It take too long to realize that I'm nearest to death. I thought it was just a simple allergies that i could encounter but i was wrong, any minute my heart could positively stop because of the unpleasant beat. I cant even enjoy swimming within an hour because of the cold water. Even air in the morning. I have to scratch my whole body and cant even enjoy the blist of the morning air. And the worst part is that, it was a lifetime treatment. I don't know if i could take it whenever my body is getting thick and hurt or whenever i cant breath or I'm shaking. I'm getting tiered of being self pity, its like i cant even help my self and i need others to do that. Em i that luck enough?? I was always in the hospital ever since, I'm always sick and diagnose in everything. I wish i was just normal as others. But i guess I'll just treat this as a gift from God. Well I'm just blessed after all* :)

Ink Still Coming Out

This boy rise from the dark corner of a room,
Where there no light for the flower to bloom,
Where the wave, show me the ways,
To amaze you every day,
I squeese my head down,
To see your smile, every sweat drop to the ground,
Every second flow to countdown, i never miss a count,
Just to show my love too astound,
I shout your name, without adout on the highest paramount,
At the lawn, till dawn, Just to see you respawn,
So we will be together forever and i will never ever let you gone,
Your mom and dad on the list, so i make them a tryst,
To let them know, im holdin' your wrist,
huggin' you for the blist,-out,
Before we lift up to the cloud,

Can you hear me, through this beat?
That i cant stay clam, while thinking how beautiful you are,
While you beautifully embalm, me like a shooting star,
That landed in my heart, from the outher space,
From the far i can see that light glazy, shinning from that face,
And now i can get out from this hazing gasling maze,
Dont let me losse it before the next phrase,
Please, i dont want to feel this,
Pain but anything that i should gain,
That the reality when they call me crazy,
Coz im the joker, you my harley quinn,
If im a king, will you be my queen?
I telling you that i love you and i will prove it...

My mouth aint sweet enough make you blush,
I played with word but still can been trust, not for you to flush,
Im your crush not for lust,
To cheer you at high tide never make me tired to fight for my pride to show my gust,
There's a knight, that ready for fight,
For you, day and night,
That who i am, your savior,
Anything happen here even a disaster,
I will save you after my mother,
So she can see, that i want her to see, i save the woman i love,
This is a curse, when i cant durst myself to express myself to the universe,
Serve anythin' that you should deserve,
Emptyin' my purse is my thirst for your love,
List out, so i can bring it out,
This ink still comming out,
I will make never adout my love,
Just like you should deserve..

Winter finds
the tops of mountains
Short of breath from the climb
Crystals shaped like snowflakes fall
On their cheeks, stung by the sun.
They wear long clothing with
Buttons that match: a uniform
Symbol that, though small, reflects
Defining strength and aptitude
And keeps them standing tall.
But when they climb back down
The home they return to
Is distant and virtuous and small.
A familiar pen writes papers and poems
To fill up the shelves of a well-crafted den.
It’s a habit more than a hobby, by now
They’ll have published at least one or two, by then.
On weekdays they travel to libraries and schools
Read books to children and sing.
When afternoon comes, they’ll be fighting for justice
With knowledge, compassion, and persevered dreams.
Winter is seen taking walks in the spring that can last up to 10 hours long
With friends, old and new, who walk right alongside- the journey, though tiresome, is strong.
They’ve grown a few inches, in shoes or in heel, and their childhood fears have finally nulled
Traveling far away, small spiders and mirrors, these terrors now trivial, lackluster, and dull.
Winter is a season that she once felt was impossible to feel like herself in, she’d say.
But now they have conquered the long blist’ring winds, and Teasdale’s Stars, and Woolf’s Dalloway.
They keep moving forward, inspired and stilled, by the pleas of a kid who once called out their name
In hopes of an answer, running up that hill, fiercely demands of them: Requiem for: identities lost and spirits regained.