One day;
I won't just find love.
I'll construct it.
I won't just fall in it.
I will climb towards it.
Love isn't just something that's there!
You have to put effort into it.
You have to make it into something great.
You have to actually try.

You fell in love with the way
the leaves fell from the tree's.
The way they were all beautiful,
as soon as they were leaf free.
They were bare and left vulnerable,
their branches like stiff fingers.
Looking as if trying to grasp,
their old life before winter.
You always loved the broken.
Or the ones that needed to be cared for.
And what you never seemed to have realized
was that those tree's were neither.
They didn't need your help.
For they already had a life goal.
To come back after winter,
So much stronger than before.
When you saw this you were disappointed.
And that's when I finally got it.
All this time it wasn't about fixing others,
But about stitching your own split.
You spent so long looking in others,
for a brokenness like yours.
Thinking that if you helped them fix it,
then maybe you could wipe your own tears.
But, darling, I'm here to tell you,
that your approach is all wrong.
You are actually like those bare trees.
For you've been whole all along.

My body's but a host for all my many thoughts.
They get stuck in my veins when trying to reach my heart.
My lungs squeeze them in and out as they slowly struggle across,
My windpipe made of words to slip past my lips of art.
They crash around my stomach when I'm nervous or excited.
Causing little fights with sentences that get scrambled in my throat.
And I'm certain behind my eyes you'll see them messing around- delighted,
As they switch and mix up words to create new poems and quotes.
Inside my body is but a container of all my favorite things;
Lungs made of fairy tales and muscles made of fire,
Vessels made of children's laughter and bones made of wings...
Beneath my skin lives a world of all my many thoughts.
And I’m sure they would frighten and confuse all those who saw.
So I do my best to keep them hidden with my human attire.
For if no one sees what I am then people can't so willingly withdraw.

There is a silent howling in my bones.
They shake and tremble from it's humming tones.
I slip slowly to my hollow knees.
For instead of marrow they're filled with airy screams.
I am now too weak to stand on two feet.
Oh, how all your callous words have emptied me!

I was young and naive.
I let my heart get deceived.
I bought all the words from your tongue.
Fell for the webs that you spun.

I got caught in your grasp.
Locked in your clasp.
I didn't realize just how far it had gone;
until it had all went wrong.

And isn't that how it always is?
No one ever knows they're stuck until their two feet in...
Until they're already sinking.

I'm the kind of girl who remembers the first day I met you.
But forgets where I placed my phone two minutes prior.

The girl who sees the sadness you hide behind your smiles,
but takes ten minutes to finally see the can of green beans in front of her.

The girl who smiles at people who've hurt her.
And say's, "I'm fine" when I'm not.

I may never be the smartest in the room.
Nor the prettiest in the group.
I might never be the funniest.
Or the one that always has everything figured out.
But I can guarantee this:
I will always love.
I will always smile at strangers,
and listen to those who need to be heard.
I will always be respectful to everyone,
despite our differences of opinions.
And I will always be kind.
This, this I promise.

My heart has loved you more every day— how much I loved you then, is twice as much now. And as much as I love you now, I know there’s more to come.

If you peel her skull back,
And look inside her mind,
You will find cases filled with memories,
That she keeps labeled and organized.
There is a small one for her dreams,
That has gotten covered up with dust,
For she is always putting off herself,
For those that never cared about her musts.
Then there is another shelf half filled,
That she has labeled "The love that I learned",
And it's been being slowly emptied out,
By those that have borrowed from and never thought to return.
Then you will see one very large,
That is packed more than the rest,
It is labeled, "All that has hurt me",
And she knows every one of the titles and their context.
There is more smaller ones scattered here and there,
With faded titles and broken shelves,
But they're all hiding in the shadows of her silent self torture,
Because we convinced her that there was selfishness in loving herself.

Inside, inside I'm made of words. Sentences. Lyrics...
Inside, I'm life and death and light and darkness. I'm your worst dream and your greatest secret. I'm nothing and everything. I want someone to see me; for far more than just another face, another set of blue eyes, another smile, another voice... I want to be heard and understood. I want to be more than just what everyone says I am.

-Ravanna Dee

Slowly slipping down the stone walls,
You built so many years ago.
The one made with ****** fingers,
from every cruel and insensitive word.
You stacked it up with shaking hands,
and filled it in with broken hopes.
You thought it'd keep you safe,
but somehow pain always finds loopholes.
So the words kept slipping in,
and you kept bleeding out.
And the only real difference now,
was that no one could hear you shout.
You couldn't fight against their words,
And neither could the stone.
So in breaking it down you learned,
That sometimes pain is better than being alone.

There's a hum, a whisper, a note in your name.
A noise only heard at the quiet hour of 3:00 a.m.
When the sun has long been asleep in my world.
And your name is able to slip past my well constructed dam.
It arises when no one can hear my heart prattle.
A small touch of air along my already chilled skin.
I close my eyes in this mortal peace and listen.
As your name strums in my head like a violin.
Just for these few silent moments,
I let myself imagine an unrealistic thought.
When your name can pass my worried lips,
And I suddenly become more to you than just an afterthought.

Writing is much more than just spelling out words in clear sentences, or making sure you have correct punctuation. It's about creating something out of little more than wisps of thoughts and feelings. It's like, stitching a sweater with a dull needle and constantly drawing blood from pricking yourself accidentally with it. It's hard and brutal and your fingers or hand eventually become numb from the strain of it. But then... When you think your grip is forever stuck in the form of a pencil gripper, or your hand's are too ****** from the long task of stitching new life into something... you see what lays before you- a beautiful sweater, or perhaps a well thought out paragraph- and you realize it was entirely worth it. You finally understand the concept of working for something. You now know that when you have to claw and bleed your way to something, it becomes more precious to you. That fighting for something is infinitely more satisfying than anything else. And that, my fellow reader, is why writing is so amazing. We get to bleed for something that's actually worth giving everything up for. We get to live and create life through it. Writing is beautiful, but it is also the most terrifying thing anyone who does it can do. It's leaving yourself open and vulnerable to everyone. The best way I could possibly explain it you would be to say this: Writing is like falling in love; scary, stunning, difficult, amazing, big sweeping gestures, and falling from a plane... but it's worth it.

The wind was a melody I leaned to hear as a child.
But as I grew, it's tune became fuzzy.
Then nonexistent.

Once, the dead dandelion's were wishes.
But then they became weeds.
And a nuisance.

Puddles were small playgrounds sent down to bring me joy.
But then they were just mud and water.
Something *****. Something to avoid.

I could no longer hear the music on the air,
Nor did I look longingly at patches of dandelion's.
And puddles were just... well, puddles.

I no longer found joy in the small things.
And that, I believe, is why there is so many sad people today.
We all forgot what it was like to love life.

"Oh, come on! Name one other time I have ever lied to you?"

"This time."

"It was only once!"

"Sometimes, that's all it takes."

My heart was ready. Finally. After so many years of being uncertain and gradually pulling down the pieces of me struggling to break the surface; I can breath. I see the blue sky and the shore. I feel the gentle wind, assisting me across the waves. I hear the seagulls cries of joy and I bask in the warm suns rays. I taste the drying salt on my lips and allow them for the first time in so many years a chance to peel back in a gradual, enlightening smile. And as I float closer to a safe shore, I smell flowers and the fresh buds of leaves growing on the trees. I am ready. Beyond ready, to float to safety and peace. My heart has yearned for so long to break free of the waters dark expanse, and all I had to do was let go. To let go of the girl who was always waiting so heartbreakingly for a life raft. And instead become the woman who learned to float and breath and love the simplest pleasures of my senses guiding me to safety. Just let go. Let go, and be.

From ringing bells and cascading lace, caught up in the dust of our feet and the light wisps of bubbles leaving kisses along our face and arms; we run for the four wheel, rumbling engine that'll take us off to a series of financial uncertainties, sweaty embraces, swollen bellies and forgotten dates. And I know, I know I will never want anything more than this. Anything more than you.

My body's stained with the proof,
of all of my regrets.
All those mistakes that I had made
I know you all wish you could forget.

I might not have lived the best one,
but I hope you remember me in stories.
And know that despite my lack of using the word,
deep down I am very sorry.

In the end, I tried my best to hold onto,
The life that I once knew.
Of coffee cups, of cigarette butts,
of and old Chevy truck named Blue.

Loved ones names came and gone
Their goodbyes all sounded the same.
I finally let go of all the sickness,
Now my body isn't in as much pain.

Like a flower blooming in the spring.
And like the trees dying in the fall.
Every body and mind have a season.
And mine has come to a stall.

Now, here I lay, in a rough white casket
Where I'm spoken of in summary.
No longer am I anything,
but a man in whose become a memory.

It's cold in here.
Where I sit.
Waiting for the doctor;
To tell us you made it.
We all talk about you.
About how you lived.
A life of yelling and drunkenness.
A life of regrets.
They say your kidneys are failing  
That you're not doing well.
But we try to stay positive
For, even after everything, we still want you to live.
I'm your granddaughter.
And here I regret,
That I didn't try harder
to talk to you about Christ.
Now I sit waiting.
In this freezing cold room.
Hoping you don't go
So I don't have to feel like I left you
On this road of destruction that you paved all on your own.

"Borrow the day," she said,
"When your heart has lost itself in midnight."
"Borrow the birds." she said,
"When your soul aches to take flight."
"Borrow the air," she said,
"When the depths of the ocean chokes you."
"And borrow my heart," she said,
"When this world forgets to love you as I do."

Simmering,
dripping
words.
Caught in
tongues.
Spreading
like
dandelions.
Falsities.
Fragmented
truths.
Some sipping the
words like
humming birds.
Consuming quickly.
Spreading like
pollen on
more
tongues.
Relishing.
Blooming discord.
Growing hatred.
It spreads.
Until,
the sky opens up.
Weeps.
Great sorrowing
drops,
cascade down.
Plummet the
earth.
Clears it.
Cleans it.

We all breath the same, no?
We all have beating hearts, yes?
We all have a brain, and limbs, and lips, and eyes, and thoughts, and feelings, and, and, and...
So, why must we make such a mess?
Why must we fight and hurt others simply because what they have isn't a replica of ours?
Why must someone with one skin pigment be treated any differently then someone with another.
Why must other peoples opinions be down sized for no other reason except that they aren't ours?
Why do we hate each other because we're different?
Why in this already destruction filled world do we destroy others down to build ourselves up?
Why?
Why?
Why?
What is wrong with us?