The word potential is one of self sabotage.
It is dedicated to those unable to put their dreams to work.
Potential is a word given to the indicated who are poised to have talent but no drive, ambition but no discipline.
Potential is given to the abundant group of people who are able to breathe but never live life.
Potential.
A word made to create your grave before you've died.
I haven't figured out how to stay away from the trap.
However, a promise to myself is that I will do more then breathe.

When walking down the street
I have a tendency to get looks
an eye glance here and there
I don’t mind it to much
it means I’m special
it’s when the glances come with ignorance
my mind has a tendency to get flustered.
that’s when it hits.
and I’m the lost one
because I refuse to be seen as one thing
since my speech and race don’t seem to quite match
I apparently have an identity crisis
but that’s cool
I realize my worth is more then in my skin
I don’t mean to be indignant
but I refuse to not be heard
There is more to my identity
then the complexion that was placed on me
a wise guy once said
                                                                ­                                  “we are the people every one wants to be like,
                                                           ­                                                          but never the people you want to be”
while I understand that all colors don’t really make a rainbow,
I know they can still blend to make art
create beauty in whats become this ugly world
and instead of catching the falling hate
                                                                ­                                                             throw out love
                                                          ­                                                              p­assion
                                                        ­                                                        exciteme­nt
                                                                ­                                     Acceptance...
and understand what is
or change it to make what needs to be
                                                     I consider myself a Woman
                                                         ­                                I know that I'm a Friend
                                                      ­    I  try to be  a Learner
                                                                ­                        I will be a Lover
But I will not be considered to be anything other
THEN WHAT I AM!
**** that
just to clear up the confusion
                                                       ­                                             I
                                                                ­                                         am not
                                                             ­                                                          a *Color.

I Hate Leeches.
They are just a little too sneaky for my blood.
I never notice them till i feel that raw irritation on my body,
that sudden sense of loss I never can seem to get rid of.  
I try and look for before that sensation happens,
but they wear these little disguises called friendships.  

I Hate Leeches.
they creep on my arteries so easily,
I rip them out,
but their sharp little suckers tear my skin.
No matter what,
leeches always have me bleed out.

Instability is exciting.
The constant search for solid ground incites all forms of emotion,
so one is never bored.
There is this everlasting feeling of being in a state of free falling.
It starts by randomly scraping against walls,
then moves to finding moments of light filled clarity,
to scrambling to find a truth to clutch onto in a darkness that may feel endless.
Through out instability, whether it is exciting or terrifying,
the growth you feel and attain becomes insatiable.

Tension
Excitement
Nerve
Uncertain
Dear Relationships
I Don’t Get You. .

Rocked by thunder.
A light that nearly blinded me,
over much to quickly.
Just a flash that passed me,
During a night that we only refer to as a blur.
Early in the morning I slip from the clouds of the storm,  
making the small leap home.
Where I bath in my bittersweet guilty pleasure.
So aware of the rain and mud that won’t clean off,
chuckling to myself,
“it shouldn’t have been that much fun.”
Sobriety and insanity had a wonderful balance that night.
As we stole stars from the sky,
ran from the upset nature,
while playing in the sky’s tears over her lost friends.
There was splendor in all her rage.
There was a beauty in her pain.

Listen* for it.
Whats trying to be found,
it was within grasp,
but lost when not put to use.
Where is it?
Why won’t it come back?
Insanity is beginning to creep with out it
please come back
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                     to me...
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                    before I lose myself with you.
All that's left is apologies and tithes,
amends that should have been extended long ago.
Words with out direction that need to spoken.
                                                         ­                                                                 ­           I feel you near
but constantly
                                                                ­                                                               you remain evasive.
Constantly craving                                                                                   our past,
when you would drift to the edge,
tip forward showcases,
and present the different reality
                                                                ­                                                    *of who I am.

The fabric soft against my skin.
I slip into it,
ravishing the feeling of this moment.
Wondering how many more tomorrows will feel this way.
Until I realize its soiled,
these disgusting stains that have made me collateral damage.
Its so grimy!
So foul!
How revolting!
How I hate my self for hating you...
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                           Its like I can't escape him.
His stench of betrayal follows me  every where!
I can’t clean it off!
The pride that once held this ivory shade,
is now smeared and torn with images of you.
                                                            ­                                                                 ­              Fine then, be with her.
Pearl buttons and lace ties hang by mere threads
where beautiful memories once stitched them together.
You've left me tarnished and tainted.
                                                        ­                                                              Wh­at did i see in you.
It’s like the world can see this new shade.
A stench that seeps from the stains!
Creating this barricade from who I want to be!
Who I want to show to him.
I hide my now homely love,
stuck in box,
beneath my bed,
unable to rid my self of your Pandora's box,
in ambition to make sure,
no one will ever see this ***** laundry.

I hate this pounding thought in my mind.
Needing clarity, but held down by the vines in the fog covered forest.
Always thought you wouldn't leave me to wayside and yet...
Departed, you left me to rot in this trap.
Enabling you forward, I don't even fight back.
Quite overwhelms me, and my body begins to ache.
Underneath the silence, my chest finally breaks .
All alone, no one can see the lonely soul.
Crawling out of the body, in hopes to find her beloved.
You.

Darling talk maybe cheap,
but I pay a pretty penny for those thoughts of yours.
I lose my own self
in order to gain parts of you.
Offering dreams and futures that coincide,
turning them into what you want them, or me
to be.
I ask for only love as compensation.
A small price for such big ideas.
Some would call it a steal for what I’m willing to give.
If I were you, I would take this bargain while she’s hot.

I feel it hit
so hard I’m nearly blown to the ground
the winds that say
“we were only passing through”
attempts at catching them are feeble at best
sad but realistic
and painful to witness
changeing myself so I parachute
all to keep the winds that once moved so sweetly
reality hits me again
the winds say
“it was only a matter of time”
I try to maintain this form all to see its blowing me back
why do the winds never stay?
Is the point to simply send you a shiver
then be on their way
to blow past what is no longer loved
or perhaps appreciable
for after a tornado pushes through
nothing can be recognized.

My ideas are beginning  to change
yet smiles break free.

When walking through the woods
I heard him.
He spoke simple,concise.
Words more harsh then arctic winds
drifting past my heart.
No real pain though,
I was so cold my body was numb.
He had become a raw irritation.
With a smile on his face
He took his ax,
split my confidence like birch wood,
sprinkled the kindling of my ego
around me.
“It’s just not what i thought it would be,
I hope we can still be friends.”
He never told me what he though it was.

Such a sly one he is.
Makes a five second kiss linger for hours.
Before actual contact,
a touch can feel sensational.
Sliding hands in places they definitely shouldn't go,
and not being stopped by hands that should definitely try.
Its hard to stop something you shouldn't have, but want so bad.
With a smile that inches up the side of his face,
a smug expression that I was annoyed to have liked.
It almost makes it worse when he falls into your lap.
Then again,
He seems to fall into everyone’s lap.