Like continents moving the skin off from over me , slowly..
deliberately           with great force on the rest of my being ,
each aspect of myself emerges anew
from the cocoon like first layer of childhood ,

i see myself spiral from the snakeskin left on the floor

a forge is in it’s place

of molten liquid energy running along my meridians.
Serenading every judgement of another character with love shine ,
fresh from the gardens of mine
       that bathe
by the sea air
in my root chakra layer... mingles ,
with the heart echo arrow
i send it with.  

Known; that the judgements of others are a side product of judgement of self.
Be it , through the eyes of a hopeful parent or a tired teacher , a pig or a nit.... an angel or specter himself -
None equal as true, to the eyes i see through
on the matter my being is composed of.

Integrating stillness in my vivacious bones , conscious movements flow , stabilizing the unknown into the known , materializing the un-materialized subconscious realm.

Moving through visible reality shifts and mind rifts , exploring

the astral world around me
whilst moving through physical boundaries of borders
Developing organs in my subtle body .

Manifesting my foundations for stamina.
What a joy it is to live from the heart.

Have you ever seen the sun rise
After a big fat buffalo's stampede
Have you ever seen the sun rise
On a big fat salt lake in the West

Have you ever seen the moon shine
In unison like the stars in heaven
Have you ever seen the clouds darken
At a speed unmatched by light

Have you ever seen the loving eyes
Of someone who'd do anything for you
Have you ever seen the love
People are so eager to give

Have you ever stood still
To unbind yourself from the biases put before you
Have you ever stood still
To realize that you are so incredibly small

Have you ever stood still
That every big person started out small, too
Have you ever stood still
To love all the details

Have you ever stood still
To see the beauty all around you
Have you ever stood still
That you are loved

The best way to get the broken pieces of an egg out of your omelette
Is using half the shell to pick it up while it's still raw

Maybe you're the best qualified to pick up your own broken pieces

You take that **** thrusted upon you
You pick out the nutrients from that compost
And make it work in your favour
Grow from it
Because
Because god ******* ****** you're worth more than this
And you know it

Root yourself
Anchor using your values
Build that steady foundation

Then take it from the bottom up
Defy gravity
Chasing the sun

And after your beautiful bloom
You will die
But not in vain

Others will stem from your knowledge left behind in the soil

a letter to myself:
(a reminder, rather),
I know it feels as though you are now in the trenches
the mud clinging between your toes,
the walls too inevitably high to scale,
the rain beating and pouring down on your body,
and you see everyone above the surface hovering,
watching you as you try and clasp the sides of this hollow grave, frantically trying to escape
and you want to just lie in the mud and have the rain drown you until you are nothing
but you must remember this:
you will be fine.
And I know it feels as though you have been butchered, gutted and cleaned
ready to be thrown on the grill by he who so carefully flayed you open over time and space
only to have all your guts and bones trailing behind you, and thrown into a stock *** to boil away
and I know you miss his furrowed brow
and his incessant organization
and his frigid room
and you want him to call and say
"go to where we met and I will hold you and not say anything more than I'm sorry and I want you and you're all I see"
but remember this:
you will be fine.
And right now, I know you want to cover yourself in paint
all colours, but especially red; Tabasco to be certain
and slather it on until all the marks and scuffs disappear
until you disappear
and you want to refuse to let it dry; apply layer upon layer of every shade of blue from sky to navy;
from lime to forest green,
from sunshine to mustard yellow
and all variations of pink,
and your brush becomes heavy because this paint is caking your skin,
a cast of plaster holding your true self in
until you are as frigid as a statue; you are clad in stone
immovable and impenetrable;
your shield
but please remember this:
you will be fine.
One day someone will see your statue in a square or a park,
the sunlight beaming off your sheen,
and will see past that paint:
the layers of Tabasco
and emerald
and ocean
and canary
and pink
and see you
because you are a light
you are the last piece of pie that you know you shouldn't have, but take anyway
you are a phosphene that never disappears, even when their eyes are open
and he or she will approach your statue,
in a stance of utter uncertainty and self-doubt
shoulders hunched, spine pulled in and face blank and wanting
and will see you
and will take a chisel to your stone
and break off the layers
reduce them to dust, surrounding your pedestal
brush, blow and wipe it clean
and they will suffer from the heat and labour
but they will see you
and they will chip until finally you emerge
that light
and all will be gathered in that square or park
and as you look around you realize that they are the people you love the most
and the person who has broken your mould, your shell
is the one you love most of all: you.
Because you look in the mirror and you love you
you want you
you need you
and I know it's dark
and I know there are drills and hammers and saws
and I know when you sleep you are erased
but remember this:
you will be fine.
you are alive.
you are here.
you are better.
you will rise.

“When he told me he loved me,
I asked him why,
he replied,
without the slightest hesitation,
about the color of my eyes,
without the slightest hesitation,
I bid him goodbye,
because growing up,
I saw my father leave my house for work,
whispering in my mother ears,
“you’re beautiful”,
before he left,
and that’s what my mother believed she was,
beautiful,
growing up,
she told me,
that she hoped,
I would find a husband caring as my father,
who would tell me that I am beautiful,
and love me with all his heart,
and all I could think was,
is,
is that all I am?,
some toy piece in society,
for some man to love,
am i just,
appeal in a guy’s life,
a beautiful mother,
a life partner but I am under home maintenance category,
despite my dad’s unconditional love for my mother,
and hers for him,
my mother’s dream of becoming a doctor,
were shattered when she was 20,
so growing up,
I promised myself,
I would be more than a pair of ******* beautiful eyes,
graceful posture,
amazing hair,
and nice voice,
I would be woman,
powerful and independent,
I would be human,
ambitious and hard-working,
so if you start your poem with my name,
please do reconsider,
what you’re going to say.”

“Now sit down,
look around,
see everyone,
okay good,
now stand up,
go to the mirror,
and look at yourself,
what have you got figured,
anything yet,
or has someone already figured it out for you,
the other people you saw,
most of them might have figured out who they are,
but you,
not so much,
haven’t you,
but don’t you worry,
you know why?,
most of the people you saw,
put on a mask,
you could be thirty-two,
and still haven’t figured who you truly are,
and you don’t have to necessarily find out either,
you don’t have to constrain yourself,
to restrictions imposed by you,
“I think I am gay”,
“I think I am more reserved”,
you see,
you are you,
you fall in love when it happens,
your personality shows when you meet the right people,
so it’s okay if you haven't figured out yet who you are,
neither has most of us,
the fun is in the journey remember,
so look at yourself as an unsolved puzzle,
there is much more than beauty,
in the unknown.”

Twenty-nine scars
Twenty-nine lessons I have learned
Twenty-nine reasons why I am now a warrior
Instead of a worrier

I craved the blade to ride across my skin
Slicing open that first layer
To let free the blood that cried for an escape

This was my way to deal with the pain
Because I thought it was the only answer
To deal with my fear, my worries, my loneliness, and my insecurities

These scars aren't just from kissing the blade
I had another love from the plastic cuticle pusher
With a metal end
And the lighter I ignited to heat it up

I was convinced that physical pain
Could fight off emotional pain
But if seen by those I love
Then those scars from the physical pain
Would only bring them emotional pain

I am sorry

This is not wanted
I do not deserve this
No one at all deserves this

Pain I sense
Will be pain I will approach
Pain I can find
Will be pain I will fight

These are twenty-nine scars
Twenty-nine reasons why I deserve to live
Twenty-nine causes of self-love

Stupid mouth.
Shut it.
Tame my tongue.
Pure acid. Vapid from my lungs.
It cuts.
It stings.
Stings my soul.

The very thing I wish to cut.
The very thing I yearn to bleed.
Is my own.
My hands.
My feet.
My ears.
My nose.
My guts.
My guts...
My very core.

Tear my heart.
My acidity has made me numb.
Vile fluid flows in my veins.
Pray I should bleed.
Drained.
That love for my own be filled.