my mind is a wasteland of negative thoughts
self-pity, resentment, and fear-- they bury themselves
deep in my mind slowly decomposing, but sometimes are
reborn when I feed them

I would be consumed by dark self destructive thoughts
that would eat me away from the inside, if it was not for my heart sorting and purifying my negative thoughts into good intentions that grow into thoughtful actions to help others

I always thought I could think my way out from the hell I created, but what really freed me is allowing my heart to sing

I needed the help of others who survived their own wastelands
to believe my song was worth singing, their voices carried me
until I found my own melody bubbling inside of me

my heart sings to remember not to loose hope, and reach out to others

We are always waiting.

John Lennon or someone on Facebook or God said:

"Life is what happens when you're making other plans."

Life is what happens when you're waiting, and soon you'll be dead.
That's what that quote says to me.

So I'll just wait for eternity
Quietly.

And if I'm in line at the grocery
or synching my phone
or whatever it may be

maybe I'll use the time to write poetry.

Leave my little mark,
help the world remember
that while I was waiting I was still
me.

there are 10 things you may need to know about me
if you'd like to get to know me better
if you care about me

1. i love thunderstorms
i love the way lightning looks against the sea at night
i enjoy the presence of crazy rain and
the arguments the clouds seem to have
i am a pluviophile

2. i hate small talk
i do not care for my feelings on this particular time of day which is why if you ask me how i am or "how i'm feeling" i will provide a bland answer
this is such a boring step for you to get to know me better
you probably don't even care how my summer went
tell me your fantasies, childhood fears,
tell me things you wouldn't tell your best friend
ask me questions about my former lover

i am curious to know

3. i am quiet a lot
i ponder about life and odd little ideas pop into my head randomly
like: i wonder if you can naturally change your eye colour or
why is it quiet only at night?
i think about people i haven't met or people in my past
those whom i care about and those whom i hate

4. people with sad eyes are attractive
i do not know why
the roundness and dull sparkle in their eyes arouse me
it creates me to gravitate around them
i do not pity them but i am somehow attracted to them

5. the internet is amazing
i have gained so many friends from here
different photos and art has inspired me
i lost fears through the internet
it's fascinating really

6. i have a fine appreciation for art
there are so many different forms of art and i love all of them
whether it's poetry or dance or drama
i have experimented and flirted with them all
they are unique and brilliant in their own way

7. i do not love myself
no matter how hard i bring myself to it
there are so many flaws and dents in my skin
that i cannot do it
i am shameful of myself
afraid of myself
and most of all
i am saddened by my own soul

8. i long for a soulmate
one to appreciate good food with
one to travel with
whether i am in love with this person or one whom i am
very fond of
i long for someone to be there for me at all times

9. i cry easily
i am sensitive and this is hard to admit
i am overemotional at times and the tears fall easily
most of the time it is because i can relate to the certain emotion
that is being depicted

10. i am filled with stories
i could go on and on about different rumors and secrets i have stored inside
i am in abundance with stories and good laughs
i have fascinating scary stories both fiction and non-fiction
many stories are mine and there are a lot that aren't
but both are entertaining and i enjoy telling stories

may your song break through
the darkness of the night
and welcome the dawn

may your song give hopeless hearts
a taste of wondrous beauty
that touches even darkened souls

once upon a time
there was an I
who believed

that writers
wrote poems
and that words
were poetry

the I
would write
and write
and the words would drop
from the I's pen
onto crumbling paper
that was torn
for effect

and create lines
and lines
of empty poetry
that the I
would snort
when the I
was alone

one day
before the moon left
and the sun rose
and the I's eyes closed

the I discovered
that the real poem
was the person
across
the room

Me?
I eat embers of sunshine for breakfast
and wash them down with rain clouds.