She's got an old soul
older than mountains,
older than the rain
It was probably there when
the rivers first ran free
Older than the earth, maybe
One of the first stars
The brightest supernova
she dove in, beautifully, on a crystal comet
straight out of the Universe

she's seemed like starlight ever since

I was 6 years old and my mother
said I had words in my mouth
that came from an old woman's tongue.
Words and letters came to me
before I knew how to
open my unripe jaw

I was 8 years old and my teacher
told me to speak more
that the words I had on paper
were too grand to be ignored.
- but I was too silent and too afraid
of all the mouths that would open
before I could whisper "Just wait."

I was 11 years old and my brain
spoke so loud it was screaming
at my tongue to move
but before I formed a syllable
but before my jaw opened
my raised hand was ignored.

I am 18 now and my heart
finds comfort in the secret familiarity
of bleeding what my brain cannot
release onto pages and pages
of blood
of sweat
of tears
of poems that mark the place of a girl
well beyond her years.

Deep in my young heart
I've always had this empty longing for the past
My heart silently bleeds for thy
Like it was a lover gone forever

I love history books because reading so
Puts me in a blissfully euphoric,
Yet miserably nostalgic trance
That would later make me ache for it even more

I miss the places I've never been to,
I yearn for the company of people I never met,
I crave those olden days I have never had the chance to live,
I adore those who have long been dead

Here I am, always craving, always wanting, always waiting,
For that polite, serene, and old-fashioned pieces of love
To happen to me too
When will I ever get to feel
That genuine humanitarian compassion they had long ago?
I'm afraid to be just another lifeless photograph
Withered by time

Is time to pay homage to those who paved a path for me. Had a "Dream with in a dream" like Edgar did. No kiss upon the brow, we shook hands and drank tea. Spoke about love and death and all its synonyms like I am to he. Did you kissed her because she died? Were the grain of golden sand that creeped through your fingers  from her broken hour glass? Is this life a reality or yet a dream? For the poor it must be a nightmare to sleep and not see reality. As he vanished right in front of me and left behind a black feather with ink as it came from a Raven's wing.

Pinched my self to wake up from this dream or nightmare. Scared of what might come next. I see snow flakes start to fall from the sky as if heaven is coming down towards me. I look up with my mouth open catching snow on my tounge. I hear a horse gallop and is getting close. He stops right before and asked if the woods are mine? He says, "I know he know he still has miles to go for promises he must keep before he sleeps." As the horse harness bell shakes he ask "before I depart how far I'll go before I sleep in the woods that are lovely, dark and deep. Remember my name Robert Frost, for when I sleep and arrive at your door but For now I must go I have promises to keep, I have promises to keep before I sleep." As he vanishes right before my eyes horse and all I hear the gallops far far away and a solid snow flake falls right between my eyes.

and I blink and I see 21st century man ask a stranger where am i? He smiles and sarcastically said "the land of the free" "we were named New Amsterdam but now is called Manhattan, this hear is Harlem. I'm Langston Hughes let's sit by the river. Asked him how's life? "Life is fine" "I was born for living as are you." "You'll be dogged if you let them see you die for love, so live. You'll make your mark I'll all come one night." Took the elevator to the 16 floor asked him if I was dreaming? He said "of course I died in 1967" as he jumped this time for the first time he yelled "don't let it dry up like a raisin in the sun, dream don't defer". Just like that he was gone.

As time moves back and forth between centuries. I hear murmurs, see things I can't understand stop please the voices are to much for me. Troy, Troy is it burned yet? Homer and William Butler Yeats discuss Odeysseu's journey, Helen and Menelaus king of Sparta.
Stop! Stop! Stop! As I fall from space in fear of my death. I wake up and see the sun beaming through the blinds. The smell of pancakes enters the room and in to my nose, glad is on my face. She said "How you sleep last night, bad dream again" As I eat with my left and write with my right. Time to pay homage i said. Time to pay homage.

they frown
at my tattoos
as I ride past their church;
I think if they had stones they would
cast them

In my mind,
There lives two wolves.
Two distinct voices.
Each telling me to make different choices.
How am I supposed to know which one to pick?
Quite honestly, the stress of it all is making me sick.
Is the right answer instilled in us?
In our heart and in our brain?
Or maybe two voices is all it will take to drive someone like me insane.

I am the kind of person
Who has mental breakdowns in the line at subway
Decision making is difficult
Or maybe I'm just crazy
And I might be
Every day is unpredictable
Every day I wake up in the same body
A different person
People never believe me
But believe me when I say
I change on a daily basis
My mood is completely erratic
And always shifting
It is not desirable
To be this unstable
With the daily possibility of hurricane
And ever-present disaster
There is bound to be destruction
I think deeply about everything
Too much and too often
My personality is introverted
Yet I get upset when I'm alone for too long
Human contact is critical to my being
But sometimes I get upset if I am looked at the wrong way
I push people away
And then get mad when they don't come back
I don't make much sense at all
Really, I don't
Potato
I got a massage once
And cried for the whole 80 minutes
Because I had realized
I needed to pay someone to touch me for that long
It was still worth it
It's not normal
To fall apart this often
But I do
So often that it's become my daily routine
A repetition
Of overanalyzing
Freaking out
And then worrying
Followed by bouts of hysterical crying
I cry at the most irrelevant things
But never serious situations
I've been to two funerals in my life
And didn't cry at either
I didn't know how to
I am impulsive
I have seven tattoos
All of which were added within a span of three months
I make my decisions at the last minute
I'm addicted to netflix
I bawl my eyes out every time I watch lilo & stitch
Which is often
Sad music makes me depressed
But it's still the only thing I listen to
I say I hate hookups
And then spend a night with someone who will never speak to me again after
I look for love in all the wrong places
And then get ****** when I don't find it
Yell at happy couples because they are happy and I am not
I smoke cigarettes only because I like the smell of them
I drink too much
And then not enough
I look good some days and then like hell the next
My pillow has a permanent imprint of my head because I sleep a lot
Some nights I don't sleep at all
And then cry about it in the morning
I think I cry too much
And most days I realize this
I realize that I am
A mess
A whirlwind of ugly
Black and white
Back and forth
Thunder storm tidal waves
That constantly pick up and crash
A kaleidoscope of everything wrong in this world
All put together in one single being
I am the definition
Of insanity
But when you look at it
In the right perspective
I guess it starts to make sense
Starts to fold into something other than just breakage
I can't see the appeal in the chaos
I can't see the beauty
In any of this
But maybe someday
Someone will.