You keep the poet in me alive,
and the words running through my veins.
Every time you break my heart.
You give me the gift of a muse,
for my misery in exchange.
I paint murals of elegant words.
Sojourn museums of elaborate memories.
Build cathedrals of poetical prayers.
You keep the artist in me alive,
and the paint dripping from my fingers.
Foolishly trying to illustrate
something beautiful from these ashes.

We both shared this knowing,
but were too apprehensive to point out
the obvious:
Love was brewing,
even still.

I wanted nothing to do
with the Light.
It stung.
It permeated.
It was far too invasive.
I fell in love with the midnight
of my Soul.
I self-medicated
with the familiar pain.
The Light was far too Holy,
for someone as lowly as me.
But, she was tender.
Her voice was inviting.
So, reluctantly,
I allowed her in.
And I welcomed her
to this dark void
I’ve made Home.

Last night I kissed your lips
in my dream,
only to taste regret on your tongue.
Your cold gaze spoke volumes
when our lips withdrew.
Because it was then,love
when I knew that our paths
shouldn’t have ever crossed.
Our bodies shouldn’t have
ever been introduced.
Our souls should have never collided.
I clung to you so tightly,
that when I woke up,
I could still smell your scent
embedded
in the threads of my shirt.
But even my dreaming mind knew
that your heart belonged
to someone else.
Still tasting the bitter rejection
on my face,
the salty tears
I erased with the hand
I held against my shattered heart.
Still facing the rejection
that I just couldn’t escape from,
even as I slept.
Tossing over on the sheets
of which I savored your aroma
from those nights in my bed,
When you slumbered
so deeply.
But even my yearning body knew
that your heart belonged
to someone else.
Someone should’ve told me
that rejection was for my own protection,
Because now I realize
that I was only the cause
of an *******,
Not arousing from your heart,
but from your lower section;
The product of a connection
lacking affection.
So now,
I wash my sheets of you,
to rid the bitter stench
of lust
that was left behind.
Because even my bed knew
that your heart belonged
to someone else.

"She tried to be everyone else's anchor but only sunk in despair, when She was engulfed in her own destruction and reached for hands that weren't there. But She had the strength of ten thousands waves that crashed at sea, with the heart of a lioness on the prowl for just a glimpse of her Free."

They thought they taught me how to be a woman...
    Expected to be strong hearted with a sharpened tongue and a backbone made of steel,
   Masquerading underneath a veil of indifference and resilience.
    Never showing lack thereof nor revealing weakness, but instead to take the lashes of sexism to the backside with ease:
   Taught to work finger to fragile bone, to stand ground on pained soles... Then commended for being a "woman"!
   Am I only good for surviving toil?
To be trampled over by the societal ideal that a woman is only known for making do with what's left to her?
NO.
They only thought they told me how to be a woman.
A woman is more than just a showcase of her strength.
She deserves more than the applause for her taking more than what or who's child she can bear.
  A woman is neither her survival nor misfortune. A woman's essence lies between her pain and her strength to rise.

At a loss for words, loss for poetry.
Nothing else to spill, nothing left to feel.
Entangled in the contours of unspoken thoughts .. No rhythm, no beat, no metaphors left to speak..
No solace, no release, no comfort within this ink..

I just wanted to matter.

I know it sounds a little unorthodox... even crazy,
but it felt so **** good to be hurt by you, because I was addicted to your cure!
No one can kiss a bruise quite like the one who caused it.
My hopes wrapped up in you like being tangled in my bed sheets....

The way you lure me, back into this committed relationship to false hope and empty "maybes".

I broke my own heart for you. Worst betrayal.
You've made home in my heart rent free... I've become your doormat, watching you come and go as you please.
I charged no fee for you to own my thoughts in such a way that you do.
Fool only for you.

Live and never forget. Forgive, and never regret.
We all have loved, and love is all we have.
Never forget, never regret.

Reflection of flawed imperfection staring back at me pleading to be cherished.
I found truth from within, buried underneath a yearning to be desired,
yet a needing of love from Self.
Crooked smiles were gracefully painted on its canvas; a wrapping of the arms hugging tightly around self; a resting of the hands against the warming heart.
Sensitive to the unfamiliar touch of affection, deprived by others.
It was then when I recognized the sensation.
the interior warmth,
the restoration of courage to feel again.
The intrinsic means to rebirth in spirit.
A dying soul awakening from the cold winds.
A blossoming of the new flower.
A rose striving through a concrete past.
A glistening dandelion once more from a glimpse of the Son.
It was then when I felt love.
It was then when I embraced the Son’s light that shone upon her reflection.
It was then when I found her.
Belle Fleur.
I’ve loved her ever since.

Dagger buried in the depths of my heart,
pain seeping out of every crease causing of an eruption of tears.
Consistent manipulation into giving up my hopes,
A conning of my inner treasure.
Mend the broken pieces of my emotions,
the scattering of my feelings,
shredded apart because of a stolen hope.
A borrowed courage to believe that I could be loved.
The right to know that a heart was destined to belong with mines.
The privilege to smile without reason.
Pinpointing the flaws of my love,
questioning where does it become “too much”?
Torn apart from the inside,
a decaying courage to try,
denying myself of the experience to fall,
pain accumulating with every ignored cry,
every plead pushed to the side.
A vacant space now occupies the nucleus of my emotions.
They withered away with every disappointment and tear.
So everything within me dies,
(Oh, how bitter the feeling)
in hopes of a rebirth.

She stood still before the choas; unshaken.
The wind blew its mighty breath against Her core but to no avail; unmoved.
Her coffee'd skin warm like the sun that kisses the Earth's horizon.
Something within Her had risen without warning nor permission:
She was a Goddess, in Her own right.

Brown. The soft tone of the Earth.
Golden hue painted widely across the canvas of Her *****.
Her skin like caramelized silk, with the sunglow of Egypt itself.

She pressed Her face to the Earth's floor and moved mountains with Her prayers.
Queen of the meek, ambassador of the poor.
She was the perfect amalgam of beauty and brokenness.
~The Goddess of Humility.