I want a mouthful
  of truth
without you sugar coating
  every word
but those lies that lie
  behind your pearly whites
only goes to show
  you can't ever tell the truth.
So, I'll keep my mouth shut
  bite my tongue so hard
My lips touch
  like a kiss from you
Never open, only
  Blowing our love out of proportion
because I can't give
   my heart to you
with no proof,
just changing gears
  and shifty eyes.
You whisper, "Honey,"
  But that's your disguise
Executing every syllable and consonant
  Like a devout man
but baby you're not heaven sent.
  So, pull me close
until you start to fall apart
  and to be honest I can't wait
to hear you talk your way
  Out of this one
but I'll be sweet enough
  to watch you rot
From too many
  candy covered lies.

strong spirits

welcoming in nature-

powerful in instinct-

trying to find a moral compass-

one that they can believe in,

with all of their ****** hearts

searching for complete harmony

in a static world, charged by the sun.

their own saturated, sturdy bodies

learning to not know-

experiencing the now-

accepting that simplicity is beautiful-

realizing that no life has to be so complex.

—

no life needs to have so many thumbtacks

stuck in its cork board,

hanging on its bedroom wall-

only to be stared at by its owner

to distract from the present-

to keep sentimentality afloat-

to compare and contrast;

to remind a tired soul

of better moments and feelings

in its personal history.

but when those tiny memoirs

are reminisced upon,

the soul becomes vulnerable-

susceptible to reminding itself

of memories it does not want

to have as its own.

memories most likely forgotten-

blocked, and left somewhere

in the owner’s brain-

lost, due to lack of importance-

deterred from its conscious-

pushed back into its energy’s

open life storage, unconsciousness.

—

those memories like sharp tacks,

metal tips, dropped and unseen-

abandoned in a grey **** carpet-

left there so many months ago-

waiting for their owner

to decide their fate-

to either lay its bare foot

upon their thin metal,

creating a river of crimson-

so they may be finished with

their metaphorical life-

thrown in the trash can-

or they could taste the sweetness

of not being crushed-

of having one more day

to become as best as they can be-

to enjoy the soft, scraggily **** carpet-

to be unwanted, unfounded-

to aide in the growth of the now-

by refusing to resurface.

those memories, remembered or not-

are locked behind the purple indents

above the owner’s cheekbones-

below its red, puffy eyes-

violet crescents-

slowly caused by sleeplessness

and lack of nutrition.

—

if the past was not meant

to be consistently remembered,

why does humanity constantly try

to decode the future?

recorded history is meant so

living beings will not

repeat previous mistakes-

the human race is a cycle-

history will repeat itself-

mistakes and all-

the future is completely unknown.

predictions are never certain-

why spend the life one was given

trying to figure out why humanity

exists the way it does-

when in actuality, the researcher

is missing out on humanity as it is.

why try to figure out what happens

when someone’s energy is depleted-

when a mind is laid to rest, dead.

while searching, one is losing out

on actually being alive-

no one knows exactly

what happens when mortals die-

humans have been searching

ever since they developed cognizant

abilities, conscious minds…

the future will happen eventually-

people will experience it when it is time-

it is wasteful to spend one’s life

always looking for the answer-

instead of celebrating, and exploring

the earth that has given humanity

endless opportunities to love.

—

ghosts of creative minds

walking amongst the living-

ghosts encased in flesh

with no memory of their past lives-

their auras radiating-

saturated with ambition and kindness

following different dreams-

floating toward their goals

in a similar manner,

all with the same amount

of vigor and curiosity-

young (old) spirits;

hoping for their fellow

outspoken, anxious specters

to listen, and notice their potential-

to make their words understood-

to show their many points of view-

to let go of their pasts-

to stop worrying about the future-

to live in the present.

intelligent, brightly glowing entities-

the ones with flowing energies,

pigmented with color-

the ones striving for positivity;

the ones who really wish

for just one simple thing-

only for their peers

to consider clarity

as a degree or two on their own,

individual moral compasses.

to love this beautiful world

with no bias, with equality,

with excitement, and with

virtuous appreciation of life

as a common mystery-

one that would end a lot better

if it was left unsolved.

love is an untamed force......
when we try to control it .....
it destroys us....
when we try to imprison it it enslaves it......
when we love someone with the expectation of being loved in return its  wasted .....
LET IT BLOOM........LET IT SPREAD ITS FRAGRANCE......LETZ SIMPLY LOVE.....

Whisper
Whisper
Whisper
She sings the sea calls to me
But I can hear the wind that howls
Unfurling above her sea

curiosity*
the pull to see
builds up , conjures
as my mind is reminded of thee

but strength shall prevail
in this sad, lonely tale
where i force my hand
away from another heartache fail

for the need to know
about your to and fro
dents the progress
that has returned my daily glow

so i'll claim this small vicotry
while preserving my dignity
banishing your feeds
and ignoring your activity

Trauma

Blunt force trauma
a blow to my psyche from your hammer of hands who pounded into my mind making me fear your preconceived ideas of my undying faith to your never ever loving thoughts about my, then, innocence. so many times-

Time

How many times did I trust the snake who hung, from the oh sweet forbidden fruit who's aftertaste bit me every time?
Who's deep rooted poison made me a pile of decaying flash, leaving me with a smell that drew all vultures to my feet.

Vultures

Every ******* one swarmed my flesh, biting, marking me with their jagged teeth that covered the tip of every finger, that kept the skin bloodied and bright red for identification.

ID

The ID of the body I see in the mirror, Jane Doe to myself, and target to the man who mangled my soul even more that it's vessel. Who's voice rattled my bones and hands cracked the chest casing under my already blue and pruple skin he kissed with his knuckles just-
Just enough.

Enough

Enough of me he became and the red of my skin was no longer his favorite and I longed for my red to change hue and I checked its tone when I dipped into the rivers beneath my skin and all I did was make myself a prisoner to the body I painted different ****** shades to make him want me.

But my red turned fall and I was no longer a color he could see, but a place he had never been and my characteristics were as mysterious as the reasons I thought I deserved red.

Red

Blunt Force Trauma