Many times I am the best version of myself when
I am just me,
Alone.
I'm not sure what this says about me,
but I do know I am cursed with a lifetime of loneliness

Paralyzed by sadness,
lack of motivation coupled with an unquenchable thirst.
I am sad, yet happy
I am a walking paradox

The rise and the fall
Of the rose petals in a storm
Left to defend with only thorns
And already more than halfway gone

The scent carries on the wind
Of this Rose, I'm guardian
Guarding what is left
Of a beauty left in the past...

Because although they say true beauty never dies
A rose wasn't built to last

We diffuse ink into our bodies with needles, withstanding the pain, waiting patiently through the healing process of aching, scabbing and itching. We anticipate it, and marvel at its beauty upon healing. We call this an expression; body art. Then why don’t we treat scars and aches the same? Why should we hide those away as if it were something to be ashamed of? Let me stand beaming, strong and proud of my scars

I am not a carefully prepared bouquet of flowers
arranged to please anyone
to create comfort
I am the raw uncomfortable, that they want to pretend doesn't exist.
I am a bowl of wild flowers

I am the moon,
no perception or projection of shine or shadow
can change me,
discern me or not, it does not change that I am full no matter.

My moonlight knight, was just an intangible, empty  projection.
Thats the thing about poets, their words drip of rich nectar, but it only alludes the sweetness of honey