A writer’s core is pain and fears. This is what they release with every pencil [keyboard] stroke. It’s a healing process which allows them to see the light. The reason why writers share this healing process is because they simultaneously heal others who are internally at war. And, that is a writer’s responsibility—to heal the world.

Drunk
left me
in a bed
shared
with the bottle
blacked out
from all
the moments
that did not
make it to
memories

Influence is the power you have over others
Brothers fighting over the bigger crumb
Dumb to what they and their sister's have become
Won by skin tones and education
Legislation driven by religion
Forgiven by a being we've never met
Regret nothing, so we do it again

Friends burn bridges for this power
Liars sell visions for this power
Poppers give their lives for this power
This is why I despise this power

We all sin
So we all can't win
But if the game was rigged to begin
What do we ever, really win?

When you look at the page,.
and there are no words.
Your mind is spinning.
It only disturbs.

Searching and searching
you spend a lot of time..
Your mind is wandering
for that perfect rhyme.

Sometimes it takes a while
and it stresses you out.
You have a gift for poetry
so no need to pout.

describe how my eyes pierce through you,
beyond the windows of your beautiful soul
tell them how my glance
stayed with you for weeks

can maybe for a moment,
your breath hitched
and that static surged
from a brush of fabric?

see the skeleton in my body
and how they shivered
at the sight of you
see the depths of my soul
and how they're raging in fire
see how the trillion cells of my body
react in front of the likes of you
tell them how it left a mark
on your mind for days

I wish the warmth of my presence
linger bit longer than I hope it did

I want you to say in your chaste lips
'she had such a sad smile,
but she would laugh
till her rib cage tremble
beneath her tan skin'
I want to make you pause for a sec
'her laughs are like cries of a raven,
how it oddly resonates
a maiden hiding in plea'
I want it all pierced by your tongue

describe me like the lyrics you write
when you're needing of company
on lazy afternoons, even late at night
times when you write with your soul
and not with your hand on paper
melodies that could carve deep
into people's hearts
recite it like you're missing a place
from a different era in time

let this serve as a favor
all I wish is for once
the remnants of me
pass through your lips
sing a sad love song
dedicated for me

— a poem I wish you'd write for me

at times I wonder,
from an elusive time
and place unreachable
where time no longer exists for me
this one's for the generations after mine
what would they do, as they
come across my poetry
and as they seep into the pages
they will delve into the sadness
of my sweet sorrow letters for thee
will they ever thought the same?
thinking more of our narratives
that should have been—
but was never put into paper
of a love that never came to be
wishing that it became a love story
rather than a story of me
loving thou unrequitedly