Ink in love
Ink to weather the storm
Ink come home, to compare us
Ink welcomes a rage, to a driven conversation

Do you remember me?
Include the fate, of resolve
Secrets to look, and move beyond please
Ages to correct, the world for its voices haunt

Ink is hidden in the mountains
Ink sitting as a king, in the valley
Ink with a proud berry, can this hour be silent?
Ink to finish it's meal, with instinct's ally

See the choice I make...
A drama of vice, if not now with a solemn strength
Taken to surprised eyes, a future to live long and sake
A treasure of virtue, to tap the gifts of many, by length:

Ink has no child but you
Ink to collect the tear of another, wagers a jealousy
Ink is a stone of wishes in motion, with a new voice due
Ink can entail a frightened child, with the voice of an eye's house

“Please don’t hide,
If you ever see anyone
Trying to harm themselves
Tell us immediately”

Is what teachers would say
I have a friend, whose
Body has been used
For chopping vegetables

Their friend who
Saw the juice, went to tell
Their teacher.
And now their

Family has been informed,
“Why are they so busybody?”
“Why must you tell?”
Because dear, you hold your

Identity.
You hold what opinions can’t
Change.
Your teacher is simply

Following the rules and regulations
Of what any teacher is doing
I’m no goody two shoes.
I’m just stating that.

People suffer from silence everyday and
Soon might as well chop off their arms and thighs.
So they care.
They care.

Rules and regulations
Is something everyone is trained with.
What to do?
When you show them the chopped vegetables’s juice?

They wouldn’t know,
And would start running around,
Until they can’t keep it anymore,
And follow the rules and regulations.

For a time I let the wind decide,
Which seeds would land and where they'd hide.
A tangled garden, wild and free,
With blossoms grown for company.
I poured my water, bit by bit,
On thirsty roots that didn't fit,
And watched the sunbeams of my days
Bend to another's wilting ways.
​
oh I have found the thread of gold,
A map that only I can read.
The old story has grown cold,
I am the sower of my seed.
I'll plant my moonflowers and my ferns,
In soil that tenderly returns.
This garden is for me alone,
The wildest place I've ever known.
​
My nature is a running stream,
A crystal-clear and giving dream.
But now my banks are fortified,
No longer will my flow be dried
By fields that only drink and take,
To soothe their own unending ache.
My currents turn to greet the light,
To nurture what is true and right.
​
oh I have found the thread of gold,
A map that only I can read.
The old story has grown cold,
I am the sower of my seed.
I'll plant my moonflowers and my ferns,
In soil that tenderly returns.
This garden is for me alone,
The wildest place I've ever known.
​
My soul is not a borrowed cup,
To be filled up and poured right out.
It is a wellspring bubbling up,
With stars and whispers, chasing doubt.
The giving is a sacred grace,
For kindred gardens in their place.
​
oh I have found the thread of gold,
A map that only I can read.
The old story has grown cold,
I am the sower of my seed.
I'll plant my moonflowers and my ferns,
In soil that tenderly returns.
This garden is for me alone,
The wildest place I've ever known.

when christmas comes around i look into the sky
to heaven up above where the angels fly
send my love to mama tho so far away
i know she is safe now where the angels stay

tell her that i love her  i miss her oh so much
miss the love she gave me and her loving touch
she is here with me in my memory
in my heart for ever she will always be

i know i will see her when im angel to
i will fly to her in the in the blue
united with my mum once again will be
give her all my love that she gave to me

A hollow echo in my core,
Where vibrant dreams had lived before.
I wandered paths that weren't my own,
A solitary seed, unsown.

The mirror showed a stranger's face,
Lost in a disorienting space.
Each passing day, a muted hue,
My own true compass, out of view.

Oh, the distance I had strayed,
Behind a curtain, soft and deep,
From the truest self displayed,
Secrets my weary spirit keep.

I wore a guise, a borrowed skin,
To navigate the world within.
But whispers rose, a gentle plea,
To shed the false and finally be.

A quiet stirring took its hold,
A buried story to unfold.
I felt the truth begin to rise,
And clarity unveiled my eyes.

Oh, the distance I had strayed,
Down roads that weren't aligned with me,
From the self that brightly played,
Yearning for authenticity.

The walls within begin to mend,
A fragile strength starts to ascend.
No need to hide, no need to feign,
Embracing who I am again.

The wellspring of my soul revives,
Where true desire now survives.
I see my future, clear and bright,
Rediscovered in my own inner light.

Oh, the distance I had strayed,
Where buried truths began to sleep,
From the self that light conveyed,

Oh, the distance I had strayed,
Down roads that weren't aligned with me,
From the self that brightly played,
Yearning for authenticity.

No need to hide, no need to feign,
Embracing who I am again.