We live in the slaughter house of our minds
We fight the war that rage inside our eyes
We see the fear that only builds inside

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We're an endless supply of love.
We're heartbeats full of life.
We're souls that are somewhat unfathomable.
We're Christian spirited, but our minds are centered to the world.

It's crazy because, Love says go on.
Heartbeats still strong.
Souls long for ours to hold on.
Spirits lift us in prayer so we stay together.

But our minds... They don't mind if we find another, so our minds wander and let us discover something other, than one another, so we cover one another thinking there is a better other, knowing that, someone like her, there ain't no other.

Our minds have to be the most  disrespectful ***** in our body. It feeds on problems and issues to fulfill it's need to explore. It breaks your heart, crushes your soul and makes you think your prayers go unanswered.
Every heartbreak, every crushed soul and every unanswered prayer is exactly how your body becomes a slayer of others. Under the sheets of "I'll never be loved again" and laying on a pillow of "I'll only love her for the evening."
With her clothes on the floor screaming "You said you wouldn't do that again."
She never heard screams on top of her screams cause he was on top of her, and just for the night he was King of the world as he literally rocked her world, in her house, her bed.. And now, her walls look at her like she's a *****, cause guys are in and out like she's their local store, and she thinks she's a Queen.
Nah, she's just a peasant mopping up the Queen's mess, cause when the Queen stopped *******, she only just started.

Cause a King eats from more than one plate thinking he's more of a man for eating more, but what it makes him more of is less of a man, and from this lesson he'll never learn, until his Queen hits the streets and leaves...
Then his heart, his soul, his spirit and his mind will drown in his own pile of crap, in the toilet he crapped in... Then... Then he'll feel what it's like to be a Royal Flush.

There are pretty people in this world
But why do we say we are ugly
We are ugly, fat losers
We're useless beings
But that's where we are wrong
Everybody's got potential at some part of this world
Maybe yourself being weird
  is a talent.
Everybody's just got pessimistic these days
That's why we can think of our dark futures
Rather than our bright ones
And everything's about being so down
Like,
  why start thinking 'bout being depressed?
You're the one who's up to making feelings like that

How we treat ourselves
Is the tenor upon which we represent ourselves
The hell that raised us
Doesn't have to be the hell that sustains us
We are blessed to have our own minds
To choose the course we want for our own lives
Our course was meant to be a horizontal one
And it can only be undone by the One who called us to be his daughters and sons
We are not judges
We weren't put here to condemn
I believe it behooves all of us to leave that for Him
And while we may disagree whole heartedly by someone else's choices
What right do the rest of us have to be disrespectful and poisonous
We may have taken the traditional route and even made our lives better
But to make light of someone else's LIFE
Does little to make any of us better
It makes us lesser
Because in the end we are all the same
And we are all just one bad decision
From sharing the same blame

I only write from
one heart,
one hand,
and two minds.

Then the heart asked my mind a question,
Or, well the softer part of me, to the more reasonable one
For how long, do you think, this one wound can bleed
My mind, unsure, haughtily said
You held on it, way longer than he did
The pieces of my heart cringed under
The voice holding the ultimate truth
As the frozen memories of him
Came rushing back
I know it is so,
But these hands never learnt to let go
The hands looked flustered,
Their voices timid with the brewing anger
Replied "neither did you, heart. Neither did you."
And stop pretending
You're the only who holds grievance,
At least you don't stay up
Writing about the lines on his palm,
All these poems,
He never bothered to throw a short glance