I'm tired.
Tired of everything.
I just want to sleep,
And never wake up again.

No, I'm not lazy,
I'm not running away from life.
I'm just tired of the world and myself,
And too tired to change anything.

When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.

When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.

When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.

When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.

golden written poems
reflect my aching soul,
i hope you see
what you're looking for.
and though it shows
that try you must,
what you should find,
you'll never know.

i won't apologize for,
the run down home
with faded bright paint,
art hung on tilted walls.
it served as solace
when nights turned sour,
my clandestine sanctuary
in the darkest hour.

it may seem to you
how unconventional -
that of my liquor at dawn,
and breakfast at twilight.
when i breathe fire,
i do not wince,
it triggers my passion -
my soul just grins.

you, however
speak in arrogant tongues,
because you can't see my heart.
the noise you make,
repudiates my art.
though you feel superior
and put me beneath your boot
i'll rise in time,
and retrieve my worth.

i'm different, it's true --
disarray of vivid colors,
an underrated being
of unseen collections.
and so i should not
explain to you just why,
it's useless to show you
for you see in only black and white.

here is my heart,
here it is.
you are reading it.

"why do poets
have this courage?"

"what courage?"

"to be open."

"we were the caged.
we were the voiceless.
but now,
we are not.
don't let our courage make you believe
we have always been brave."

Two tears dripped
She held the cup from which she sipped
Parallel and equally heavy
That fell from a cloud she could not levy

From the taunting and teasing
They called  nothing more than appeasing
She was big
named a pig
They drew her tears
Until she could not hear

She painted her face
Dressed herself in lace
she never had a chance to feel  beautiful
Until she was dull
She took her last breath
And tears drowned her to death

She cried into her lap when she lost her innocence
Not because the wanted it to reappear inside of her
But, because she would never again experience the pleasure of losing it

Our hands couldn't touch because they were too similar
So we decided to put our backs together instead
And faced opposite sides of the world
So that our lips would never utter the same words ever again

we always want to have someone
sometimes we forget-
we have ourselves