Take time to know yourself
Find out about your life

Sit in the den and stay silent
Quiet.

You do not know
Who I am.

I am a Prophet he would say
And you’re mine

I'm all yours
But not whenever you want me
I'd reply

Taking dark selfies in a temple
Creepy rituals with the cult of the Tempili Orientis
Studying Bible names
His social script became mine
When I felt like I was losing my mind
a scripture
That repeats itself in mystic fables
Façades of King Solomon
persecuted by his existence

The script:

I take orders from pastors, aliens, angels, bible thumpers, avengers, excuses from sickness, while he spoke of the devil, talking for hours about ******* to thelema, bouts of depression
He was nowhere to be found.

Behind closed screen doors and
phone calls gone raw

The Elimination of Alive
Took over
Spoke of necrophilia
Casting spells by saying
‘that's hot’
“I miss you” but only ever saw me 1x3

To risk my need and call it yours
When you’re out $125, starving for a hit, no love or affection, beaten to a pulp, and emotionally marred
‘It’s hard to heal’

When his real fam goes by
A man named Sam
He would go with him everywhere
A false son
Playing the part

A spitting image of the dark
Left in a pool
of hypocrisy

This was nowhere.

Off the grid
Forever lost inside a universe
that fails so many.
Not everything can be saved.

He was born into modern day slavery
An absent mother and father
Trying so hard to make it
Money is all he wanted to make
And lost it with his words

Addiction
Tunnel vision
The drug is the delusion
that craves and prayers
Can’t afford

And yet how peculiar that I looked at everybody like they have 3 eyes blind
Feeling like I wanted to leave my body sometimes...

The lost souls out there
That got suckled in

She must know he said.


His script continued:

I am already gone
I had love somewhere  
but impossible to keep
I'm so expired

You're a clown
I told her

But when I look in the mirror
All I see is the loneliness of a dead man buying and selling a dream that can only be found
In a man who is not me.

Begging for bread
The last drop of
pink moscato burns the roof of my mouth

Hot chocolate
Ice cold
And my emotions
Buried in mould
for over a decade
I’m Schizotypal
When I speak to her

I say I miss her but these suicidal thoughts
of death still tempt me
That's why I need Angels to protect me

Projecting who I believe I am
A rich one Flaming
A Rosicrucian Cross on my chest
Throbbing panting for salvation

“I am in the middle of nowhere losing everything that could have ever made me”.  

He was other people.
And that is it’s own Hell

I am the other one,
not the one I’m telling you about!
I’m a grain of sand in the Sahara desert.
I’m a whiff of wind in the Antarctic winter.
I’m a drop of water in the Ocean of Tranquility.
When I lose myself, I find myself.
When I don’t know who I am; I am myself.
When I am no one then I am everyone.
And When I am everyone no more,

Then I’ll be everything.

All this war and yet, there is nothing I would rather be.

I have grown to appreciate,
            as a nonpartisan–
            a silent sommelier–
the subtle earthy notes of irony with which
my deflated ego scolds my hollow spine.

I know my own hypocrisy, my instability, my naivete.

I have been raised in the midst of myself–
I carved and nailed these philosophies together to make trellises
around which my elastic grapevine limbs have learned
to wrap and coil and hoist themselves toward the sun.

I have built myself,
and I, alone, tend to my vineyard.

There are distortions in these wooden lattices,
and there are seasons when the grapes grow sour
or the vines do not flower
at all,
but the crop is resilient and the wood does not break,
and there is enough sunshine here
in the summertime to sustain
and to yield something complexly beautiful because it has been weak,
and it has known the cold.

I have built myself,
and I, alone, tend to my vineyard.

There are plots of land far more fertile than this one,
foundational structures far sturdier and more symmetrical,
grapes far sweeter and more robust of flavor,
but there is no wine I would rather have flood my veins;
there is nothing I would rather be.

What is beauty?

Growing up I was told
lighter skin, bigger eyes, smaller nose thinner lips, straight black hair
thin body, smaller frame
smaller shoe size

There was no embracing of
my brown skin, almond-shaped eyes
longer nose, fuller lips, wavy voluminous hair thick thighs, larger frame
not size 6 shoes

No celebration of my own beauty what forms and defines me
until now.
I choose to not be the subject of another’s judgement of what is considered beautiful or not
to be molded into what is acceptable and approved by my culture, my society, people around me

I choose myself
my uniqueness and my acceptance of myself just as I am
is true beauty.

i found the girl who
felt things too deeply
and instead of burying her
back inside
where she had resided
for a decade
i cherished and nurtured her
and told her it was okay to come out


i found the girl who bore
a fragile heart
and gave too much of
her soul away
she could only see
the good in others
and through loss and rejection
she learned she was too sensitive
to exist in this world


i found the girl who lost
her softness
she swallowed pills
and smoked
to stop feeling
she took a blade
to her own wrist
to make herself go away
she swallowed rivers of
emotion within
and wore armour over her chest
to be more like everyone else


but
i was no longer ashamed
of the little girl
with temper tantrums
broken daydreams
and sad eyes
who felt deeply —
all she ever needed
was love and acceptance


so i found myself
i found the girl who was once lost
i uncovered all the parts of her
and set her free

As soon as we are born
We’re judged by the size of our bodies
We are told to fit in
So we may as well settle in
But self-doubt is like a declaration of war
Once we adhere to society’s norms
Within our own flesh
Self-doubt creeps in
And strangles self-love in its sleep
There is turmoil beneath my skin
I no longer want a touch of hatred
Upon my flawed skin
I want to love myself
Without feeling delusional
I want to be like wildflowers
They don't care where they grow
And the flowers that I know
In the fields where I grew
Were content to be lost in the crowd
I intend to grow
With or without water
And bloom
With or without sunlight
And raise above cracks of the earth in a sunbeam
I will flourish
In the way
I’ve always supposed to
The wildflower is a figment of my own imagination
I wish I could say that
I am to become one
To have the ability
To grow
Even under the harshest of conditions
Leaving my old self behind
Blooming out of nowhere
In a land far from the madding crowd
But it is never that simple
This is a war I intend on winning
I will not let self-doubt
Limit my potential
And get away with destroying all that I cherish
I will change and so the parts of me
That I lose
Will always find a way to grow back
I may bend and break
But we don’t always heal
Healing requires time, and time is fickle
Pieces of me that were once dismantled
Begins to unite themselves
Inside my skeleton
My failures haunt me from dusk till dawn
Yet I fend them off as often as I can

Accept yourself

You may not like it,
but you will set
your mind free

Once accepted
nothing can set you back,
as understanding is
freedom of doubt

now you know
i am not what you thought i'd be
what more did you expect?
i can now be all the forbidden colors
but still a child, a wanderer
nothing else
once you find the tunnel
you will find the way out
and once you start down this path
you will not stop running
it's not easy, being you
sometimes you have to lie
to find the truth
in the bubble of life
you're too afraid to pop
will you grow so large
until it can no longer hold you?
or will you let it suffocate you?
will you go on and rot?