Fill my head with the brisk, night air.
So I can finally think.
Fill my lungs with the moons soft, light rays.
Let it drown me.
Fill my bones with the dry feel of leaves.
So it can replace the ache.
Fill my heart with this earthy content sound.
So the calm can take.
Fill me up with this autumn evening.
Let it consume me whole.
Let it, for just one night, do all the feeling.
Let this autumn night take control,

My world is speeding up. Everyday it gets closer and closer to some invisible end point. I just don't know what that end point looks like. It's scary. Like racing towards an edge and knowing you can't slow down. My heart speeds up. Kicking me in the lunges as I think about it.
  My schedule is always full. Exhaustion is my lurking roommate. I wake up just as tired as I was when I fell asleep. I want to name this feeling but I can't grasp the right words. So I Google hundreds of them. Hoping. Praying. That I'll find one that settles on my soul. So far? No luck. They all start to blur eventually. The A's and the Q's all look the same. The B's and the R's intertwine. My brain is a scattered mess of failed expectations and words I can't express to my full desire.

The desire to fill,
to pour more
into the gaps of my heart,
my soul, and mind.
To completely submerge
those bare holes
until there is no room
for doubts and insecurities.
It is so overwhelming when I stand
in the folds of your arms.
When your presence consumes
those pains and calms my breath.
The need to change
is building.
Empty me,
Fill me.
Change me.
Consume me.
God, use me.
I am Yours.

In the lines around my mouth,
You could read two different stories.
        They could've come from a smile.
          Or quite possibly from a frown.
But honestly you'll never know,
Unless, you brave the risk,
       Of coming to me alone,
and asking me yourself.

Writing is like falling in love; scary, stunning, difficult, amazing, big sweeping gestures, and falling from a plane... but it's worth it.

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.

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

You grabbed my chest and ripped it open,
Until my heart- all I was, fell on the linoleum.
My lungs were full, so with careful precision,
You used a scalpel and made an incision.
For an agonizing time I waited...
As you slowly took me apart and left me debilitated.
You looked at my parts and with a close inspection
You tossed out the ones that weren't perfection.
Then you began to reassemble me, with parts that were new.
While you repeatedly told me how much better they would do.
I believed all of your words and didn't question it.
But once they were in, my chest hurt, and they felt unfit.
I wanted them out, and my old pieces back.
But you said that wouldn't work, I couldn't back track.
Now I'm stuck with pieces that don't fully fit me.
Because I fell into the worlds description of who I should be.

I was ignorant.
I didn't see the strike until it was too late.
The knife was already between shoulder blades.
And I was down on my knees begging for mercy.
You had none...

And now I can't believe;
I didn't see your narcissistic qualities.
All the signs that pointed to your cruelty.
How every word you said was meant to destroy me.
But now I can...

And I'm never coming back.
I gave you chance after chance,
to make your amends.
And when you didn't,
I had to forgive it;
and move on...

If your words can touch,
save,
comfort,
or
make someone,
just
one person
do or be better,
feel or understand more,
open up,
trust,
relax,
love,
feel less alone,
even just a little...
Than that's all that really counts.
If you could change just one life...
Do it.
Speak out.
Share.
Just, DO it!
Your voice,
could very well,
be
the one
that
others
desperately
need to hear.

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 no wrong way to write.
Writing is just another form of expressing thought.
Expressing dreams.
Expressing feelings.
It's telling the world who you are.
Slowly.
One
Word
At
A
Time.
There is not one person out there who is born doing it better than another.
Because greatness is only achieved through consistency.
Write.
Then keep writing.
Until your words are autumn leaves,
falling together in little beautiful tufts.

Tightening, tightening.
That’s how it feels.
Like a hand around my windpipe,
cutting off my air.
I can’t breath.
I can’t speak.
I can’t do anything but suffocate.
Please, oh please!
Just let me breath.

I've seen miracles happen.
I've seen families break apart.
I've seen love freely given.
And the hatred in some hearts.
I've heard the honest pleas of a broken;
as they fell to their trembling knees.
I've heard the cruelty a tongue can wield,
as they cut down their enemies.
This world is filled with good.
But also consumed with bad.
Don't be deceived by someones words.
But pay attention to how they act.

When you sit and stare at people,
As they go throughout their daily tasks,
Do you ever happen to wonder,
If the expression their wearing is a mask?
As they walk right on past you,
A smile drawn across their face,
Do you ever think that maybe,
In this world they actually feel out of place?
And when a mother catchers her child being reckless,
You watch as she speaks to him with fury,
Do you mentally chide her instantly, or wonder that if maybe,
That's her way she handles worry?
When a little girl of six,
Sits alone, watching everyone else,
Do you think that she is sad,
Or maybe that she just prefers to by herself?
So many times, so many cases,
We believe our own interpretation,
That our eyes and ears have sought the truth,
But then we learn, often too late, that they'd gathered misinformation.
Oh, all the countless times we see things,
And deem them to mean something of no such,
You would think the we would eventually learn,
Not to so quickly judge.

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.

They tell us to speak.
To free the ache in our caged chest.
So we rip open our ribs,
to let the fears spill out.
Expecting,
hoping,  
that someone will try to catch them.
Envelop them in their arms.
Secure them in their anxiety.
Warm them with their kindness.
We believe that someone,
just maybe,
quite possibly,
however foolishly,
will help us burden the pain
that's trying to collapse
our already fragile hearts.
That someone might clear away
our scarlet, stained tears.
And lend us a hand
as we slip farther and farther,
towards the edge of the blackest chasm.
But even as our eyes scream, "save me".
And our blue lips tremble,
They choose to look away.
Because they knew.
They knew they never really meant it.
It was just empty,
pointless words to try out.
Throw around like party confetti.
      "I will listen"              "I won't judge"
                    "trust me"
"I'm hear for you"                    
                                "Believe­ me"
  "Maybe I can help"                    "Don't hold it in"
                       "it'll be OK"

And we believed it.
For we really, really wanted to.
We wanted to know that we would,
in fact, be, "OK"
And still, here we are.
Smiling as we beat ourselves
into invisible,
blue and purple hues.
Until we let go of the edge
and finally 
                 F
  
                     A
    
                          L
      
                             L
                              
                               ­   L
                                
                           ­            L
                                            into the blackness of the chasm.

Leaving them to finish burying us.

I remember the scarlet taste
from biting my lips.
I remember the salty water,
that my eyes had dripped.
I remember the silent screams,
that had rang in my head.
But most of all, I remember
all those desperate words I never said.

Your tongue was a leash, and it had held me captive for far too long.

There were a few things my heart couldn't let me share.
A few words my mouth dared not declare.
A fleeting thought that I wouldn't let take hold.
The breath I fought to keep these few fears from being told.
There are a few things I've yet to overcome.
And until then... I shall hold onto them...

But, only until sharing them I can let be done.
When I know that I faced that beast and won.

Oh, how we fall!
Back into our subtle brawl.
Of bickering and silent fits.
Of two at their last wits.
Oh, how we tried!
To just be on the same side.
But we're two separate countries.
Picking a different war monthly.
Oh, how I pray!
That one day we'll be okay.
That I won’t have to watch how I speak.
That I won't feel so left out of your clique.
Oh, why must I dream!?
Of something that will never be...

"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."

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.

There is a fragility in staring into a mirror.
In knowing that though the glass is unmarked,
The reflection is shattered.

These little steps I’ve been taking too.
Are the ones of life that bring us through;
long dirt roads and open doors.
From hospital beds to graveyard rows.
We each take paths that break us down.
Places where our knees give out.
We blister and fall as we continue to walk.
And sometimes we must crawl along the sidewalk.
We are only human, don’t you see?
We aren’t always meant to live pain free.
We must make decisions that are hard.
And learn to keep going despite fates card.
But we are human and therefor we are strong.
So when there is bad days we remember the good.
Where the sun shines, and our steps feel light.
Where people come along to help bare the weight.
Those are the times when we forget our burdens.
When our crazy walk seems almost worth it.
When we are surrounded by those we care for.
The journey is long but bearable.
Occasionally even enjoyable.

Our thoughts are like an ocean.
For they make up most of who we are.
They can be very deep and vast,
And impossible to completely explore.
Sometimes you must tread lightly.
Watch what you do and think.
For there is the occasional drop off.
And with just one wrong step; you might sink.
Though sometimes it may seem scary,
Swimming in the dark and unknown...
It can also be quite beautiful,
With all that life, you don't feel so alone.
There is so many wondrous things,
Going on in our minds.
If we all just choose to open up a bit more,
Who knows what unique things we might find?

Breath hitching with the distorted thoughts.
Spiraling out of near comprehension.
Some looping and tightening like a noose.
Others snapping with speedy progression.
They tug at memories of mistakes.
Drawing them in like old friends.
While ripping apart images of smiles.
Leaving them dangling with frayed ends.
I slip my fingers between strands of hair.
Cupping my skull with violent hands.
My descent increases like rising tides,
When all I really want to do is land.