Dear diary,
Can anyone see this pitiful,
being inside of me?
Broken hearted, yet always singing?
Nothing to smile for, yet always smiling.
Torn apart, and never put back together?
This wound is young,
but it will stay forever.
I’m drifting into nothing-
numb, but breathing
dead, and living.
This emptiness…
is like a glass house.
I’m waiting to crash.
Can anyone see this pitiful,
being inside of me?
Broken hearted, yet always singing?
Nothing to smile for, yet always smiling.
I’m waiting for someone to inspire me.
I’m pushing through this life-
is it breaking?
I hope that I can-
save me.
From this numb,
this stranger to you?
I feel abused.
It’s so illogical-
I always was a little bit irrational.
I don’t deserve to feel this way,
karma owes me a better fate.
But then again, I need to be grateful-
Can anyone see this pitiful,
being inside of me?
Broken hearted, yet always singing?
Nothing to smile for, yet always smiling.
Emotion is chasing-
and I’m hiding.
Why won’t it find me?
Maybe I’m just too delusional-
Maybe I’m just a fool, but-
I can’t help but feel this way.
This numbness is choking me.

Even if I looked away,
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way your eyes sparkle in the light,
And hide their beauty in the shade.
…the way I try to hide my blush
For our gentle masquerade.

God ties a ribbon;
upon my mother's womb.
As she waits for a tiny gift, (her only wish)
to arrive soon.
        My presence comes,
        but her patience goes.
                        The gift,
                         blessedly unraveling as time flows.
Always unwrapping,
                                                       beauty is slow.
My sweet mama,
                                                       what beauty could she know?

You
are
an
instrument;
incomplete.
HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY MUSIC AWAY?
To compensate for your life; bittersweet.
Your screeching clarinet is weak;
compared to my heavenly, my holy
(melodies).

Is that a child I hear?
Rumbling in my future, a-near?
Noisy, messy, restless,
tumbling down stacks of toys, and my hopes and dreams.
Is that the birthing poison traveling down my throat?
But stop! The child scraped a knee-
and so the cruelest thoughts of pregnancy slip behind me,
replaced by a maternal love that I bleed.
I bend down to kiss it, make it better;
with dire hopes that I succeed.
To hear the child’s laughter, to see his brilliant eyes light up like
New York city lights,
is enough of a thought to make me drink, willingly.
A mother remembers her child before anything else;
is it a curse, a poison,
or a beautiful part of pregnancy?

A bitter gun, with bullets so sweet.
A silver lover, fatal kisses tempting.
Misery becomes my disease,
and I become slave to the infection.
How Satan whispers!
How I,
obedient daughter of God, listen.