I am who I am with no strings attached
Yet I have strings coming from my back
And my handler does not want to let go

I am sometimes a hypocrite
I know that
But my handler convinces me of my false innocence
Puts me in an eternal trap

I have power that is grand
But it is all hard for me to understand
So I sit back and cry because I am bounded by invisible chains
Held down in the chair of thoughts
And the unnecessary feeling of helplessness takes over

My handler sits in MY THRONE
Yet has the nerve to throw stones at my temple
Hits me with words of rocks and mocks me like a court jester

"Poor me",I say
"Poor me", I cry
"Poor me", I wail
Then I stop....

I then open up my eyes and see a mirror where my handler once sat
I walk towards it slowly and cautiously, but seeing that it is me
I run with enthusiasm to the red velvet seat
and I plop my bottom on the chair
I grasp the chair arms and with a smile on my face
I put on my amethyst crown and smile face to face with my kingdom

From the treetops of the NYC
To the sandy platform of Coney Island beach
Poetry is a refuge that can be reached
For the heavy hearted that has no one to preach
About the calming relief it gives when the skies turn grey
Or the times where I bow my head in dismay.
When my back has gone out
Poetry plays the role of a crutch
When I feel like life is becoming too much.
A great friend indeed
Yet only called when in need.
I administer my feelings into its thick skin like a drug.
In return I feel more loved
Poetry, the button I call release.
When pressed my problems become peace.
A reflection of me
Sometimes, my imagination finds its way in between.
But at the end of the day,
Poetry is in the bed I lay
Poetry is in the food I eat
Whether or not it is crusty, sugary, and sweet.
Poetry is in each and every name
For each letter has a meaning.
Poetry lives in us all,
Regardless of how much you rise or fall.
There will always be that rhythmic flow
For poetry comes and never goes.
What to me does poetry bring?
Creates me as if I was a bird and gives me wings
Let me soar until everything lives below
But has more places for me to go.
I am poetry and poetry is me.
We make up the sides and in between the numerous parts of me.
That is poetry.

In the midst of the storm,
there in a back bend is a rainbow.
In the fire in hell,
stands tall an angel.
At every end, is a new beginning.
When there is one door only for exit,
there is always a way to enter in.

At the top of every dark abyss,
you always look up to a light.
When the feeling of giving up arrives,
there is always a part that is willing to fight.
With the help from others, a baby's tears
become sudden laughter.
After every fairytale witch's death, there is a happily ever after.

Life itself is a ying yang of wonders. After the scorching day
Comes a cooling rain
Accompanied by a loud and frightening thunder.
Every scary moment in life becomes a tale to tell
how in the past was bad, but now you're doing well.
In every bad situation,
comes out something good.
In the middle of crossfire,
a vibrant rose grows in the hood.

So remember, every beginning comes to an end
As we go through life adding and subtracting friends.
While we continue to talk about our suffering times,
we all find that day where everyone comes together and smiles. :)

Running through a field of snow barefooted and naked
As if hysteria was safe
Fell off the cliff
Yet I tell myself that I'm flying
The freedom of running through the jungle
Holding hands with a boy my size
As if we were the perfect match
I know I am high on music
Because such euphoria
Has refused to say hello to me when I am sober
You know what?
That is okay
Because it is time and better for me to live
A consistent, but unexpected reality
Than to live a daydream which spoils the ending for me

The agonizing pain this finger has to bear
Though brainless, it is guilty
Sinless because of who it is
Sinful because of the messed up mind behind it
God watches it as it does what it is told
Which is the only thing it understands
But can he just forgive the poor finger
For being puerile, uneducated, and undisciplined
It was curious when it burrowed into the tunnel
Rejoicing when it found the treasure and
Unbeknowst to it
Was that its ganas was an abnomination
And the mind behind it all
Feels this treasure yet the cave feels empty
The mind cannot process or find love in this dripping cave
It demands the fingers to leave the cave, deeming it unsafe and cruel
But when the mind looked around, it saw that all along, it walked in the dark empty cave
Alone and unloved