When life as opening buds is sweet,
And golden hopes the fancy greet,
And Youth prepares his joys to meet,--
Alas! how hard it is to die!

When just is seized some valued prize,
And duties press, and tender ties
Forbid the soul from earth to rise,--
How awful then it is to die!

When, one by one, those ties are torn,
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
And man is left alone to mourn,--
Ah then, how easy 'tis to die!

When faith is firm, and conscience clear,
And words of peace the spirit cheer,
And visioned glories half appear,--
'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die.

When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
And films, slow gathering, dim the sight,
And clouds obscure the mental light,--
'Tis nature's precious boon to die.

I am tempting, intoxicating,
Admittedly I know I am so,
With all my edges exposed,
All my light, my darkness spill
In radiant hues around me.
I’m all those memories of heaven,
Of hopes and dreams and things
Lay to rest by my rational dissection,
mourned over by my quivering emotions.
Bad luck I suppose that I saw it coming.
Placing myself and so your eyes, onto ground level.
For perspective, for stability.
Why then do you appear disheveled?
Eyes wander, fingers pacing, lips bit with anticipating,
Torn there in your quiet reverie,
When I’ll lend any part of me to keep you together?
You shudder, at the thought of my touch, the words I mutter
Its true I lust, you lust.
You, like me, are irrevocable,
You exude humanity,
Your light sprays and twist over your dark pool,
I want to reach out and touch you
If  he exists, forsakes you, then know this,
I’d rather burn in the fiery pit eyes bright
Than miss my life, myself, this chance, your kiss.
No matter, I refuse to be but brighter.
I’m sorry your not sure,
I’m sorry you don’t know like I do.

I have wide hips, a wide waist.
chubby cheeks and
short legs
given to me

by my mother.

she is not a witch.
she has wrinkles, yes
but they do not define her
nor would she let them.

I have no interest in making friends with fish,
small birds,
candlesticks or clocks,
or rodents.


I need human contact to survive.

If you put me alone in a house in a forest,
I will not clean.  
I will not wait to be saved.
I will not ask for your permission to go outside.

I will leave.


I do not need a prince to live happily ever after.

I have short bushy hair
and a ******.
yes, it's there.
underneath my cotton underwear and long lace skirts
that no one is telling me to wear.

I have a sister.
I go to her for advice.
I look up to her and I talk to her about
Everything anything everything

I do not need a prince.



I look up to my mother.
She is not a source of fear,
she is a source of comfort
and relief.


what are We teaching our daughters?

these imaginary princesses
teach our babygirls

to have long eyelashes
to have two inch waists
long luscious hair
*** appeal


and if they don't,

they will never live happily ever after.

If I need all that to get one,

I do not want a prince.

I do not want to be anyone's
cinderella.

I will not chase after anyone
if they choose to leave.

I will weep into my sister and mother's shoulders

But that poor,
poor
princess

will always be chasing
squirrels
to talk to

and men
to be saved by.

When will we teach them to save themselves?


When will they teach themselves
that there is no such thing as perfect

She's dancing in his eyes of misery,
Twirling around the floorboards,
Like a fruit ripening off a tree.
She's balanced in his gaze,
Hovering above the waves and pulses
Beating through the planks of wood
Built on this foundation of land.
He wants what he can't have,
And she is the reviving water
Stored underneath cactus ******
That he can't drink.
His hand is not hers to hold
And her dress is not his to touch.
His misery will flourish,
The distance of strangers.

wind
with sand
grates
skin away
without the rain
in blue and gray
to wash
the blood
and pain
away

At times, the dark comes quicker
As if my mind gone weaker
As if my soul was split into two me
Similar to the ying and the yang
The Me and the Mean
The bright side and the dark side
I feel an intruder piercing my soul in the inside
I feel this part growing , getting stronger everyday
Spreading negative wave

The Me symbolize my reason of living
The dreams that I am after
The desire of beeing a father
The Mean on the other hand is like that creature surrounded by that antihalo feeling
Giving power to my fears , my hate
Eating all I have of hope, misguiding my fate
The Me became the prey , leaving The Mean  the place of deadly predator
It's like picturing the beauty of spring gobbled up by the sadness of winter

But The Me isn't giving up
I'm not giving up in the search of my true identity
The Murderess war of the two Me
The winner will decide where lies my destiny.

In the hour of death, after this life’s whim,
When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim,
And pain has exhausted every limb—
  The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him.

When the will has forgotten the lifelong aim,
And the mind can only disgrace its fame,
And a man is uncertain of his own name—
  The power of the Lord shall fill this frame.

When the last sigh is heaved, and the last tear shed,
And the coffin is waiting beside the bed,
And the widow and child forsake the dead—
  The angel of the Lord shall lift this head.

For even the purest delight may pall,
And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
And the love of the dearest friends grow small—
  But the glory of the Lord is all in all.

If rightly tuneful bards decide,
  If it be fix’d in Love’s decrees,
That Beauty ought not to be tried
  But by its native power to please,
Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell—
What fair can Amoret excel?

Behold that bright unsullied smile,
  And wisdom speaking in her mien:
Yet—she so artless all the while,
  So little studious to be seen—
We naught but instant gladness know,
Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

But neither music, nor the powers
  Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer,
Add half the sunshine to the hours,
  Or make life’s prospect half so clear,
As memory brings it to the eye
From scenes where Amoret was by.

This, sure, is Beauty’s happiest part;
  This gives the most unbounded sway;
This shall enchant the subject heart
  When rose and lily fade away;
And she be still, in spite of Time,
Sweet Amoret in all her prime.