She hopes, silently, that he will chase her,
catch her in his embrace and smother her
with feverish kisses.
He wants to glance back, towards the stinging
sun, towards the opposite direction she has stayed in
and beacon her with words of licorice.
She wishes to let her voice drown the antagonistic
opposition to their current disposition and listen
attentively to reciprocated admissions.
But they cannot, will not, because
this is not a fairy tale, this is not a fantasy, this
is the sad reality of both decisions.
And so torn apart between letting go or
catching to,
they walk away towards opposite directions.

I came across a Weeping Daisy
            Cowering away from the sun;
In the middle of a field of Poppies
            Wilting one by one.

The Night washed over the flowers;
            The moon shed its light below;
And in the witching hour they danced
            In the moonlight to and fro.

Borne into a frenzy
of sleepless black nights
that coil and surround me,
where chimeras and serpents
glide like paint,
in the sea that separates
the mind and the horizon.

I flail and sputter,
treading naught
but black water.
Just leave me here for awhile.

Color me in.
I lie naked and
wrapped in white linen-
A corpse.
If only my mind could
lie still as my body.

Let them carry me
to the incinerator.
But the pallbearers
have heard my death rattle,
they've found me out.

But I am an island now.
It is quiet here, only
remnants of Chopin

and little gold rings,
ashes,
a story in Braille,
what else have you got?

I'm so tired of being
the Phoenix in this tale.

Sometimes it is hard to sleep with all these thoughts running back and fourth inside my brain.
I wonder why no one understands the motions I convey.
At times, I feel lost and often wonder why I am on this earth to begin with.
Who am I?
Why am I here, and what is my purpose?
If I have no purpose, what is the point of living day in and day out?
What does this all mean?
I sometimes wish that I was like a feather- light, soft, and flowing here and there without really ever knowing where I was to go, or where I was to end up.
I'll never fully understand why I am who I am , but I will try my best to comprehend what I already know.

written on a sunny, fall like day
*11.17.13

I am broken but that is okay, right?
It does not mean that I can not:
hope,
dream,
love,
care,
fight.
I am broken but that is okay, right?
It means I have:
been through hell,
suffered,
watch people suffer,
kept terrible secrets,
It means I have lived on, despite.
I am broken but that is okay, right?
It means:
I cherish the light,
but not afraid of the night,
if I end up alone that it is alright,
but if not that is a delight,
it means you can kick, hit, cause me to have random breakdowns, or even bite,
but no matter what, I can write.