inherently i understand that i am enough
but i wish i wasn't as easily disposable
as most people make me out to be
my time equating to nothing more than a block
hiding in corners to protect my back
fearful of concealed knives and sweet smiles
i wish for nothing more than visible venom
please conceal yourself clearly in a syringe
fill my veins with nothing more than permanence
a certain vacancy awaits your half-hearted arrival
during my downfalls into despair
crying alone under the eye of the moon
poison of my own choosing infiltrates my lungs
some nights my liver as well
weighing down what you toss in the air so freely
hoping for something concrete to return to your hands
but forgetting that gravity has its' own laws
no matter how much alteration we convince ourselves
we are capable of
prayer does not tie together loose ends
hope does not resolve hostility
i cannot mold myself to easily accept authentic feelings
anymore than you can do to reject that
of your own

Full disclosure,
My deepest fear is
Losing you.
Seemingly petty, but
The memories you’d
Leave me would be
A phantom limb,
Forever haunting me.

Kaleidoscope eyes,
They see the world in
Color, but they
Don’t see me.
Grey backsplash in
A city of rainbow;
The windows
Betray me.

A white witch
Stares at me in
The mirror, vile
And feeling loveless.
These lying eyes
Find bad intention
Everywhere I
Go.

This tricky brain
Plants seeds of
Doubt and jealousy,
Oh how they grow.
Hazel eyes green
With envy make
A generous
Green thumb.

For the record,
Playing victim got
Easier as my heart
Allowed itself to feel
All I’ve repressed.
It’s more convenient
To do the hurting
When I’m hurting, too.

Though I swear I
Never meant to enjoy
It so much,
Nor did I want to use it
On you. I
Am shameful of this
Power, and you are
Undeserving of the wrath.

Metamorphosis,
I will mold myself
Into a new being;
Eyes green with nurture
And lacking envy.
Full disclosure, I
Have you to thank for this;
Your arms, the catharsis.

Mental illness is rising
psychologists's career are booming,
social media is redefining
making it a beautiful suffering.

Sadness has become boring,
misery has become enchanting.
Scars have become beauty,
grief has become engaging
and depression has become alluring.

Emotions have become art,
heartbreak has become a heart wrenching song.
pain has become poetry
and mental illness has become
edgy-tending label.

When did they start to disguise agony
behind such beauty?

feelings are okay.
it is apart of being human.

we feel things.
and if no one told you,
your feelings are always valid

Cradled in the dream catcher,
I am in epiphany.
Tangled, but floating freely;
In a place no one can see me.

Convinced I’m the witch doctor,
Sent to Earth with two healing hands:
One to nurture fellow man,
The other to tend kindly to the land.

Two fish and the archer
Stand beside the sun and the moon,
And I am between the two
Dancing with memory and deja vu.

The yin yang fish swim infinity
Around me and whisper in my ear
Soul secrets to hold dear,
Prediction for every day of the year.

The yarn floor caves in, I
Free fall through the black hole,
Feeling exhausted but full,
With promise of being made whole.

is it real, to be lying in the yellow meadows
beneath the willow trees
in our own worlds
colliding
metaphorically

is it too good to be true?
in this cosmos
to be dreaming about a willow tree
in a yellow meadow

a simple thought
a pen in my hand
a thought in my head
i wonder what ill dream up next

~the poetry enigma

the music my mind makes alone
is more than delightful than you've ever known

the cacophony around me flushes them out
as im forced to listen to the scream and shout
im obsessed with silence

a listener
a watcher
an observer

im obsessed with silence
a solitary diamond
shys in the light
radiates at night

the music my mind makes alone
is more beautiful than you've ever known

a solitary mind is what im waiting to find
far apart
a piece of art

i am obsessed with silence.
i long to be alone with myself
away from all the wealth

solitaire

~the poetry enigma

I visit often, though
This isn’t my happy place.
A homemade solitary confinement;
I cradle myself in the arms of
An oak while ivy brushes
My cheeks. Golden rays,
Golden buds, and golden wings
Flutter around my vision
Like twinkling treasure chests.

Lonely whispers of the wind
Interrupt the mockingbird’s call
Like a siren screaming in
The night. It is chilling, yet
Comforting. Petrichor seeps
Into my pores and my
Melancholy blues fade to
A golden dream. I’m free to
Leave, but not before opening my eyes.