I pretend I'm God.
With the power to solve problems.
I pretend I'm rich.
With the money to assist the poor.

Wiithin my imagination I think.
Think of things I should be.
Who doesn't dream?

I pretend I'm a doctor.
With the medicine to cure the poor.
I pretend I'm a soldier.
With the power to seek peace.
Who doesn't pretend?

Things we reflect about in life.
Of what we wants to be?
We all do it.
And makes some dreams a reality.

I pretend I'm the president.
Working to solve the nation's debt.

By closing my eyes.
I'm anything I wants to be.
Who can stop me?
When it's just a dream.

If I could paint you...
If I could paint you,
The strokes would be slow, deliberate, and tempting.
The image would have to be vivid, your beautiful soul must be seen.
I would pour my laughter in you and shed light on your secret deeds,
I would let the sun stay still for it has to shine your love to the world.
I would paint the miserable fights we swore not to have,
And **** all the promises we failed to keep.
I would paint the arguments and misunderstandings too so you could see the clear picture of our portrait.
Then again, I would put happiness all around you...
Put a flower in your hair, draw a permanent smile on your face
So I would never have to see you sad, upset or even frown again
I wonder if the painting could really reveal the complexity of your kindness.
If it could reveal you as the soul wiithin a goddess,
A very precious earth's emerald.
Perhaps then the world would weep just to be in our presence.
Just the sight of the image of our image,
Would strike the universe to bow,
But with this paper as my pad and these words as my brush,
I have nothing in mind,
But the desire to lock you in time.

Hello
This is me

I am seventeen
But sometimes I age regress
And can be
Much younger than perceived

I am short
And small
But I don't mind
As it makes it easy to hide
And confine myself
Within small spaces
Or up in your arms

I go for walks
Late at night
When most people are peacefully
Wiithin a dream
As I drown within
The music I hear

I collect stuffies
And all the broken bits
Of my heart
And soul
So I don't become empty

People use
Abuse
And re-use me
But I still only want
To see them happy

I collect memories
Within a box
And my gallery
Afraid one day
I'll forget about my days
So I collect and keep them safe

I was never truly a kid
For I was only ever trapped
In thoughts of escape
But I've found that
No matter the place
Things are still always the same

I trust animals
One hundred precent
But people are always lacking
A small precentage
Even though I give them
Every piece of me

I am innocent and sad
Collecting onsies
And stuffies
And cuddling whoever will

But also impure and numb
Collecting trauma
And broken dreams
And feeling the touch of wandering hands
In places they shouldn't be