Some days I want to paint,
some times I want to be painted.

Some days I want to write,
some times I want to be written.

Some days I want to read,
some times I want to be read.

Some days I want to be a gardener,
some times I want to be the flower of that garden.

Some days I want to live,
some times I want to breathe in peace.

you cant always make pain leave.
it knows its directions.
it knows how to follow you home.
pain knows its way to your sheets.
it knows which side of the pillow is colder.
if it ever visits you tonight
just let it in,
lead it to the blank pages
of a notebook.
there,
it will stay.
between these lines,
this is where it stays.

A spark. A flame.
The crackling of fire on wood, whispering your name.
The fire inside me calling out.
Leaving no room for any doubt.
I am sure of what I want.

I want the world to remember me.
I want to live on in people's memory.
This makes me happy.
My heart was set aflame.
This isn't just a hobby.

If you sense my fire about to die out,
Would you grab a candle
To help keep my light?
At least, for another night.
I may be bound to a life of darkness, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

The suicide note was blank,
            I hadn't thought up
a good enough excuse yet

   for why they killed themselves.

This one was a tough one,
  as my hands aren't as strong as
the used to be, took ages to suffocate...

But as I hung them up like a piñata,
  covering the ligature marks smoothly.
I pushed them to get a rhythm  of what
               to write..

I was tired, uninspired...
I'm getting to old
               for this manual labour,
time to retire and write love stories...



"To whom it may concern,

                         "tested gravity..

"I got a D- oh well....

Rain slowly seeps into my soul
Gathering gently at my pores
Slowly wandering, searching
for any life of creativity
A blank canvas awaiting a
stroke of color
Coloring out of bounds
No Lines, boarders,
or limitations
With only the power of a
pen. Control is given over
Free falling endlessly
repeatedly
No longer the beholder

-A Black Girl Untold

small words,
many meanings.
while mindset got worse,
I got more feelings.
need my mind to search for rhymes.
felt sad and happy, too many times.
I’m using a pencil to shine brighter
a little text to feel a bit nicer.
don’t know where I’m going,
just trying to keep growing.
this is a poem about a poem.
after a few words I feel lighter.
I’m not an artist, I’m just a writer.
- gio, 30.11.2019