Letter to the boy who never writes inked words that spell out   I   love   you. But still his ink bleeds in ways I have never seen and it captivates the art inside me. The words them self may not be saying what I wish to hear but the portrait drawn in each letter is creating a beautiful big picture. I am glad you let a lovely spirit bring you to rainbows found in music that spills from your room. You see beauty everywhere and always point it out
I standing right beside you and  I can’t help but feel left out
So I see the fall and all you awes and then I look inside of me
Look hard
Alone and
Scrutinize myself
So here are something s
For between… just you and me

1)When I blush it may not be the subtle pastel you would choose,
But it blossoms on my cheek the color lovely. Crimson colored glasses show all my venerability, making me something authentic. And I like it most days. You can choose to hide your face, to look away but I love the way I am burning.You can't choose my pink or pick it.It is the color it is… well its authentic

2) I care about others to the point of it being a sickness. I have numb hands because anxiety acts in quickness, just like my reactions I am real, emotional and passionate. I see my beauty now and think you can’t have it. Even if I agree about all the other beauties you refuse to see me, and I am lovely, bright, I fit my hands just right, my legs are long and strong and remind me that my feet are my wind, a feather taking me to every place I have ever been and will be.


3) When you talk your words form poetry, but you can give up any time to get to know me, and I’m a piece of art. My colors are what words were made for. My beauty bending the conceptual understanding of language and a word itself. My eyes at any point in time saying more than your fingers ever could, slowly typing out word that beat out simple meaning. Tears fall from me heavy as bricks falling from a height, weighed down with the sorrow picked up through my life.

4) Im not bitter because you didn’t think I was hot. Because shallow boys make me their toy and they all want to play. And that makes me bitter and fules me with hate.  It was nice to find someone who cared a little more, who knew there were four letters to my name. who talked and shared interests. Only bitter now because you like my inside colors, but you didn’t think I was pretty enough to paint. And the deeper pool really was just vain. Tipping at the edge I am just pulled down the drain.

5) Is a secret. I use to hate my smile; my teeth are far from perfect. People were mean, you can say anything about it and I can say I have heard it. Red lipstick is my purple hard. Showing I made it through something mean and mad, perhaps I wish I hadntnt but I had and this is my prize. This is the honorable reminded I wear it with pride. Beaming, my red lips framing what had held me back from smiling for years. And I smile from ear to ear its beautiful.

6) A confession, I hate that you don’t see me, but I love what I see myself. I wish your hand writing wasn’t more appealing than the empty echo of what they tell.
So here is a letter to a boy, who writes in lovely scroll. Who couldn’t love me, if he knew me all. Simply said, I hope you find someone right, not me ever, not me tonight. Bitter without the sweet. To the boy who only writes but doesn't read, who expresses but just cant see, to the other lovely soul confused by all the color... I just needed to write you one last letter.

Nothing is ever time wasted,
just the interlude to the rest of the album. Soon it becomes nostalgia. To think you almost pressed the skip button..
It's all about trying new things.
Slowing were briding the gap.
Looping untold tales of blues and jazz into our samples.
The things considered classical.
Instant vintage.
The things we keep hidden in headphones,
The venerability of hype.
It's always about the crowd.
Afraid to digest something different.
This was the first time I met her.
At first I laughed,
Reaction that I faced my own ignorance.
Listening again finding purpose.
Not knowing that we'd come to spend the rest of our lives together.
All three minutes and forty five seconds.
I was dishonest.
Not revealing anything real about myself until I heard it for the first time.
The first time she sung.
Music.
This wasn't an image to be upheld in front of others.
Or the gossip type spread circle to circle.
I was never exposed to this.
Skimming the top layer ready to press next.
Too far caught in the slander that first impressions can give.
History often repeats itself but this wasn't the case.
This was wholeheartedly the epitome of how she effected me.
The rhythm of how she moved.
How she spoke.
Like that I matured almost instantly.
She became my biggest influence.
A two way street that bridged the gap of my own ignorance.
After time I began to leave my headphones on the dresser.
We were amplified.
She'd follow me everywhere just as I'd follow her.
Soon it caught on to the masses.
Each and every thought became a publicist of what she'd recite over and over again.
A parental advisory issued with every cover.
Finding the one became a catalog.
Stumbling back to the first interlude all over again.
The copyright not for sell

Here, just take a pill and this will all go away they say..
So you're telling me this one pill will fix me?
This one pill can take the pain away?
This one pill will stop the aching, the silent screaming, the emptiness, the worthlessness, the venerability, the ugliness,  the nervousness, the anger, the frustration.
This one pill will give my life meaning, fix the world, make me happy, allow me to breathe, give me confidence, make me feel appreciated, dry my tears, and console my mind..
All of this in one pill?
Yes, it should only take a couple of weeks to work

I am a collector of hurt souls and sour people
Taking them through themselves
Answering confused looks
Nudging toward harsh truths
Laying out my ***** laundry

Everyone has something
Venerability equaling authenticity
In meeting people who are worth meeting
Showing yourself
hurt to heal,
a trade of sorts
Making deals
But you would not bargen
In the mist of all these people
I fell…
Fell
In
Love
In love with
Making others feel understood
Standing alone, I stood with everyone
They all felt they knew me
Truth is they don’t understand
But you do and we meet each other where I am
You walk me through myself and you through you
Not standing in a sea alone
But standing next to you

I just want someone
to hold my hand
guard my heart
keep me safe
and tear me apart

Rip open my heartstrings
scathe my whole mind
be in my heart
and turn me blind

I want a love that makes me whole
but rips me open to
the venerability of a life
where caution is through

In this pressing moment I see you
staring into the eyes of a corrupted  sheltered soul,
keep your scares close to you because you cant let go  
they live with you,and have been inside of you,
its nothing to you,but nothing thinks something of you
smeared mascara  mess,in your summer dress
dressed to impress,living no regrets
so rough jaded stone, restrain from being a lover
I can read the book with out even opening the cover
it hasn't taken long for me to discover
the ink may be smeared but the message is clear
another, sheltered corrupted mind,
not sure I can get behind
such beauty with hidden crimes,
and innocent little white lie,  
the lines are drawn, and I can see between
but will I cross or stand upon them in the wolfs den
staring into the eyes of the demon
wake up now, you are not dreaming
YOUR world is all you know,
you must step out of the comfort zone
the sinners through the first stone,
who would have know
embrace venerability and live prosperously
staring into expecting closed eyes
knowing they will open in due time
after your virginity, all was a compromise
such beauty with hidden crimes, and innocent little white lie
staring into the eyes of a corrupted  sheltered soul,
keep your scares close to you because you cant let go
they live with you,all that has been inside of you
its nothing to you,but nothing thinks something of you
permanently in your skin, the poison sets in
forever remembering the thing that make you die again
they have become the thing that make you thrive to be alive
something you cant see with logical eyes
but only through experience of ignorance
ask questions and make mistakes,even if it leaves a bad taste
we all must learn somehow, and it is never to late
bug eyed rag dolls,burning autumn moon
leaves fall, hues change,they will come back soon
so I see the embers in your eyes, and the vision of you burning
IN MY MIND

i have to
      recall
that there’s certain pleasure
in being dominated.

the peaceful desire
of being     no one
but being   everything
to someone.

unknown wise power
the venerability
the     -i am-  
because    -you want me to-

giving the power and knowing somehow that you will be broken
but still

feeling created
as you're being
destroyed

transparency slips, incandescent, into the lock,
this sweeping tilting feeling sinks lower,
we sway on the obelisk of an eye in the sea,
the storm whirls with madness unbidden,
yet the film of venerability burns on,
a spluttering candle of stone will

I’m scared of writing,again
Because I’m scared of crying
Crying is my enemy
When I cry I’m a easy target
When I cry you can manipulate me with your words
You can make me rethink my who perception of life
I don’t want that
But when it does because it will
I will have to restart my mind
Forget about what you told me
Forget about the visions of images you put in my head
And make you a target for changing me

Writing is my outlet
Have you ever dug inside your own mind so deep
Have you ever written every detail of your life on paper till this exact moment
Have you ever fell in love with something and never stop doing
Until you were afraid too
Because I’m afraid
Im afraid that every word I write comes back to haunt me
Afraid that when I reread this I cry
Because crying makes me venerable
And venerability makes me write  

Writing is my best friend but sometimes your best friend can hurt you
I am afraid to write because what I write is my life and that’s why I cry