When hope fades, despair flutters..
Resilience breaks, mind clutters..
On the verge of breaking down..
Oh I see you like a gleam of light all around..
You sprinkle life..
I am revived..
The Darkness settles as the dawn breaks..
With moist eyes I could see you leave..
But I promise there's no grief..
As my Inner self retains your Aura of mystery...
Always reliant on that big spark for joy,
Hoping a magical pill would save the day.
Waiting many years for that superb medicine,
But this moment didn’t come because it’s nonexistent.
Realizing that happiness starts with the small things,
Beginning with a joke or enjoying many hobbies.
No longer depending on a massive trigger for bliss,
Consuming contentment in little packages.
Letting pleasure build up in minor quantities,
Allowing delight to establish slowly.
You ain't nothin' but Street Trash, dude.
You belong to the Streets.
You get your inspiration from the Streets.
Sleazy and Crazy are your Middle Names.
There is no place for you
In a Serene Shangrila.
You are the Type
Who scours the Alleys and Dumpters for ideas
'Cause you ain't nothin'
But a Street Dawg
You are too hard on yourself for your past. You need to look at what you have now and your future.
I may have not had the best child hood but you are doing your best to make up for "lost" time.
I apologize for watching as my father beat you, and not calling the cops. I'm sorry that all I did is run away, hide in the room, and cry. I remember countless times of him hitting you, pushing you around, and calling you every name except for the one he should be calling you by.
I remember him slamming your legs in the door. I remember you hiding bruises and making up excuses for him. You where bound by drugs and "love" that you couldn't wrap your head around to walk away.
I watched countless times as you tried to walk away, but walking away is not that simple. Every time he seemed to find his way back. I remember as we begged you to leave him time and time again.
I now realize that he degraded you so much that you felt worthless that you felt you had fallen down to his level. That he was the only person you felt that could love and support you the way you were.
After years of him destroying your self esteem I know how hard it was for you. When you finally left him. I was gone to Florida, and when I got back I was told what happen. I remember a elephant being lifted off my shoulders, I could once again breathe. Hoping that this time was for good.
That year we bounced around from place to place more times than I can remember, once living in a camper. I didn't care where we stayed; I knew it was better than what we have been in. You struggled to keep me a place to sleep you cared for me and loved me.
On my 15th birthday you were checked into rehab for the last time. You struggled to stay in there your whole time even with every one there supporting you. I remember coming to visit you and your personal changing. You where happier, you where learning to respect yourself, and trying to love yourself again.
I know that when you got clean you felt as if I was pushing you away but I was not meaning to. I was trying to adjust, I am still adjusting. This was all new for me. I apologize for not being able to adjust quicker, to forgive faster, and love stronger. You are my mother I will always love you. If it wasn't for you I would not be where I'm at today. Thank you, mommy.
I could not be more proud of who you are today. I want you to forgive yourself from your past. I want you to love yourself like you never have before. You are strong and you can do anything you put your mind to. You have went through some of the worst things on this earth, and survived.
The only thing I want to happen for you now is to get baptized at your church.
The ghosts come back to haunt her,
Their shadows lurking over the ancient escritoire,
Quill in hand, paper a blank canvas,
Wondering if the poets of the past would praise her
Or look on her in scorn,
Will her own words be a wordsmith's dream?
Will she live a travesty and be idolized in death?
She buzzes with unease,
Feeling the fierce grip of inspiration overcome her,
Succumbing her to its essence before it vanishes,
And in her isolation, the words dance,
Sometimes in harmony, sometimes in battle.
These days, I feel I've lost my spark
That flicker of creativity.
Well yes, I lit the candle;
I knew it was time for it to burn,
That eventually it'd burn out:
The dulling light emanating faint warmth.
But I think there's something poetic, too
About blunt truths
And being so honest it feels bland—
Bland enough to make you feel.
my gentle friend is old
she walks quietly
and sees others from across time
situations from alternative views
never bruises the grass
she tames thorns
encourages them to bloom
creates beautiful vistas
of peaceful exotics all humming the same tune