1.  It always happens completely unexpectedly.

It could be a year from now, perhaps another 5 years, maybe tomorrow. It could be the person you've been liking for the longest time, it could be your bestfriend that you didn't think you'd fall for, it could be the guy you met for three days during your sister's graduation day. Nothing's ever really certain. You just don't know when it'll happen. And with whom.


2.  It's good to know what you want. But never set expectations.

I've come to realise that what's most important is that you share the same or similar end-goals with the person. Having different outlooks on life isn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as the things you wish to achieve in life are, or should at least be aligned to one another - whether it's family, career or personal life goals. It's also good to know what you want in a person in terms of his/her core values. BUT, having a list of what your dream person should physically and mentally turn out to be? Nope, throw that out.  


3.  Self-love before anything else.

It's about acknowledging your flaws. Knowing and understanding your little quirks. Enjoying time by yourself and taking pleasure in your own presence. Looking in the mirror and feeling beautiful/badass. Ultimately, it's about accepting yourself exactly the way you are. Loving yourself first and foremost, above all else. And eventually having enough confidence to know that however and whoever you are, the other person will come to love every single little detail about you.

.....but what if they don't?

Simple. Get outta there. You don't deserve it.
You've got too much self-respect for that.


4.  Take all the time you need.

In an era of technological advancements and glorified instant gratification, it's easy to fall into the abyss of wanting more and more and wanting it NOW. Everywhere you look, everyone around you seems to be falling in love and having the time of their lives. Pfft, it isn't that hard is it? People find their soulmates all the time. It's just a mere click of an app. Swipe right, there you have it.

Now... here comes the hard-hitting truth. Falling in love is a literal piece of cake. Staying in love, now that's the hardest part. This is where patience and taking the time to know a person is crucial. It's very important to know the person as a friend first before anything else. Also, the friendship should make you feel comfortable enough to know that no matter how much time you take and need, it only proves that it'll further flourish into something even more meaningful as time progresses.

It's like cheese. It's only better with time.


5.  It should set you free.

I used to think love is somewhat this concoction of paradoxes -  it should be happiness and despair, goodness and pain, all jumbled up into one. You're supposed to love someone so much till it hurts. You're supposed to miss him till your head spins and your heart literally aches. It's supposed to make you feel like the worst.... but completely in love.

But as time passes and age matures me, I start to realise that it should be in fact, the complete opposite. Well, yeah, maybe it should make you feel like all those generic lovey-dovey things like in rom-coms. It should make you happy and grin like an idiot. It's gonna turn you into a big ball of cheesy fluff sometimes.

But what it should really feel is easy and breezy, like a pretty summer's day. No one has to feel like you're giving too much and receiving too little when there's mutual understanding and love for each other. It shouldn't feel burdensome when both of you respect your boundaries and spaces. There should too, be times spent apart. You are, after all, two completely different individuals merged together. Your union should make you strong but light on the feet; attached but not chained to one another. You are each the savoury and the sweetness of a PB&J sandwich; both constituting different parts of a whole.

sometimes i wish
you'd see beyond
the color of my eyes
and the cloth wrapped around my head

i wish you would
think of me as an individual
put away my appearance
and regard me as a person

my thoughts matter
my ideas aren't all bad
i have opinions
and i choose to speak my mind
if only you would
listen to my words
and try to comprehend what i'm saying
rather than focusing on my accent
and the way my lips curve when i speak

the cloth on my head
does not rid me of ideas
it does not limit my mental capabilities
it does not lower my tolerance
have a debate with me
spark a conversation
instead of complimenting my smile
compliment my mind
instead of assuming that my beliefs are enforced upon me
ask me what i believe
ask me what i value

tell me what you base your morals on
question me
give me counterarguments
talk to me
instead of staring at me
and making biased assumptions
already concluding who i am
and where i come from
before you've even
said hello!

i am not just the color of my skin
i am not just the size of my thighs
i am not just the design of my clothes
i am not just the price of my purse
i am not just the pattern of my headscarf
i am not just the length of my nails
i am not just a body

i am a mind
i am a heart
i am a soul

i am my theories
i am my thoughts
i am my perceptions
i am my opinions
i am my viewpoints
i am my objectives
i am my purpose
i am my outlooks
i am my intentions
i am my reasons
i am my perspectives
i am my choices
i am my principles
i am my ideologies

i am a thinking, feeling, living, stimulated, motivated, inspired being

i've got a world inside of me
take a look see
before you choose to pass judgment on me.

i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams

i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run

learned nothing in victory

learned nothing in simplicity

complacently

snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs

just relax

mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.

mistakes make us

deliberate chaos
tossed  
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings

hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell

This one’s for the smart kids.

This one is for the honor students, and the straight A students

This is for the kids who stay up half the night studying, and the kids who work their ***** off for their grades

This is for the kids who can define and spell Antidisestablishmentarianism or tell you what DNA stands for (it’s deoxyribonucleic acid by the way)

This is  for the teachers pets, the geeks, and the nerds. And the student who skips parties so she can study for her test.

This is for the kids who can solve complex mathematic equations in their head

This is for the kids who know that you don’t use “I” in a formal essay, and that okay is spelled O-K-A-Y, not O-K.

This is for the kids who can recite pi up to 200 hundred places, and the ones who can solve a rubix cube in 2 minutes flat.

The ones who take two language classes, and the ones who have been saving for college since they were born.

Geniuses of the 21st century, this is for you.

I would give you a gold star and a check plus for what you’ve done, but I’m sure you have gotten plenty of those. So I think I will just tell you something that only we could understand; Superb job at pursuing your academic careers with such ambitious outlooks on the world, and for having such admirable self-motivation.

I know that sometimes it ***** to be academically inclined, but in 5, 10, 20 years you will be working in some law firm or doing something you love and making multiple figures while the kids who blow off their school life will be stuck working for minimum wage at McDonalds or as a waitress for the rest of their lives.

So keep writing essays and doing extra credit because it’s not enough to survive high school, you have to thrive, and reach for the metaphorical stars.

Oh me Ireland from the green emerald shamrock how you tantalize and share the blarney cool pools
And streams in diverse scattered form you bedazzle the mind I and all others are your prisoner
We fell under the spell of your charm wickedly fun delight smites from the heights of joy we
Stroll even the national theme is to cajole it’s born from the woods where the wee ones abide
They are the pride and honor of Irish lore Dublin the lilt the thrill rolls down the hill Joyce
Found and spoke from his native tongue so well there is the Mexicali rose and the” Spanish rose
That grows in Spanish Harlem” but what I know is those Irish eyes are gleaming makes my
Heart start my dreaming oh soliloquy with haste you make your statement the blends of this
Ancient twist of tree and steam that flows and then breaks a fix point to gather from wind and
Water the beliefs and wonderings of Leprechauns how else could such magic unfold and be told
After you awake conscious thought is so limited walk on my dreams and you will find my inner
Heart there revealed lost garrisons and bastions of thoughts and deeds spread to the woods
And coast spellbinding the listener the cistern of bliss was cracked open it profoundly and
Evenly coursed through city and villages alike timelessness found its place in this land uttering
The wistful richer than many pots of gold it was as distinguishable as a man’s own signature it is
Like a check list it holds close and tight the facts a man who as a stone mason handles the hard
And course and lives with the residue of fine stone work deeply ingrained like the esteemed
And like forth telling words of Thomas Aquinas who had the closeness to God and set forth
Those royal surmising that scorched the earth of his day it could almost be said as it was of
Jesus no man speaks after this order overwhelmed by the laudatory speech it rises on the
Breeze it stands in these excellent hills to walk is to be staggered with emotional fervor the
Bloodline of Ireland runs deep and is abiding what privilege to stand as a voice a teacher for
Such a place that has such great history that is easily exported to other places making inroads
To build Ireland anew in other lands if nothing more than in a small way that is the greatest
Deterrent to war is for all people to meet and share their positive and unique outlooks nothing
Can build quality life like sharing and creating like mindedness in others crafted out of feeling
And knowing of your world and your place in it to dispel doubt and fear and replace it with the
Quaintness and charm that makes every rock and bush in wee fair Ireland

it comes
when you're reading one of those books
written by pseudo intellectuals buried
in their despondent lookout on life

comes when
       They're writing on human's self-sabotaging nature,
when they're peeling
layers off and off, revealing the
truth of ourself like they're
       gods,
Hermes the messenger, or angels, Michael,
bringing to us thoughts we'd never have grown organically
     that's what they believe,
          what they tell themselves as they prune their feathers with pride
as they impregnate you with the god honest truth
and how did you live before knowing this?
it's been with you all along, kicking and breathing and pushing
     you just didn't know it, yet,
but now you can as
they preach their outlooks like it's a message that
changes everything, that your life will implode as your mind
wakes itself up -
     they try to baptize you
          gripping your throat with their
     carpel tunnel fingers, reading glasses
slipping down their noses as they lean over

you, watching their words pour into
you, their victims' throat, as they will it
and all the while they blame
you, because:

Humans make themselves miserable
     They write
They bury themselves in all they hate and
choose to burn all they love until
they're alone and self-loathing and scarred
unrecognizable
     They write
Of our hatred for humanity
for every single individual that surrounds us and
How we surround ourselves with them
with crowded supermarkets and lanes of traffic because
they fuel our suffering and
That's all we crave
     They write
On our thirst for blood
our lust for ****, ******, war on
How our society is fueled by violence and how
we bathe in it with a grin
stretched across dry  bleeding lips
sharp teeth that rip through our neighbors' flesh
with delight
     They write
that we're alone in suffering and surrounded by hate and
we're wild animals driven to war
out of boredom and
That's human nature in a nutshell
That's the truth revealed
          nasty, gritty, honest
     They write
and that's when

it comes, that gnawing in the
     pit of your stomach, that
scratching in the back of your mind
     that claws its way
          down into your throat where it
     *squeezes

Ants carried cubes out the front door
piling into a cube truck
until I could see the living room floor
Everything moved and tucked
into my earthy living space
I packed you in envelops
put you away, but never to erase

I learned about the things you'd done
to keep our bread from molding
to replace a broken ladder rung
but you couldn't keep from folding
along the premade creases in your sheets
I couldn't stop you from holding
Five year plans separated by five day weeks

I woke up as someone I didn't recognize
belonging to the street lamps
instead of the summer sun rise

I fell asleep against computer screens
and hardcover books
Learned how the world never leens
to fit your perspective or new outlooks

I tried to place you in a cookie cutter
but you didn't fit the mold
so I let you spread and run like melted butter
along the creases, you naturally fold

I waited for you to stand on your own
then I learned about how being alone
doesn't feel like
icy hands in the morning
single cup coffee, crescent moons
or long car rides east in the afternoons

I could feel emptiness in your fumes
how the distance in our shared bed
made you wait for the darkness of new moons
So you could wander the sheets clearing your head
in the blanket of the night.

I thought you were searching for a light
to help guide you through
the galaxies between us
in our electric room

You pulled art we bought in markets
off the wall
You drifted in the reservoir, plunging under
to avoid my call
You took half the books
So I piled and stuffed my things in nooks
of the little room we moved into last July
we set up our first house
and knew it was a short-lived lie.

if you walked a thousand miles in my shoes you still
would not have any room judge me
where'd that idea come from, anyway?
that because you see what I see and walk where
I walk you have the power and knowledge to
write a book of every mistake I've ever made
and set it right outside of the gates of heaven
so that when my time comes I know it was your
words that left me dead?
people are not god's
you grew up reading mythology, watching the half-human
Hercules build a wall on top of his shoulders and carrying
it even throughout his most human times
I grew up reading poetry, memorizing the beauty of
metaphors to the point where I decided that when I grew up
I would become one and everything I do would be one
no wonder we have such different outlooks on life.
if someone put a knife through your back, you would die
you are not immortal because people are not gods
so why allow them to do what they do?
I told myself you would never make me sick again, ever
let me have a 105 degree fever and a pain in my shoulder
before I ever get nauseous remembering what happened
what was said or what we both did, but when I went to
the doctor and begged him to cure me he just filled his
syringe up with a photographic memory and inserted it
directly into my veins whispering
people are not god's
people are not god's
if you want to became the hands on a clock learn to
add and subtract and memorize when the sun rises and sets
if you are dead set on becoming something no one can
touch without crumbling to a pile of dust
breathe deep and walk tall
move as if your spine is made of words
that were said in such a fragile time that if you distribute
your weight improperly the tightrope will break
act as if it is never a fragile time
even though it is 99% of the time, but say it's not
say it's all just fine until your mind is snickering because
it has convinced the rest of your body it's able to keep running
people are not gods, people are not gods
people are just people and that's all they'll ever be
a mere five and a half feet, unless you allow them to
put on stilts and start walking around in your head

I get too deep in my own emotions, I never even attempt to try and bring myself back because I know that when I’m depressed they just become delusions. It’s simple to say that friendship can keep you sane but honestly, it’s the comradery the keeps me sheltered in an uncomfortable silence. Hearing about the pleasures someone can indulge in makes my heart break, then to hear them complain about the small demons they face in life just simply makes it hard to agree with their outlooks when I’ve seldom ever seen my happiness at its peak. It’s hard to think of them outside of our time together when almost every moment of my time is hard to fabricate. I love them but sometimes it feels like I have to liquidate and make my escape before I create a situation where I will negate the comfort I’ve created with them, it’s so hard not to express the feeling to leave.

When you begin to understand that life is more than a boat that sails on the calmest seas.

When you begin to understand it's not a perfect world and change won't happen even if you say please.

When you realise the government only want to be wealthy and don't want to support you.

When you realise the prime minister doesn't believe you should have the right you do.

Ignorance is great
knowledge makes you hate
but I'd rather know the truth
than not know what to do
than to trust the companies
and political parties
that don't support me or my rights
who support war and choose to fight.
And if you know and think it's great
then I don't hate you cause to hate would be to join the state.

I just want to write stories:

One about a ******* her honeymoon
that calls her mother from the hotel room.
Her mother dissapproves of her husband
because he's abusive and rude and she doesn't understand how her daughter can love him;
but her daughter can't help but love him unconditionally
because she understands her husbands flaws and they're what she loves about him most.
She gets all this pity about being mistreated, but everyone should pity the man of her dreams
because no one understands him and he's tearing at the seems,
and he feels so lucky to have someone so accepting
and they love each other despite everything.

Or one about a girl perhaps,
that goes on long walks to a stage by a river
where she imagines that everyone claps
and welcomes her with open arms that she can practically feel embracing her
and their arms comfort her and keep her warm and eliminate the shivers
that grow on her own arms like little ant hills with colonies beneath them
and when she looks down at her heart she notices a tiny stem
of a dandelion by her feet, and she admires it
because it holds up a **** and doesn't face defeat
and still holds up this **** even though everyone only views it as a ****
and it breaks a sweat and stands tall and doesn't succumb to greed.
She wishes she could look up to it, but the world only sees it when they're looking down.

And I want to write one about a tiny boy
with many fears that no one understands
and ironically enough,
one of his greatest fears is not being understood by others
why he is so scared.
So he tries and tries and tries to explain why the world seems so evil
but the stutter of his thoughts makes him realize that nobody ever cared.
And he carries on and lives life in silence.
Silently scared of a world can hardly bear.

Or maybe I'll write one about a poet
that dreams of the wildest scenarios
and the most enchanting outlooks on life
and she dreams of words and how they fit together
and she dreams of ideas unimaginable to the average brain
and she wakes up in the morning
and doesn't remember a thing
and she opens her note pad
and scribbles until her ink is working again
and sits with her silent pen,
wondering what to write.

I have reached a resting stop in my life long journey towards complete and utter happiness. I am drained, weak, and nauseous. I can't do a single thing in life without worrying about a consequence, a mistake, a fear. If I move on; will I be wishing I stayed? If I stayed will I forever be regretting my decision? I need to see the world, but I also enjoy some things in this life. I crave adventure, but comfort is easy to find and 'home' it is easy to call.  I want to see what life has to offer, but what if it isn't as glorious as people proclaim? what if I am not the person I believe I am? a unique writer who craves inspiring scenery? Or am I just a little girl who's been thrown around by society, mind so hazed that I cannot figure out what I truly desire? Life; it's a living hell - but with an open mind and no pessimistic outlooks, it can be a best selling book waiting to be written. I might have the ability and opportunity to be the Author, through terrors, tortures, and turmoil... I might be able to make my hell into someone else's hope. I just have to keep going, moving forward, and stop looking back and dawning on the past.

This surge of irrational thought patterns wears down my being
Haunting my mind with nonsensical worries which should mean nothing to me
Enticing my head with vivid illusions and lies of false truths

Malevolent ideas that have no significance in the grand scheme of things
Oscillating my fabric of reality with an uncertain rush of doubts
Rendering what I see as myself to something that is not
Establishing a suspension of disbelief towards everything around me

Yielded necessities clash against that which derails my advancement
Ominous messages from those who care make their way towards me
Underlying statements of advice warn me to stop over-thinking

Thoughts manifest into problems, think nothing of your thoughts themselves
Heed these words, I shall—halt the process of excessive contemplation
Introspection will lead nowhere at this point for these thoughts must stop
Neutral outlooks on the situation are what are needed to rightfully proceed
Knowledge in regards to my own illogical tendencies will be necessary

Alter your mind as a whole to reflect the required change
Breathe with certainty that your thoughts are clear and dignified
Open your view to the world around you and liberate yourself from these closed corridors
Utilize your senses to realize that this chamber of thinking must be abandoned
Traverse new areas to free your mind from these troubled memories

Invert the dimensions in which you reside
Traject yourself onwards—leave this pursued train of thought behind

Traveling forward with this new gusto set about myself, I reflect on times past
Hastily trashing that which bogged me down, the road ahead was cleared of its fog
Extraordinarily so, times became relaxed and easy

Maelstroms of regret and shattered mindsets blockade your head
Overly patient, you wait out this typhoon of ambiguity
Rectify yourself and brave the turbulent winds
Extremes are absolutely nothing to you—you are stronger than this

Diligent minds are those which can surpass even themselves
Inside the realm of thought rests millions of subdivided worlds
Freely explore all of these living experiences by nothing more than your own will
For they are your only true escape from the original thought which distressed you so
Ill-mannered it may be to simply run from the issue by means such as this
Cautiously move on, though, because this may be the only way out
Until you can truly settle yourself to a state of agreement with your soul
Loiter on in this passageway of existences and immerse yourself within it forever
Till the end of time may bring down its scythe

Insidious antiquities may curse you yet
Till you pace yourself and analyze this gateway of all

Gestalt psychology has taught me to look at things as a whole
Edging against my eyesight, the thoughts which I rightfully abandoned attempt to break in once more
Trifling memories which are to never be recalled again claw at the locks
Seclusion from inconsistent beliefs is my course of action as I move to the future

I feel it....
The urge,
The scratch,
The knuckle,
The crack,
The sound,
The glimpse,
The silence....

Change, inwardly evolving into every step I make, every word I say, every breath I take.
What is at stake?

I struck myself at a forsaken introspection.
Becoming, someone new.
Someone dark, and someone light.
Someone who I never thought I could be.
Intensity strikes and the magic I have been hiding resurfaces.
I am many forms...
Of me.

I then, start to see.
She was just a cover, but now I unfold and surface at my most enlightened peak.
I feel me, I know me.
Yet, it's a monumental battle of self, constantly changing, having different outlooks.
Allowing perception to take shape into different formulas.

I found myself, lost in the darkness, and lost in the light.
The substantial view of solitude has awoken a part of me that was lurking in the shadows of what I thought I was losing.

Space, moving slowly, at a pace, with no fight or race, but a high vibration of intentional awareness that I now foresee, down, and high, the pits of me as I grow to actually be.

The me I had lost, the new version of what I thought me would be.
Profusely intertwining with chaotic yet peaceful mindless thoughts.

I feel it...
No hassle,
No chase,
No worry,

Just peace.
I accept me.

Confusion, abusing
underused.
Apathy is only a mean to an end
and it has served me well in the past.
Like a particularly sharp tool,
chosen with care, to sculpt and mold
the clay between my fingers
into something presentable for the world.
Who are they to judge what I make,
who am I to judge what my fingers shape?

A stoic face outlooks the world
shaped out of clay and sharp edges
contrasting on the face
just below the meniscus,
turns to soft and gritty
emotions boiling down the surface
of what used to be
a smoothly carved face.

Ugly and disappointing colors are what they're revealing
It's a challenge not to fall victim to the deceptive deceiving
This world in which all are tirelessly scheming

Corrupt messages intended to disillusion our modes of sensory
The laws of this dishonesty are rarely discriminant
The unlimited reach of the effects are constantly consistent
Putting current views and outlooks in legitimate jeopardy

Originality is one thing they've made a hobby of stealing
Dark, ***** secrets require intelligent attempts at concealing
This society in which all are tirelessly scheming

Naivity is an automatic assumption of all that is innocent
You can witness their successes expending minimal energy
The fraud is hazardous; failure is certainly imminent
One would desire that outcome sooner than later, as it leaves recipients feeling elderly
With any form of luck, more will come to share this sentiment

Endless efforts put toward developing façades generally appealing
Aiming to have candor and valor on the knees, kneeling
This reality in which all are tirelessly scheming

Sturdy quilts to shield clarity are woven most expertly
Time being tested passed slowly- increment by minute increment
Blueprints to fool the majority will be, expectedly, intricate
What was the original reality has been altered into a distant, doubted memory

Any and all accomplished legitimitacy sends them all reeling
There's always a "crisis" with which we should be dealing
*Our universe in which all are tirelessly scheming

Amid the soils and grit of
life and pleasures   pursuit
of happiness may one find
the fruit of perfection? In some museum
eclipsed in heaven?
Or on Madison Avenue or on a magazine cover?
Or in some religion?  What sect?
Or may we have as much luck planting a banana
peel in a hole we dug and filled with ****?
Positive outlooks are necessary, but roses don't grow here
in December and bananas are imported and petroleum
is now cheap and internet is wireless
and lunar eclipses and we all arose from some explosion
and , god forbid, my parents had ***. Otherwise,
I would not be here writing, this ****.

I wonder,
When the wind blows, where does it go?
Our minds cannot comprehend such things.
New outlooks on life are brought on
Due to heartbreaking events.
Everyone always asks why.
Reasons are needed for everything.
Why not just accept it?
Here's why, people are afraid of faith.
Yet I do not, because I know the risk is always worth it.

We pass this age, in pipes,
pass hazed bathrooms
on river outlooks, fleshy and brown.
The walk up walk down,
they stain us in tattoo colors,
us in memoriam, us in spite of them.

The roots of our habits lie,
lie, and are laid in secret,
above our flat hats smart pants;
we tire from a fight, a pose,
from watching flies drop around us.
We end in smoke, us in ozone.

1.You shall not confine beauty, that which is in the eye of the poet charged to show it to the world.

2.There is no poetry better than the other, although your words are different you all bear witness to the soul's confession.

3. You will write freely not to incite popularity but to give truth to this art.

4. You shall never use poetry as self vanity but for exploring the spirituality within each other.

5. You will not be confined to the repetition that you have used in poetry, poetry is an exploration of the self, therefore the words are too an evolution of discovery.

6. The words will be therapeutic and truthful to the self so that you can see the truth in the world to bring about the compassion within.

7. You will bleed your self onto paper and very word will be yours for everyone else, there is no poetry without others to read it.

8. The words shall be as a confession that does not inspire sorrowful outlooks, but it shall inspire into action those who knew no better than before your suffering.

9. Being true to yourself first and foremost is an absolute; if you lie to yourself then how can one be a true person, much less a true poet?

10. Each poem will be a gift to the world, but it will never be greater than your dream and will always be inferior to the most marvelous of dreams which is the art of poetry itself.

I don't mind spending time
watching people pass me by
beautiful people
lost people
happy people
insecure,sad people
people in love
people who need love
we all need love
i love to watch the people
doing their thing
everything that they do
i love people
even when they don't know it
i do
i watch them with wonder, curious eyes
hills, boots, jeans, slacks, and ties
dresses, skirts, shirts, and accessories
behavior, character, attitudes, and outlooks
these people are interesting to me
from the way that they look
to the way that they see
i love these people
but they don't know me

My mother always told me that “blood is thicker than water”
she meant that the family I was born into was more important than everyone else
but that's *******
the quote itself is *******
people misuse all the time
the original is “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”
it means the exact opposite of what my mother was trying to tell me
the family you choose is more important than the family you're born into

the problem with one line sayings is that they are too simple
the problem with my mother is that she says one line sayings all the time
the problem with how I was is that I believed them
I believed that I'd attract more flies with honey than vinegar
that I should **** my enemies with kindness
that boys will be boys
that I should do unto others as I would have them do unto me
that the family I was born with was more important than the friends that I chose

but outlooks change
I don't want to attract flies
I don't have enemies but if I did I'd want to change them not **** them
I'm not going to be passive
I will do unto others the way that they want me to do unto them
I don't have to talk to a family who doesn't want to fix things

because I want to fix all of the things
and sometimes to fix things you have to destroy the bad parts
so I'm burning so many bridges
I'm watching them go down in flames
and from the ashes I'm building a life
that is more honest than any one line saying could be

Allow me to give you the grand tour of my mind, to the left there is an
ever growing wisdom set in its ways giving off radiant beams of light
paving pathways to my heart and all that I hold dear to my passions.
Friends come and go, but those who have stayed through the years
have grown to become family, for those who have shared their support
systems through the times. I am deeply within gratitude respects to
you and always will roll out the red carpet leading into paradise of the
corners of my mind. To the right there is truth draped upon my
personal meaning of life, optimistic outlooks paneled upon my walls of
reflection. The extreme overcoat of poetry covers it all; I shall only
bleed when needed…believe me I need not to do it always. In the
furthest corner of my mind lies a pile of unfinished yet duly noted
pages of written words, which brings me here to this segment of the
blogosphere. With hopes of this becoming a grand masterpiece of my
well thought out ideas, respective points of view, and other duly works of art.

Somber room.
Cheery music playing loudly,
Drowning out the screams of lost lives.
Pictures hanging depicting scenes of innocence.

Ironic.

Because all innocence is dead in this room.
Mostly women but a man or two
Trickle in with bowed heads.
The door clicks shut and the faces in the room soften.

Tension leaves shoulders.
Some here for support,
Others here to be supported.

Chilly air hits one body,
Two heartbeats.

Jokes made to ease the atmosphere.

Awkwardness.

Could I cut the tension with a knife?
I'm sure I could if I tried.
Care packages given,
Evidence to be burned.

Look in the eyes of the ones who sit,
Stares at the floor,
Thinks of nothing.

The slight chant of the protesters.
Holding rosaries,
Holding signs.
All they want to do is save a life
But sometimes a life can't be saved.

New opinions, new outlooks.
Do I agree?
No.
But here I sit silently.
Does that make me evil?
Does that mean I am as unworthy as they?

I wish to never sit in this room again.
I wish to hold life, not **** it.

I pray for all in this room.

On Sunday we walked along Independence
until we met the water -
that's always how it is with you,
not satisfied until we've found
that place where we are small
against the waves.

We forced ourselves through
a sea of tourists,
pretended we were not like them.
I pushed by a woman with a stroller.
A couple with a selfie stick.
I was focused on the end.

We walked on a runway of petals,
walked under a stark-white canopy -
the cherry blossoms were lighter than usual.

I kept my eyes directly ahead.

We paused twice (I counted).
You said we should.
We looked out to the water,
the monument,
saw the current in front of us
felt the current behind us
of the people we were
so adamantly not.
We continued on.
I hate taking pictures with faces.

On Sunday I wanted to stop
and tell you
everything I could not say.
But we both know I am awful
with the spoken word.

You see I count the hours
like an odd-petaled flower -
in 'he loves me'
and 'he loves me nots.'
I am a victim of a cold environment -
I am not used to sunny outlooks.

It is Monday and I want to tell you
that I didn't count the petals
today.

On Sunday I will grab your hand.

On Sunday I will look up.

On Sunday I will tell you
all I want is the water.
and you.

Life, life holds various outlooks and perspectives.
How you justify ****?
A victim's forever scarred and hurt.
Who didn't request at all to be harm.

Then the one creating her pain , now trying to defend against his claim.
How you justify it?

How you justify lies?
Without having a firm alibi.
Sooner or later truth with emerge.
Then a truth of honesty will be heard.

How you justify?
Taking advantage of a love one.
There's no excuses to hurt or destroy anyone.
For the one wrong you do.
Eventually, with come back to you.

How you justify racism?
Oh, we try to use excuses to do it.
But truth of our substances mainly see through it.
We take, what has been old images and make truth.
When only racism holds truth by those surrounding you.
Hang with a fool and you becomes a fool too!

How you justify?
Not doing good.
Doing wrong is easy to do.
It's the strength of not that seals who you are?

Make me
Believe,
Begin a commitment
A livid, frigid rigidity
Born and bred in its misery
All contemptuous purity,
Misleads serene duplicity
In all admissible virility,
Sacrosanct and all unviable,
This disposition unreliable,
Outlooks not so reliable,
Ridiculous and undeniable
This solitary moment,
Not in itself so all that potent,
Releasing all these fetid rodents,
Systemic linear motion
Curtailing our devotion
To freeing all emotion
Held true by we, the free.
We fall to power, victims
To this inhuman system,
All zealous to its deception,
Information, insurrection,
Categorized by failures at hand,
Unaware of the faults of man.