*****, who you think you are?
you're just a drunk fella at the bar
coming to my face and dissing me
your opinion ain't **** to me
my words are my **** pride
I wrote when my heart cried
I wrote when my soul died
I wrote and god knows I tried
to be better but now I just ride
with poetry running in my veins
and prose coming straight from my heart

The only ones
who see
my true colors,
are black ink
and a white paper

Truth be told,
I'm a cold hearted *******.
Love was never meant for me,
but you'll always find it in my writings.

Lost within an irrational equation
more like a unpredicted invasion
never knew what was the occasion
that forced me into this with no persuasion
not even an explanation just an evasion
a conflation that led me to devastation
of madness and rage straight to desolation
to the point of no return, the almighty isolation

Anxiety is like a spouse you'll always be stuck with, for better or worse, who drives you crazy but you cannot live without. It lives with you throughout the day and night, holds your hand, nudges you to act, urges you to get up, to do more, to fix something or even make something. It pushes you to the edge, then holds you back right before you fall. It wants you to win, outshine the others, to impress and astonish everyone around you. And just like any marriage, you go with the flow, agree, and nod with a smile. Then one day, it has you by the throat and you find yourself losing it and losing yourself along. And just like friend you can rely on, Xanax is there, offering you an intermission, the gift of quietude, a break. Because the truth is, and I’ll speak for myself here. I want tranquillity once in a while, but I don’t want a tranquil life.

Thursday night stress
no words to express
bottles and cigarettes
shots, more or less?
now it's time to undress
living life with no regrets

Let's raise a glass of champagne shall we?
let's raise a glass to this lovely night and this beautiful
bride let's raise a glass to the love they have no matter
how crazy it sounds let's raise a glass to the man who
captured her heart, to the man who kept his head even
when he lost his heart to this beautiful, spectacular bride
and a glass to the most amazing parents who raised her
till she grew and blossomed just like an alluring rose
here's to the most dazzling couple I've ever seen in my life
may your life be long as the divine endless summer nights
and your love shine your way brighter than the lights

They said it was passion
but there was no compassion
just an inglorious fatal attraction
that only wanted the satisfaction

I have a cold heart,
and whenever I try to
find a glimpse of
warmth I end up
setting it on fire.

Beware of the throne
that will break your bones
until your mind is blown
and your intentions are shown
your poor heart is thrown
but it's no longer your own
they will throw sticks and stones
at you till your sorrows groan
and with your agony you're alone
weeping flowers will be grown
that will sing your misery a tone
stay away of the unknown
the beautiful danger zone

What inspires you?
a friend once asked me
I looked at him for
a while then answered
I'm inspired by the
pain of the tormented
souls that hovers around
us and the late nights
of whiskey shots and
sad songs by the pool
and lipstick stains on
the broken wine glass
I'm inspired by the
history of what love
is supposed to be
by the couples who
chose to stay and
never left their lover's
side who stayed during
the storms of recklessness
and nights of madness that
drove them crazy but they
stayed no matter what they
stayed and they didn't leave
I'm inspired by the agony
I put myself through every
night I keep thinking of him
the suffering that kills me
slowly yet so **** softly
the masochism in myself
and the sadism in his
twisted terrifying flame of love

I won't sing you a love song
nor I'll ever dance along
but I will tell you this,
you are the light that shines
through my darkest moments
that fights my deepest fears
that lights my whole life
you are the one who
makes my whole life
with your simple words
of care and sweet love
my one and only
I wish you nothing
but the happiest of days
on this special day!

Happy birthday SULTANI!

If your job is becoming less than a passion and more like a wrecked marriage.
You get up, you take a very deep breath and run.
Run like you're fighting your life, run till it's no longer killing you from the inside.
Because every time you decide to stay, to give it a shot, a try a do-over, you always end up getting hurt.
Even though you never show it, you put on that million dollar smile and get back to trying.
You try until it kills what's left of your will to live, your will to dream, your will to be the person you aspire to be.
You become less like an employee and more like a zombie.
You get up, get dressed, go to work, you wait for that magic hour; 5 o'clock, you go home.
You do it over and over and over, but you don't realize the compromise you've made.
That compromise to save a sinking ship; your marriage to your job, a kind of compromise that will poison your existence and take away not only your life, but every bit of feeling you have left.
So run like there's no tomorrow, run fast to the life you've always wished for.

I go to bed everynight trying to escape
the weight that of the world
I run from every time I close my eyes
the weight of the world
that burdens my whole existence
the weight of the world
I couldn't carry on my shoulders

I don't know
if I'll ever get the chance to tell you
how the whole world
disappears when you're here

But like the sun
hugs the horizon
and the moon
kisses the sky

Day by day
I am here
and my love
for you is real

Every writer has a cold heart. It lives inside the apartment building of their ribs, on the very top floor close to the fire escape, where it can flee through the window if need be. They like to ruin the things they write about. Even the moon feels broken when they’re done with it. Nothing a writer mentions in their work can ever be whole again.

If writers had gardens, they would be full of words, buried deep down under the sweet dark soil like vegetable seeds. They take root and grow there, sometimes for months, sometimes for years, until a story is born, and then they bloom. That’s why so many well-known authors had green thumbs. In their spare time you can find them out on the terrace, smoking a cigarette or drinking tea, maybe down at the beach with their limbs splayed out in the water like the five points of a star.

Writers are easy to fall in love with. They make their lovers feel like ghosts, transient and luminescent. When they have *** it’s never just ***. They speak when they’re making love, endless sentences of poetry and prose. Some of their best works are created when wrapped around the body of another. They’re always taking mental snapshots of the way their skin fits into someone else’s. They notice every little thing. Each bruise, freckle, callus, and vein. They could write an anthology all about the hidden parts of the body.

When a writer captures you, all you can do is stand like a deer in headlights until they’re finished with you. They’ll keep you locked up in their den for days, their pen endlessly moving across paper. You’ll never forget the sound of that typewriter. It’ll haunt you in your sleep. They’ll let you drown. If you were at the bottom of the ocean, with the bubbles already escaping from your lips, they wouldn’t save you. There would be no anchor to throw down to you, no lifeboat to come your way. Writers always let their subjects drown. It’s just easier that way.

And if a writer falls in love with you, you’re done for. Be prepared for a terrifying existence. They’ll want to watch you all the time. You’ll live off of ramen noodles and packets of instant coffee, and your limbs will always be wrapped around theirs in the bathtub. The coldness of their heart may melt a little, until it’s less like the Arctic and more like a glacier. Only you can warm your hands over their fire. But they’ll **** you, slowly, without mercy. They’ll **** you with pure poetry and prose. You can never escape from their stories. If a writer falls in love with you, you will forever be caught up in the web of their words.

We never want what's good,
we never need what's better
and we never long for what's best.
We only passionately crave
what kills us in that bittersweet,
slow motion.

I was never perfect
I can be the calm after the storm
rage when its about to transform
I am a mess in its clearest form
but I'm not here to misinform
all I ever wanted is to let go of the norm
I was never perfect
but I can be madness in its unconditional form

Sometimes all you need is to
isolate yourself from the world's
madness retreat back to a place
where you can recognize yourself
again and take a moment and
start thinking about yourself and only yourself, the decisions
you've made, admit your
mistakes and maybe let go?
It is never easy, but nothing is impossible
Baby steps won't hurt, just trust
these words

Free your soul
of the pride that
destroys your all
Free your mind
of lust, greed and gluttony
that haunts your
every doomed thought
Free your heart
of the wrath that
blinds your eyes
and sloth that
makes you lose your path
Free your eyes of envy
that eats you up like jealousy

She might loved you
but I loved you more
than anything I've ever
loved in my whole life
she might been there
when you needed her
but I was there when you
didn't even need a thing
I loved everything about
you even your darkest
secrets, flaws, imperfections
secrets that you only shared
with me, flaws that were
nothing but perfection in
my eyes, imperfections that
made me fall in love with
you more and more
I loved you despite all the
pain you caused, the long
sleepless nights and every
single piece you scattered
of this shattered heart

If a writer tells you it's not you it's him
don't argue and believe him
you see the thing about writers is that
just like the waves of the sea they're never stable they crash into themselves trying to keep what's left of their sanity you'll think that they have this perfect life because they write so perfectly but you're wrong because most writers don't believe in perfection they believe in the power of absolute madness and other writers don't even know what to believe in and when they fall they don't simply fall in love they lose control and fall recklessly like there's no tomorrow they can make you the happiest person alive they will revolve their existence around you they will feed on your love and breathe you in they'll want you and all of you to them only because they'll become somehow selfish when it comes to you and you should never forget that you're the source of their happiness and without you they will never be whole they'll write russian novels about you and fifty pages of describing the beauty of your soul they'll make you the most beautiful thing they'll make you heaven walking on earth with their words and poems they'll make you alive but if you ever hurt them you'll be done gone forever you won't exist anymore even if you screamed for your existence right in front of their eyes they'll scratch you from the poems and all the love letters and you will become a nothing but a hovering memory of a ghost and even if you beg and plead on your knees they will never be the same because when writers have broken hearts they end up with broken souls that will never stop writing about the pain and agony you caused so when a writer tells you it's not you it's him just pick up your stuff and leave.

The only bond between us was the illusion of what could have been.
A lie that I kept in my heart like a prayer that I believed in.
Just a delusion of finding someone, who could have, would have, understood me beyond the touch of my skin.
But, once the smoke cleared I found myself again standing in the shadows of a hope that was never there.

Remember how
the United States
tried to go back to
isolationism after
the great war, but ended
up caught in a more
deadly and
catastrophic war?
That's exactly how
I feel right now.
I just want to build
Ford automobiles and
washing machines, but instead
I'm shooting Atomic
bombs across
the Pacific.

Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to write.
Something about words and books mesmerized me and captured my heart.
You would always find children playing with the sand at the beach building sand castles and their dreams but me, I’d always find myself looking for a shade away from the noise to read my favorite fairytale. My mother always thought that I didn’t like other children and their company. I liked other children but I liked myself more and enjoyed being alone with my fairytales and daydreams. I was raised as an only child. I’ve always seen little boys and girls playing around and I secretly wanted to be with them, to play aloud and laugh so innocently but I couldn’t so I would just smile at them and walk away. I was too shy. Even as a little girl people always said that there’s something different about me, too quite and polite. My mother used to take great pride in that. She had the quite girl with the angelic smile. Yes, I used to smile a lot even to strangers. I never remember why though. I loved her with all my life even though she wasn’t always there, my mother was.. I don’t remember what she was like but they all told me that no matter what, she always loved me. I remember sneaking into her bed when I was afraid, but I don’t remember what used to frighten me. I know that I wasn’t afraid of the dark; in fact I loved the dark. I couldn’t sleep with a single dim light on. My nanny used to tell me a bedtime story every night before I go to sleep.  I remember that I couldn’t sleep without holding her hand and hugging her. Can you believe it? I couldn’t sleep without having my nanny holding me. She was the love of my life. I loved her more than my own mother I am afraid. She loved me like I was her own. And every time she travels to visit her family, I would cry myself to sleep. Remembering her smile, her bedtime stories and every time she held my small hands. My mother used to come check on me in bed and I used to hide beneath my blanket because I never wanted her to see my tears. Every time she tries to read me a bedtime story it never felt the same. I used to write about how I miss my nanny and how it never felt the same with my mother. I used to write about a lot of things when I was younger. I used to love the smell of a new notebook or a book. I would read a book then write about how I enjoyed it. I used to have a lot of pens and pencils I loved pens because they made my handwriting look pretty and pencils because they would let me erase my mistakes. I never chose between them so I found myself writing with both of them in every page.
As a child I had so many scattered thoughts, whenever I start writing I find myself end up drawing on the same notebook.  I loved drawing as well. I used to buy all the different pencils because colors were too much for me. I loved seeing them but I never liked using colors. I loved every shade of grey there was. And I loved my pens and pencils the most of all.

Beauty fades,
but a heart of gold
will never rust away.

You're gone but I won't get high
Cause I'm already fly
My aspirations reach the sky
There's no need to even try
You left without saying goodbye
There are no tears in my eyes
Just for you I'll never cry
No I'm not that shy
To tell you that I'll forget you in a blink of an eye
Don't forget that I'm the queen of July

Crash into me
with the fury of the waves
of a wild sea that drowns
the whole town
and the wrath of the flames
of a volcano that lights up
the night skies

People come
To the city of love  
To fall in love
Fall in lust
Fall in liqour
Fall in junk
But me
I've come
To make peace
With the me
I've left back here
The me that fell
So many times
I cannot recall
But I'm going back
With sweet lies
That won't ease
The aching pain
And a numb heart
That won't feel
A thing

Inspire me to be the me I wish to be

Letting you go felt like pulling a string right out of my heart.

I might not remember every lips I've kissed
nor the the broken hearts I've left
and the insane nights I've spent
but I will never forget those eyes
that were truly heaven sent

You never loved her. What you really loved is the way she made you feel, like the whole universe collapsed and nothing was left for her to live for but you. The way she made her existence revolve around you. How she made you forget the worst in you and always knew how to bring out the best in you. So don't you dare saying that you loved her, because when she left that day you didn't move an inch to get back that so-called love you were almost always bragging about.

Simplicity is what we truly lack in this complex world

Sometimes, at 3 AM in the morning
I lie awake and wonder about the unknown
Where would I be?
Who would I be with?
Would my children have their daddy's eyes?
Or would they have my madness?
And I wonder  about all what could have been
But what I wonder about the most is..
Would I be happy?
Sometimes when I'm wide awake at 3 AM in the morning I just wonder

I want a life
With hope
And happiness
I want a life
With love
I want a life
With a blooming spring,
A brighter dawn
And a dream to hug the sky with