the memories
painted themselves
again before my eyes
like a movie clip.
lights dancing in the sky
the sunset falling and shining
in our eyes
the camera clicks
from the pictures
we saved
of our smiles and first dates.
the actions
of our attractions
and first sparks of love
blooming from the children's
swingset where we'd hold hands
until the end.

three years,
we have a fight
of the memories
we want to make one night.
the back and forth
like the swingset so greatly missed
the fight leaving us broken
words unspoken
mistakes I've made
swallowing the pills
closing my eyes
yet opening the
shadows and shades
of midnight blue.

the anger and rage
in your tone of voice
so subtle and soft
but struck my heart with guilt.
and so I write these words
in my moments of weakness
wishing I could just go back
to the park
with its freshly cut grass
even if it made me sneeze
warm sunshine and gentle breeze,
instead of
this garden of withered leaves.

running through the streets alone,
in a tight little skirt
hand closely pressed on my shirt
waiting for the fear to be gone.
that striking,
cold
frost of a fear
that plagues me day and night.
"you're too nice."

a smile,
blushy cheeks,
a princess persona
that the world can enjoy
feeding the darkness
behind closed doors.
sure, I am nice
but I'm not naive.

does that scare you?
my undeniable cynicism
my internal critiques
about the world
how it functions
as I lie in bed
tumbling in
fitted sheets?

you want me to be mean?
to find everyone wrong
be stuck up
be a *****
be a trick in the magician's hat
presenting an illusion of a smile
but deep in the inside
a rotten peach pit?

that's not me.
I'm nice,
wouldn't think twice
to protect those I love
and give advice
to those lost souls
without a sense of direction.
but perhaps...
that's a weakness to you
and like all weaknesses
it should be kept secret
lock away the key
because heaven forbid
if your smile
was what I cared to see.

but I'm not naive.
I get mad,
get even
feel the eyes
judging me
and clearly could care less
of the whispers and
stares
unnecessary glares
as I walk on by
with style in my hair.

I'll have the music pulsing through
drowning out the noise
of those that give me grief,
like they dictate who I am to be.
Nice but not naive,
call it an anthem,
a force to be reckoned with.
just as easy as I can smile
giggle,
be all in your face
with sugar and gumdrops
like rainbows and birthday cake,
I make it my mission
to detect traitors
hearing the hissing
of snakes in the midst
and I will refuse
to put up with your ****.

if roses always blossomed in concrete,
perhaps people wouldn't dislike the thorns.
they would look at its precious petals,
admiring the very miracle as it was.

I see people the same way,
little seeds planted into the dirt
nurtured with the water of purity
stained with the sun of love
cooled by the darkness that festers
within us
and
risen from the concrete thoughts
of simplicity and content
for the little things,
the love of holding hands
on the park bench
sipping cocoa underneath
the winter moon.

if roses always blossomed in concrete,
being different,
normality,
the very labels of society
wouldn't have such values.
people could walk along the streets
with their imperfections
without having to hide behind
a mask
no quarantine
could ever warrant.
a woman could fall in love
simply,
truly in love with a man
of whom walked along
the wire
less traveled.

instead,
we are bound by the typical rules of nature.
the dirt is no longer nurtured so much as it is
coarse and rough.
the water is tainted,
stained with poisonous
judgment,
bad-mouthing,
words that sting like bumblebees.
the sun no longer shines
in our direction...
it is dark.
cold.
the darkness we once relied on
becomes our undoing.

it has been too long
since my mind has wandered,
journeyed down the rabbit hole
and put words together.
life has changed,
events have arranged
in such a way that
I myself may actually learn
to feel better.

I stand before you all
behind the confines of a desk
sometimes a mess
and other times writing these
words
these alliterations
of altercations and hypocrisies
just as a way to de-stress.

it has come to a point
where within myself I see
the damage for what it truly is
and just this once
amongst its roots
I see not others,
not the toxic mother
nor the controlling parents
the troubled siblings
or judgemental relatives.
for once,
through the rough edges
I see me.

I want to save her,
to pull her out in the warmest embrace
let her know it is okay
to love
to hate
to be happy or irate
take the pleasure and the pain
inside that beautiful twisted brain.
I want to want myself,
to look in the mirror and see beyond the scars.
a flawed doll she may be,
but even they have an untapped beauty.

there's a reason why the hope and joy
does not befall my face anymore
when I think of a time
of turkey and gatherings.
surely, the autumn breeze
the chill of winter slowly
creeping
into the calendar
excites my spine.

there is, however
a darkness
a shadow of a memory
that belongs to this festivity
that I simply cannot let go.

it started out pretty rough to begin with,
the forbidden romance
between a boy
and his future life
a simple girl
shy,
sweet
with a dark past
and yet
he would still make her his wife.

the girl,
once tranquil
once free,
sent back home
after the anxiety of being lost
trapped
scared beyond compare
in the big city,
back to the home she once knew
a house of love and family,
with control
with tyranny and hypocrisy in the brew.

the day carried on,
able to eat to her content
laughs were shared
she could smell the liquor upon her father's breath
down,
down another glass, she drank
until the time would pass
but not enough alcohol
nor pills
nor mental drills in the world could prepare
for what her father would ask.

his question uttered slowly and divine
had been if she and the boy intertwined
her answer, no, with another glass of wine
a slight smile and nod help her troubles go away
until her heart sank,
mind went blank
her eyes filled with tears that had to disappear
when his words poured out that filled her with rage.

everything went blank,
her mind in default.
it was as though she was no longer her own,
but running like a machine
like the little doll
in the grand scheme
of the household where her life began.
everything in me wanted to die,
to run from the table
to curl up and cry
hearing the words
from father's intoxicated breath
screeched an internal scream
wishing
dreaming
hoping for instant escapism,
death.

later that night,
with a paper and pen
tears streaming down
like rivers without bends
I wrote a letter
a confession
pouring my heart out to daddy dearest
making it clear
that it would never be sent.
I curled up in my room,
letting the darkness seep through,
hours passing by
as I simply opened up my mind
and welcomed the depression.

the moon,
So present and glistening
rose over the sky that day.
it was a final ribbon on the
perfect day...

My eyes, slowly slipping
Into the pools of peaceful sleep
When terror,
Just got a moment filled my heart.

As though an otherworldly experience
My body was not my own.
The jolt of energy took the place
of the once lunar relaxation,
“good night,”
now words no longer present on my face.

The time spun faster
than my head,
Looking around for the sound that
startled me.
Was it the source of my worst fears?
Or perhaps the delusions of my mind
transformed into present conformity?

The vision became clear,
No longer confirmed as a simple fear
A little kitten, my kitten
Dancing in the shadows.
I could no longer sleep,
doing my best to keep
her away.
Try as I might,
Towards the middle of the night
She kept coming back until the early day
light.

as I arise from slumber
with memories of such a day
I cannot help but blush at the pigments
of color and beauty that painted
the memories of yesterday.

just a few friends beneath the spring's glow
driving, cruising through a
washed up city,
one I used to call my home.
racing down the roads,
the adrenaline pushing me back into my seat,
despite the uncertainty in my heart,
I felt so free
like the little songbirds that leave their trees.

it felt rebellious,
simply wonderful to be away
from the cornered walls that kept me confined
and once reunited with the stars
that leave me fluttered
and entwined
in the concept of love.

in its touch and warm embrace
I felt as though I could make it through
the darkness of every day that I'd face
for a simple kiss
sealed my heart for eternity
friendship,
secured my smile for moments to come
beneath the springtime sun
and its enriching sun-kissed memories.

never will I forget those that bring their paintbrushes,
their exotic colors.
they contribute to the beauty,
the bliss of such a perfect day.
each stroke compliments their shine,
their canvas the warmth of the day.
imaginations run wild,
laughter
fun
and the simple pleasures
to be around those who make you smile.

I lie awake in bed,
drifting off to sleep
in the middle of the night,
free from uncertainty
wrapped in the warmest of blankets
entangled by sun-kissed memories.

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.

this emptiness,
the shivers down my spine
that moment when
you look at me and
you can feel the connection broken.
it scares you,
you think I am distant,
you think I am dark,
beyond the color of my skin,
crept into the confined veins
of my beating heart.
this is my darkness,
the chill you feel as I pass
sometimes it will last
for as long as you remain mine.
show me your darkness,
don't be afraid,
channel the black magic,
the fear and the tragic
and let the drive take you away.
the touch of my finger
against your arms
beating pulse, without charm
feel the sense of danger sneaking in.
embrace the wild side,
where you feel most alive
don't be afraid to give in.