A slave I was, but noble born,
A prince to be, they said in scorn,
A soldier bred, in pain and blood,
A single wave within the flood.

A war I fought, each battle won,
A thousand dead, I spared no one,
A field of spikes, my calling card,
A broken mass all burned and scarred.

A journey home, a prince at last,
A world away, that war-torn past,
A wife and son, a peace long sought,
A haven from all those I fought.

A tribute due, a price too high,
A choice to make, to fight or die,
A road to ride, a deal to make,
A slender chance I have to take.

A brother once, my noble kin,
A traitor now, not worth his skin,
A promise made, an oath he broke,
A final straw, no time to choke.

A war begun, a siege to come,
A day to plan, before the scrum,
A saviour found, a dream to dare,
A hellish choice, this curse to bear.

Let your pain be pain.
Don’t hide it under beautiful metaphors or a smile.
For the love of God, don’t push it so far down that you’re walking every step on thorns.
Let your pain bleed through.
Holding onto the ache will not make you stronger.
(Believe me, it will not.)
Pain makes skeletons.
It makes you bitter, angry, and numb.
Gripping so tight that your knuckle turn white will not dilute the burn.
It will wilt your soul.
Pain does always not build character.
It just hurts.
Pain is a wound that festers.
It will wait years upon years for it to be picked at.
What do you believe will happen when it begins to bleed again?
Let the pain flow.
Let it slip out of your wounds and roll down your eyes.
Let it pour out of your mouth till your voice is shaken to the core.
You’ll thank yourself in time.

I

Who would be
A mermaid fair,
Singing alone,
Combing her hair
Under the sea,
In a golden curl
With a comb of pearl,
On a throne?

II

I would be a mermaid fair;
I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
And still as I comb'd I would sing and say,
'Who is it loves me? who loves not me?'
I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall
                Low adown, low adown,
From under my starry sea-bud crown
                Low adown and around,
And I should look like a fountain of gold
        Springing alone
        With a shrill inner sound
                Over the throne
        In the midst of the hall;
Till that great sea-snake under the sea
From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps
Would slowly trail himself sevenfold
Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate
With his large calm eyes for the love of me.
And all the mermen under the sea
Would feel their immortality
Die in their hearts for the love of me.

III

But at night I would wander away, away,
        I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks,
And lightly vault from the throne and play
     With the mermen in and out of the rocks;
We would run to and fro, and hide and seek,
     On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells,
Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea.
But if any came near I would call and shriek,
And adown the steep like a wave I would leap
     From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells;
For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list
Of the bold merry mermen under the sea.
They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me,
In the purple twilights under the sea;
But the king of them all would carry me,
Woo me, and win me, and marry me,
In the branching jaspers under the sea.
Then all the dry-pied things that be
In the hueless mosses under the sea
Would curl round my silver feet silently,
All looking up for the love of me.
And if I should carol aloud, from aloft
All things that are forked, and horned, and soft
Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,
All looking down for the love of me.

I tend to love
broken things.
And sometimes, I get broken
by the things I love.

There once was a young girl, shy
And pretty, but unaware of her grace.
On late summer days she gazed up to the sky,
Trying to slow down worlds enormous pace.

She understood there was more outside,
than poppy fields and hazy clouds,
while most people blindly joined life's crazy ride,
she resolved to walk without the crowd.

On her untapped path she spotted a flower,
blue and lovely as she has never seen it before.
For flowers blooming in unexpected places she swore,
are the most beautiful ones holding the greatest power.

Self love is important
because it is impossible
to love someone else when
you can't even love yourself
so take a step back, and
look at yourself
and love yourself
because in the end you're all
you really have

Dear Daddy,
Do you know what these men say to me?

With their
eyes and their mouths
when I walk on the street.

With a grin and a nod
and a look up and down.
A wink and a kiss
and a cat call heard from downtown.

With my skirt short
and my top
low,
It’s a cold world daddy
and no
doesn’t mean no.

Daddy do you know
how these men look at me?

Like I’m a piece of meat
strutting down the street?
With my head buds in
and my favorite song on.

I’m asking for it Daddy,
I’m in the wrong.

Do you know how it feels
not to wear what I like?

To walk a little faster
when I’m alone at night?

Daddy the world is my predator
and I am it's doe,
Daddy what happens
when I can’t say no?