This is not meant to be a poem.

Never delete what you were. Even though it doesn't reflect your current being. You must be proud of what you were because it got you until now and it prepared you. It gave you the tools. It WAS you and hence it IS still you.

Never be ashamed of the love you felt and gave. Instead. Grow in love and grow the love.

And if things did not go the best possible way. Well. What even is the best possible way? Things went the only way possible. You learn from what happens and live the way you think is best for you. Maybe learning from mistakes too.

There are no true immortal beings, but immortal are the feelings we feel and the ideas that we bring to others. This is because ideas and feelings will move through generations as long as someone is willing to talk about them. Share them. Write them. And speak about them with other people.

This is magic.

I guess that's all.

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It's funny
You would think
Your sharp edges
would scrape my skin
and hurt me
poison me with a charm
that I can't resist
you worry about the blood
on my skin

I have held sharp edges
and cut myself enough times
to find my veins coiled in infinite directions
tormented my skin for long enough
that any scrape
(you may give)
heals instantly

If you ever could
cut me open
and reach my soul
you would find the scars
symbolic of my countless victories

I suffer from the love I gave myself
for long enough to become whole again
You look at me and you see elegance
someone who has not known the bitterness of the world

Yet you cannot see the hell
tamed in my basement
it now exists like a fire that burns large enough to keep me warm

I understand,
it is difficult to comprehend
the seismograms of the earthquakes
that came before you
the breaking apart of a home that you didn't see
how I held together this body
like porcelain waiting to reach the floor
fought the wind and the chaos
-now unbreakable-
I do not let it on
I exist hushed like a calm lake
I stand peacefully
As the rage rests under the surface
and you awaken it
-testing the waters you say-
but you get swallowed as soon as the waves approach

There is so much that exists in a human
your barbed self does not know the courage it takes
to be damaged for so long
that one day you decide to become your cure
You run towards an unknown
for long enough and you find yourself
drowning, burning, breaking
and then you glue it together
like you are an artistic remedy

I am not foolish
I am the catastrophe that was
the survivor of the storm
the courageous soldier that lives on
it's bewitching you
Yet you are afraid
of hurting me?
(such naivety)

You don't understand
(the emptiness within you)
You wonder, how strange it is
for me to be so untroubled
with your knives
still in my skin
I exist, in your mind
(with my fire and my grace)
like a gift from the gods
and your failure to worship it
is a fragility
that breaks porcelains
fault lines that bring about earthquakes
and you stand till the wreck of you
becomes large enough
to awaken the desire to heal

I cannot help you
so i hope
someday when you have fought the hell
and as the battle comes to rest
you will understand
the magic of it all

Non é l'istruzione
Non sono gli oggetti
A fare un uomo,
Se stesso.

É come vive l'ora,
Cosa fa con gli altri;
Ció che condivide;
L'intenzione con cui lo fa,
La voglia;

La personalitá, il mistero,
la magia, la forza...

Di amare ogni istante

This...  or that..
the pull of this world
and its long supply
of disappointment,  is strong

I shall Reframe my Journey
almost continually

There is a swirl..  a rising
line, taut..

before limply settling
back down onto the water

There are moments  in time
that live forever

There is a time within
those moments;
I never truly had
the chance  to live

There is a Journey to reframe


I will find my life again,  
   somewhere

Buried deep
within that framework

sing infinite magic,
magic infinite sign

guitar ∞ shape ∞ masterpieces
one by one

in a dream
one full moon ago
i met a gardener
who lifted my curse
he took all my memories
and planted them as seeds
he then asked, “which to get rid of?”
i took a deep breathe
my hands started to shake
and heart beating like crazy
then i replied,
“stories i painted with my blood as ink”
“ash from their  stick to my skin”
after that,
all my memories grew out as different flowers
each with different, different meanings
he pulled out those memories
“who were ******* my blood and
burning my skin”
then i heard my sister’s yelling
and opened my eyes
only to realize
it was just another dream
that will never come true