I suppressed the burning passion inside of me.
I quieted the voice that shouts my presence.
I deserted my desire to do the things I love.
I created a wall to prevent anyone from entering.
I left the dreams of the little girl I once was.
I threw water onto the flames that dance in my heart.
I hurt myself when I don't mean to.

I took shelter in an abandoned building.
For weeks, even months, I watched it slowly decay over time-
old age always gets the best of us.
I stared at the ceiling and felt the memories flash back.
The memories of a home.
Its warmth burned the tips of my fingers
I struck a match in the vacant kitchen;
I watched as its interior was swallowed up by the fury of the flames.
So much emptiness, still so empty.
The fire caught to my skin, and I did not feel a thing.
I wake up every morning and pass by the ash figure of my dreams; all that is left are bad, burned memories.

We sat along the side of the road,
waiting for the sun to dismiss our shadows.
The moon peaked out from behind the clouds and out came the wind with its scary sounds.
And then came the gray that filled the sky above,
And out came the rain that washed us with its love.

We slept along the side of the road,
and waited for the sun to come.
Patiently counting our breath until the days' begun.
Except no effort was made
and at the same place we remained.

Waiting for the sun to dismiss our shadows,
This time seems longer, with lingering hours.
Tonight there was no rain, but the mood still seemed so blue.
I awoke in the same place I've been; except I was never next to you.

The sun has again set, and you have not returned.
I've counted days and months, still it is you that I yearn.
I went to a nearby stream,
and that last thing I see will make me realize something.
You were there, in my reflection,
this whole time, there was not a piece of me missing.
So we return to the road where we first made our journey,
and we pack our bags and begin to set ourself free.
we don't wait for the sun,
we travel with our shadow  
as we begin to run.

Help me understand the method to your madness.
Take me on a journey to where your thoughts and desires thrive.
Be the open page my eyes gaze upon.
You are my favorite book.

Because after so long of living in silence, it has come to my attention that opposite ways could attract louder words than any person. How the darkness of the silenced echoes has swallowed all thoughts; drowned in emptiness. The rocks piling against the chest, too heavy to bear, the color dancing in the skies fading fast, the heartbeat is faint. Will you forgive the sins of one who has committed the ultimate betrayal to life itself.
The rightful mind of someone who is contaminated such as I could understand the grief of life when life has become the casket of this funeral- I'm sorry you had to see. But bearing such hurt and tragedy and can be a burden on one's shoulders until those boulders turn into the weight of a feather; a crisp white beginning.

We were destined to cross paths at some point.
When the moon became our guide,
and the stars accompanied us along the way,
it just had meant to happen the way it did.
Maybe we will never understand it.
Maybe we won't realize the entire reason we are here,
together, until the end of our time.
If our lungs stop breathing,
and our hearts discontinue the rhythm of their beats,
and our skin no longer bleeds,
but our souls still flourish;
is it possible that in another lifetime,
I will somehow be able to find you once more?
I will not need a map,
nor a compass,
or a GPS,
or anyone to point me in your direction.
If we are on two separate sides of the galaxy,
will you find me?
If I had to travel through seasons and seasons of life once more
and was forced to crawl on my knees through mountains,
I would not hesitate a second to begin my journey.
While our minds are old but our skin is young,
it would be a pleasure to gain with you.
I could spend a lifetime learning as you do,
teaching you as I see
and relearning about each other over and over again
There is not another person I would choose to cross off my bucket list with,
however "bucket" seems overdue.
How about our "Before Transformation" list?
We do not die, our shells retire permanently,
but our energies live forever.

You are the combination of two bloodlines. Within each other is another combination of two, made from a combination of two, and continuing through... by combinations of two.

Deep through these ancestral roots come attributes that I have acquitted from you; my mother, who came from her mother, who came from her mother, who came from her mother... and so on.
When I was in my mother's belly, I felt the hands of the women of our time, cradling our every move, holding her and I as I slowly grew out of my cocoon. And as my wings began to spread; I realized I have inherited my array of colors, from these women that I have never met.
When my great-great-grandmother passed on from life, her blood continued from her daughter to my grandmother, to my mother, and to I. Here in my veins lie centuries of scars from the women who have created the foundation where I lie. In my bones; I carry a history book of secrets and wisdom from the women of our time

You are the combination of two bloodlines. Within each other is another combination of two, made from a combination of two, and continuing through... by combinations of two.

Not only was my existence possible because of the mothers of life, but contributing to my being as well, is the fathers that came from the lifetimes before I.
I may not be male like you, but still, I carry the braveness on my shoulders that you have passed down to me from you. My strength blossomed before I laid my eyes on this earth for the first time, and in that time came my pride in where my heart resides.
I  was taught that I was a princess, one whose kingdom was the strongest; and even when I fall, I am never down for the longest. The hands of the men of my bloodline reach down, to pull me up when I have tumbled to the ground.
This is the sound of my heartbeat, this is the sound of life.
I came from the men and women from lifetimes of bloodlines."

I am having trouble holding on.
I am f a l l i n g
a p a r t .
My balance is out of place,
My vision distorted.
Where are you?

We were destined to cross paths at some point.
When the moon became our guide,
and the stars accompanied us along the way,
it just had meant to happen the way it did.
Maybe we will never understand it.
Maybe we won't realize the entire reason we are here,
together, until the end of our time.
If our lungs stop breathing,
and our hearts discontinue the rhythm of their beats,
and our skin no longer bleeds,
but our souls still flourish;
is it possible that in another lifetime,
I will somehow be able to find you once more?
I will not need a map,
nor a compass,
or a GPS,
or anyone to point me in your direction.
If we are on two separate sides of the galaxy,
will you find me?
If I had to travel through seasons and seasons of life once more
and was forced to crawl on my knees through mountains,
I would not hesitate a second to begin my journey.
While our minds are old but our skin is young,
it would be a pleasure to gain with you.
I could spend a lifetime learning as you do,
teaching you as I see
and relearning about each other over and over again
There is not another person I would choose to cross off my bucket list with,
however "bucket" seems overdue.
How about our "Before Transformation" list?
We do not die, our shells retire permanently,
but our energies live forever.

I am lost
I journey to places unknown,
where wishes are unspoken
and desire is a buried hatchet
beneath the bodies of those
who have made their last travels.
On this journey I am determined
to locate a path
in which I will find not only you
but myself
I will discover the skeletons
left behind where terror has risen
I seek to a place where my eyes
will be the first to touch
the images of
The. Unknown.

the ashes rise from the rubble.
dust is a practical weapon
one that burns the eyes of those surrounding
and creates the thinnest of air
in which our lungs reject it.
we are left in darkness.
the stars are significant
when their collisions create
the brightest catastrophes
we would ever know.
and when it is
a search of light that i
wander for,
it is to the sky
that i seek

Where did the color go?
In a time of dark and gray,
what have we now?
In which way do we understand the reason behind
draining our surroundings from
the limitless hue variation that we are open to?
How many times have you begged for color, and instead ended up with the absence of light and nothing more than a beating heart?

At four a.m., I picked up a broken jar. I wanted to repair the damages, I tried to place the pieces back as they were before, I attempted to fit the puzzle back together, but I failed. As I did so, my skin was embedded with four pieces of glass; I never noticed our blood runs in various hues of red.
I individually plucked the pieces from my skin.  The first one had a word inscribed on it: “Love”. It was written with a careful hand, cursive letters, in light pink; a reminder of roses. A tiny picture was just below the word, a heart painted in a beautiful, silky gold, so bright, it glowed.
The second piece was in the form of a triangle. Another word written in a beautiful calligraphic font, a violet-red color, so pure I could feel the velvet beneath my skin; “Lust” . Again, I discovered a picture underneath, a hand painted in the same golden hue as the previous one, so mesmerizing and appealing to the eyes; the stars could compare.
The next piece was a heavy one, the edges were rigid and could easily pierce through anyones skin. Once again, a word: scribbled so sharply onto the glass, “Anger.” I could feel a heat sensation, the burning of emotions; this one came with flames. The ink was vermillion, so dark, it could be black. Infuriated eyes were carved onto it, bled from golden ink. So rich in depth, it made the piece cry for sympathy.
The last one was a cold piece of glass; resembling the shape of a knife , so much so it could be used as one. “Hate” was the only thing on it, in a red so vibrant, it stood alone on the color spectrum. The handwriting for this one was… “peculiar". It was almost as if the word didn’t want to be there, like it was attempting to jump from the glass and disappear into the meaningless void of non-existence; it hated itself.
I was able to stain these pieces with the emotions tangled up inside. They released themselves before I could combust. I never noticed how much a person could keep in. How much water could have filled up the jar before it overflows? When it does, what are we left with? Puddles spilled from lack of control. We must clean up a mess that could have been prevented; if we just would have stopped the water before it was too much.

you give me life.
you make me understand the deep deep purpose
as to why i should connect my soul to the universe.
as to why anything even matters.
as the days pass,
as the sun rises in the east
and as it sets in the west.
the more i come to acceptance
with my inner most self,
the one that will continue to thrive
long after my heart has stopped beating
once my lungs give up
and i am again
a part of you, mother earth,
a piece of something
that i always was.
the creation of something
That i will always be.

i have built large mountains
from the fallen dirt
of the pyramids i once was.

i have created oceans from the tears
that have poured from my eyes.

i have molded the mushy part of my feelings
into sculptures built to last a lifetime.

I could without a doubt retrace the steps of day.
The ones that led me to the path,
where my future indicates it shall be engraved.
Of the time borrowed from today,
I can recollect the memories right away.
The ones I see clear as I reminisce thoughts,
the ones that can indicate that I am no longer lost.

But see, as many moons pass
the more I think of you
the more I have become
loving of what is believed to be untrue.
However I can not hold my doubt against you.
From you, there has been nothing but truth.
I have found a piece of me inside of you.

May the stars be your guide
and the sun remain the guardian
of solar system.
So that you will never feel alone
Know you will always be with them.
A destiny is your desire
to know what lies ahead is what you sought,
do not leave behind the building blocks,
the ones that make you, you must have not forgot.

Again I ask myself of what it is I think is best
whether that be for the good of me
or rather leave me be of this mess.
But you
You shall witness
a never ending, everlasting soul
who seeks you when she is distressed.

I speak to you,
Surrounded by the most elegant stars.
"Her weirdness was not a flaw, it was the only perfection in the whole sense of the world."

How appealing is the eye.
A form of connection.
The invisible strings attached to another.
Galaxies are held in the hands of your eyes.
Stars make up the rims of your pupils.
Like a ring around Saturn,
Blessed with grace.
This is the collateral beauty
Of simply
A glance.

Find petals in the sea, paint pictures with every color possible. Swim in ideas that make you happy.

You are a candle in the darkness...
Not a candle, a star.
The brightest one.

Rise, feel the frigid air, escape within your fingertips.
Breathe the moment of now.
Close your eyes.
Picture a sun rise
Now, picture a sun set.
One that falls to night.
To expose the glow of the moon
And the brightness of the stars.
In this case, you are both.
The light of many paths.
The guide of many futures.
You are connected.

Day and night are not separate.
Dark and light split the earth in half.
Light and dark chase each other above us,
For so long.
Trying to connect,
But struggling to do so.
You are my day,
And I am your night.

There are not enough words in the dictionary
that could describe your smile.
There are not enough languages in the world
that could elaborate on your elegance.
There are not enough colors in existence,
That I could use
to paint the way you make me feel.

The melody of the music rewards me with a melancholy muse of inspiration.
Are you living?
The rhythm of my heart beat matches the movement of hands on the piano.
Are you breathing?
Invisible tears escape the sheltered walls of my borders.
Why am I like this?
I can feel a calm coming to my soul like a mother soothing her infant.
Do you love me…

Brace yourself for what the universe has to offer to you.
Remain an open book and allow everything to be your author.

Je ne peux pas changè
Parce que, je suis content avec mon vie.
Pour toujours, je suis différent.

We are humans.
We are capable of loving.
And we are able to be loved.

However,
We can't force it.
Rather;
Embrace it.

You are scared of gifting a part of you to someone else.
A piece of your soul you do not get back.
Because you're not supposed to.
Give as much of your caring self to others as you can.

Let people in.
Allow them the chance to know you,
Show them your undomesticated imagination,
Your vivid thoughts.
Your loving heart.
Love as many people as you want to.
Be loved as much as you want to.
Love the way you would want to be.
Allow others to break your guards, stumble over the edges, and fall in love with every possible thing about you.
Because in the blink of an eye,
Your chances will have turned to regrets.
All of the love you wished and hoped to give,
and all the people you chose to love,
Could be gone.
At any
Given
Moment.

Love is the best thing we can do.
Love internally
And love externally

They say a picture is worth a thousand words,
so when my mouth of a paintbrush paints the silence in the room, it could count for a million, couldn't it?

Healing begins when you accept your mistakes and start  to forgive  yourself.

Stop caring what anyone else thinks.
Be grateful for the person you are.
Flourish in the fact that you are strong.
You are unique

Sacrifice my light for what it's worth.
Cover my petals in dark.
Make my colors invisible to your eyes.
Masquerade the rainbow underneath the deep dark shadow that follows.
But you will never rid of that small place inside
Where my light was planted in you.

I read once that we will only ever see ourselves through reflections and pictures.
We will never be able to see what we look like in the eyes of someone else.
So when you'd tell me I was beautiful,
I would shake my head in disagreement,
Nod back and laugh.
Little do I know however
You were able to see the true beauty
That I was immensely blind to.

People seem to have this impression,
That all poetry and poets
Are both depressing and depressed.
When In fact
It's much more than that.
Poetry is an expression of words
Felt both from the heart and soul.
And poets themselves
Are the artists who
Use words to build their art.

Feel everything as much as possible. Because the more you feel, the more you understand.

"I have a strange desire to unmask the broken and explore the emptiness that consumed such a beautiful soul. "

Your body is your canvas.
As you get older,
you will create multiple,
different sets of color.
From the many different shades,
of life.
God, or whoever our creator must be,
gave us each individual paintbrushes
to use to create the uniqueness of ourselves.
To be a completely similar yet,
different variety of canvases
amongst the other pieces of Art that walk the universe.

In the stillness of ourselves the spirit journeys,  
Discovering our most deepest paths,
our most darkest secrets.
Binding them together,
into such a masterpiece of destruction.
So arrogant to believe that you were nothing but a piece of chaos,
running amongst the ignorant.
The ones who take your damage
and consider it abnormal.
The ones who believe your masterpieces,
Are.
Not.
Art.

Unnerve evil as though overheard in a cafeteria.
Invoke it to tremble before you.
Quivering over the idea,
that you could simply destruct at any minute. 

As to destroy its evil presence.
As to take over whats yours.
Let yourself remain cleansed of the impurities around.
Do not ingest the fact that you are unfavorable.
Because the only reason evil knocks upon your door,
is because it is quite fond of you. 

Of such innocence.
Such, purity.

Don't apologize for exiting my life.
Instead, never come back.

I've stared for hours at the bible.
Reading verse after verse.
Trying to comprehend what everyone else does.
Trying to find some sort of hope that everyone else has.
Attempting to follow a long line of religion,
That was cut from where I began.

I feel we all have this gaping hole inside of us.
Screaming out, waiting for its meaning to come alive,
Waiting for it to finally be fulfilled.
Like when you wish upon a star
You’re patient enough to wait to witness
The possible outcome.
 If there is one.
It is a never ending flame,
Begging for oxygen
Desiring to grow and expand,
To be sufficient, with something new.
Something different.
It eats at us again
… and again
And through life
We are left with that hole of nothing.
Preventing ourselves to fill it.  
Constantly, it tries to reach out to us
But we ignore the invitation
to dance with something
we know nothing of.
Only because
change is scary.
Change is something we pretend we are used to
But if we were all really used to it
By now,
That hole could have been filled.
Maybe it lacks the feeling of care
Or a feeling of love, or protection.
Or a feeling we know nothing of.
 A feeling that we have no experience dealing with.
A feeling we are scared to discover.
Is it really possible to patch up this hole with the other emotions we know?
The ones we have already accommodated to.
The ones we are comfortable with.
Maybe the hole is supposed to be filled with nothing.
As if the nothingness is supposed to feel like something.
It is the invisible feeling we pretend is a stranger.
But we all know the feeling of nothing.
The feeling of absolute emptiness.
The feeling that breaks the silence in your head to be recognized.
The loneliness that aches inside that little hole
Waiting for something to complete it again.