What shapes do you think of
when you sit under trees?
Blunt corners, forgiving curves-
a fluctuation that never seems to ease.

Do we circle in repetition?
Or is self defeat
a mirage of an inhibition?

The lines sometimes will never touch.
But this lack of closure
does not discount your right
to an ameliorative crutch.

Not loving yourself
Because they always broke their promises.

You kept yours my darling.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A
bone
slowly
woke
just
in
time
to
become
br­ok(en).
Once spoken,
there's no point
of lending an ear.
There'll be a violent
jerking of the wheel,
deceptive *** appeal,
and an unrequited (love).
Now, unwillingly,  it's open.
The rhyme is deliberately late,
but it's not tardy enough to satiate
Swelling lungs-we're just getting started.
Both for respiratory and broken-hearted.
Here, we speak of energy-specifically kinetic
Because you can't live in love and good faith
with right hemisphere real, and left prosthetic.
AND THAT'S WHERE THIS BEAUTIFULLY KICKS IN.
Picking up faster and quicker and clearer
and headlights have never come nearer.
But I'll be somewhat content lying at rest.
While lively and enthusiastic is best,
unemployed potential is all I can be.
It's something to unwillingly see.
You'll watch the clean breaks
as the marrow escapes.
As I steadily gush
onto pavement
you'll see
how
idle
I
can
really
be.
As
I

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Mirror, mirror

I hate this person staring back at me
This is not the person I used to be

I’m hating my reflection
I wish I could see perfection

Mirror, mirror

I hate applying my mask
Hiding my flaws with makeup has become an everyday task

I hate feeling so fake
I think I just might break

I watched it sway in the wind, but never did it break. I kneel now on bended knee, knowing only what you give is what they take.

I couldn't put it down in pen, faces always see. I couldn't disguise what's inside, That's destroying so much of me.

Shadows linger in closets I keep bare, regrets marked on skin. Hearts must be made of glass, as passion is said to be sin.

Handprints that match my hand, I have a tendency to choke. Yet I often forget how to breath, when everything goes up in smoke.

Ruin is a friend of mine, she is always standing at my back. I'm sitting on the corner of insanity, while she's counting all I lack.

when you split an atom we all know what happens
so why do i doubt myself
being so small?

if an ant can lift a lot more than its own body weight
then shouldn't i at least be capable of lifting myself
of rising
of sleeping above the stars

My poetry lies there forgotten
Amidst the bustling crowd
Piled up books weighing it down
Books about practicality, books about reality

My poetry is still bursting
With possibilities of magic and of love
Ah! But the weight of logic
Weights down upon it

My poetry is all I rely on
Because the real world
Is too much to carry with myself
So I don't let it in

My poetry is my only visitor
On days when all is lost
It comes passionately, doesn't stay for long
And it retires exhausted

My poetry is.
My poetry was.
But, will my poetry be?
Ah! My poetry is 'me'

I weep for those broken dreams,
for those shot straight down by self doubts,
for self confidence or the lack of thereof

I weep
I weep for the time passed unused, questioning one's abilities,
instead of letting them flourish,
practicing and learning,

I weep
I weep for those times when that 'no' at first knock put as 'NO' for ever

I weep for those souls who feel too old,
too small,
too young,
too worthless,
too dumb,
too short,
too many things in the face of their dreams

As those glorified self image seems shattered and stupid
We are all the same
no better one than the other
Comparisons are futile
the only bars are the ones from within
The only way is inside out
help each other out
one step at a time
then
WE.ARE.GOOD
always