I am not infallible.
Nor the almighty, powerful.
I am not creator
I am not better,
but I am.
And the differences lies in my believing,
what
I
**am.

Will you turn me into a song?
With shades of purple as beautiful as the dawn
I will creep slowly with the glinting rays of the sun
Sprinkle me like dew in the green meadows
Hide me in the flowers while busy bees halt for nectar
I'll be like pollen spreading free in serene breeze
Allow me to dance in every eyelids I meet
Pluck a lash and wake them from sleep
Before the day's toil,
I'll be the song of the day's hope

Will you turn me into a song?
Tuck me in the sheets of clouds that swathed the skies
Just before twilight while the mourning sun bleeds
It's lips caressing the foliage of leaves
As the cold wind of winter greets,
I'll be the itch in their filcrums pushing in dimples
creating smiles after long days of hard work
Reminding everyone that everything is worth their effort

Will you turn me into a song?
I'll be the fleeting silver lining in every sad teardrops falling
Even in the rain, I'll be hidden in the frayed clouds
To drizzle you courage to face tomorrow's challenges
I'll be the song of all the hearts; exhausted and crushed
My melody will never turn into dust
Will you turn me into a song? I ask.



-Last Wish, Margaret Austin Go

Lock on the door. Lust and desire
fill their minds. “Kiss me poetry kiss
me on your porcelain floor kiss me
against the wall” she says. She begs
for more she begs to feel his fire all
over her skin and from within. Fingers
in the curls of his hair. Nails in his
skin, love fumes in the air. Her skin
slapped on his. Reaching down inside
her thighs to her knees he pauses as he
switches directions indenting his fingers
into her flesh. This couldn’t get any better
than this. But reality was harsh and cruel
for it was just a daydream she made up in
her head while sitting alone in her room.
But soon he’ll make her dreams come true
as he promised to kiss her in the light of the
day and the light of the moon* ~

Opening up the chambers of my heart.
Wanting to spill out the words of love
trapped inside to you using nothing but
paper and pen , just like a drunk man spills
all his drink. I don’t know where to begin.
Whether to write down about how I felt the
first time we met. Or to write down about the
crush I had on you online. Or should I begin
with describing how my stomach twisted and
flipped the first time you sent me a kiss online
when the clock hit midnight and you typed
Happy New Day.
Oh my where should I begin. Perhaps with the
first time you held me skin on skin. Or the first
time you called me your person. You fill me up
with an infinity of words and colourful emotions.
Making me excited about writing them all down
at once. But yet you manage to leave me sitting
down confused and without a clue of where should
I begin. For now I’ll leave you with*

Thank you for existing thank you
for being loyal and true ~

Why are those dressed in black always so in pain?
Ever looked at your reflected image in the irises of a dark-eyed person?
You can't see yourself in lightly-colored eyes
You can see your reflection better in black
And those who dress in black
Are surrounded by it
They see their own image everyday
Their own flaws flashing back at them, everywhere they look