I feel most at home
when my pencil is hitting the paper
or my fingers are hitting the keys

I write to have a voice
a voice that screams to be heard
a voice that has been crying out
for so long

I am no longer willing to sit in silence
I deserve to be heard
and I'll scream until someone listens

My pain has been overlooked
my words have been belittled
my voice has been hushed

But not for any longer

laying in my bed, trying to write this poem
Being in a small town, wishing somewhere bigger and brighter was my home.
A place where people don't sleep.
Where the night owls thrive.
A place where everything is always alive.
I look outside my window and see nothing but darkness and an empty street.
Nothing but one street lamp, how does everyone feel complete?
Do people ever get lonely and want something more?
Doesn't anyone always want an open door?
I want to look out my window, and see action.
Taxi's and people and human interaction.
Not some empty street that's a depressing distraction.
I want something more, bright lights galore, a place where sleep doesn't have to be an option anymore.

My dove, my beautiful one,
Arise, arise!
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.

The odorous winds are weaving
A music of sighs:
Arise, arise,
My dove, my beautiful one!

I wait by the cedar tree,
My sister, my love,
White breast of the dove,
My breast shall be your bed.

The pale dew lies
Like a veil on my head.
My fair one, my fair dove,
Arise, arise!

What colour is beautiful ?
        
         Beauty is a kaleidoscope, yet black is
         the ostracized shade.
         My skin is like a stretched canvas, exploding
         with hues and tones of blackness
         Swirled into one beautiful ...
         me.
         Why does the vibrancy of my essence have to be
         tamed into bland bite-size bits to be
         swallowed up by society.
         Is the flavour of my skin too rich and sweet
         for you to bear?
         Well, if you cannot handle the bitter sweetness
         that makes me a dark berry, then
         Stay bland in your conception of blank beauty.
         I am not one shade too dark for beauty.
         Black Is Beautiful.
         I Am Beautiful.

To: The brokenhearted girl

And to the boy who broke your heart,
I honestly hope he's happy,
I hope he's pleased with what he had done.
I hope he's sleeping peacefully, because you aren't.

I hope he shivers in pain, when he thinks of you
I hope his ears get tired of hearing your name
Over, and over and over again
Especially on nights when he's restless.
Especially on nights when he can't sleep
Especially on nights when his eye lids won't shut.
I hope he remembers the taste of your lips
And yearns for it when your lips hits the lips of another man.
I hope his dreams are filled with images of you
Images of you happier than ever,
Images of you finding someone that's better.
I hope when he eats, he remembers how your hand cradled the food
How your lips surrounded it and how your jaws turned almost hypnotically as you savoured the food the same way you did to his tongue.

And I hope when the lips of another are on him, they'll feel like yours
And her touch, will feel like your touch,
And her hair,
Her hair ..
I hope it smells like yours.
And I hope the kisses of another, will feel like lashes compared to yours
And i hope their touch, will feel like burns compared to yours
As if he's receiving a punishment for letting you go
As if he's receiving a punishment for falling in the arms of another.
As if he's receiving a punishment for using the word "love" too much.

And i hope the minute he utters "I love you" , he'll remember the times he told you,
He'll remember each one of them as if it was yesterday,
Remember which ones were lies,
Break down in tears
And comes crawling back to you.

But darling, don't forget to tell him it's too late.

Sincerely,
An onlooker
(h.s)

I wish,
            That on this day...
All sins,
                 Be washed away.
Let freedom reign.
Peace on earth, and to the Kingdom.
                           **in our hearts