If only we could be lifted
gifted
a chance to love
I threw mine away
in the cold shadowy day.

I would of gave you grace
bled my out stretched arms
given up all my magic charms
for one night with you
I am a poet I feel things deeply

And yet I can’t imagine a world where we are together
your eyes of soft radiance glowing
all seeing all knowing
your smile lights my dreams
candle lit scenes
and forever I hear your voice
entangled in my head like my dreams.

I'm just a representation of expression, feeling
so unexpressed. The presentation; outlines me
as part of the Depressed.

A manifest; label me an outcast. In a commonplace;
so void of it's heart. Commonly known as the ones
not meant to last.

But I trumpet truths; indulging in those lost souls.
To voice the voiceless, speaking of their all.

All of your worth.

Trampled down by the world's self doubt, it tells
me; 'you can't and will fail to do.'
While I'm only trying to figure a lot of things out.

Casting out two ears; to be in an empty silence,
letting this world try it's all to speak.
Being part of a world's mountainous worries,
forcing any to they peak.

My past mistakes and all missteps, are senseless in
the troubles of all the days long gone.
Even when I had all the necessary preps.

Life wasn't painted to always make a lot of sense.

But let me voice all the depressed. To those now
gone silent; without their freedom to be expressed.

We're just all the Depressed.

upon the foundation of love; on the
streets of all our lives,
paved in the many ways of expression,
our love given— is the time willing to be
spent.

       love=time: which both make up life.

to echo the sound of many, the sound of i;
of all the time, all possible things, and a hope
i hope never to die,
as the past like a dearest old friend, the echo of love,
fades as quickly as it once was made.
      ...but soon shall we all meet again.

[do you have a suggestion?]

my brother pauses, turning to me;
"because you're full of great suggestions,
but you always say them too late."

he means no harm by it,
yet how do i put a name to this silence?
shutting up in compliance?

       —i shoved cotton down my throat,
       now i can't breathe—

when did the echo become louder than the scream?
maybe it was vegas, twenty-nineteen.
maybe I was never allowed to dream.

how do i speak my voice back into existence then,
when i can no longer remember its sound?
whispers, snuffed out so many times i've lost count.

[i forget.]

when you come in the presence
of her voice.
the calmest water,
and every melodious bellow
would be put to shame.

i thought i was a voice
in the wilderness
until i heard a voice
in the wilderness

It is in the midst of insecurity
weakness and pain
that I found my voice
resonant, loud
not lurking in the shadows
It is in the darkest of times that my creative soul emerged
embraced me in its warmth
and gave me a sign
a forever reminder
that I can carry a world with words
that my hands were made to create
a forever reminder
that insecurity will not eat me up
it will not consume me
it will not overpower me
my power lays in words, needle and thread
most importantly
my power lays in a burning passion for what i do
a burning passion that will not dim nor fade away into the uncertainty of insecurity