She covers her body in art
Hoping one day someone will look at her
And think her beautiful

grace is the morning,
greet it with gratitude;
and so do yourself too,
for keeping on,
for keeping on.

Maybe, instead of walls,
I should build a museum around my heart.
Maybe they’d rather respect the velvet rope
that separates them and the artwork.
Maybe if it was inside a museum,
it would be left alone
by those who don’t see its worth.
If people actually saw how precious it was,
they’d choose to stare at it in awe,
than dare to reach for it,
knowing that careless moves
lead to expensive consequences.
Maybe if it was inside a museum,
only those who truly wanted to,
only those with the soul to seek for something more
would line up to see it up close.

Because it’s true.
My heart is nothing short of a masterpiece.
Like a sculpture fashioned to look like silk
when it is built in stone.
Like a mosaic made with pieces of itself,
rearranged to create an image of hope
each time it gets broken.
My heart keeps record of histories
of pain and despair
of love and strength.
I cannot let it hang on the walls of some ignorant billionaire,
can’t let it be taken for granted again.
So, I will build a museum around my heart.
And unless you do not realize what it is worth,
please don’t touch the artwork.

Care for you..
Care for you, is underrated.
Cause in reality no one is going to care for you more than you.

If little me comes to me
running and asking for help,
I know that I will hold her near
carry her, run faster away from hell
and tell her, "for you I would do anything"

There are daffodils with butterflies,
fast-fluttering behind my eyes;
a chrysalis of hopes and dreams
maturing, and then taking wing.
Heather blooms, a hazy prize
of sun beams, and purple cries;
a weathered storm of little lies
I tell myself, to sleep at night.

A should move on,
S is just one person.
Maybe A will meet L,
But she eventually
Leaves.
Hooked up with O,
But only
Okay,
Nothing
Special like S.
Married to V,
Then got divorced,
She was
Violent.
Thought E was going to be the one,
But A wasn't
Enough for her.
He met L, O, V, E,
And still hasn’t found love.
Until one day,
He looked in the mirror,
And found I.
He let out a cry,
“I will love myself.”

To be a lover is to hold the utmost importance, care, and intention when loving someone as you would love yourself
The limits of a lover are held in those moments when love feels like the impossible choice
To be a lover is to take those very impossible choices and make them a moment of grace, courage, and compassion
To be a lover is to be as patient as the slow moving moon, stoical in the night sky holding an intense glow, savoring every moment of anticipation while waiting for the bright sun to return and smile back at him
The limits of a lover are held in those moments when loving yourself is an option, a choice, and an impossible one to
To truly be a lover is to love the impossible and stare it down with the intensity and heat that love brings in its stride
I don't see myself as a lover but one day I would love to be one