They say there's no such thing as;
time travel,
Yet gazing into your sullen aged eyes,
I see the pain this world has caused you,
the memories you wish you could erase,
I see the glint in your eyes past adventures have left you,
As if I was reading a bittersweet;
mystery novel,
Or watching a replay of your life,
Though your eyes are pools of;
chocolate and locked up secrets,
I can almost feel the bruises and;
aches this world has left you,
Your eyes are an abyss of secrets,
I've been ****** in to your  alluring;
past,
Lost in the small world in your eyes,
Ive found its too hard to come back

Humanity is at the ****** of connection
Connection is plastered to our bones
It’s on our wrists dinging reminding us to take our steps that will apparently make us one with nature, it’s latched to our arms so while we are so spent attaching ourselves to nature that we don’t have to attach our phones to our hands, it’s our sun rise, it’s our evening prayer, heck it’s the only thing reminding us to wake up in the morning and connect with these people that we can only reach through these dull technological connections. Facebook says we’re here to help you connect! The Bible app dings remindign you, “keep in check!” You’re surrounded by connection, it immerses you and embraces you with its WiFi streamed arms and blue tinted light
But shouldn’t you be embracing the connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to swallow connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to amplify connection?
Humanity is at the ****** of connection but we are disconnected.. Shouldn’t the rate of depression fall not rise with every purchase of an iPhone. We are disconnected
From ourselves from nature from the spiritual realm and from each other because we connect our souls to these arguable objects of connection. Seems like we need an intervention from connection.  Shouldn’t connection flow within our bones and not simply be plastered to it? Connection is around us, but we’re not making the connection

Lately I've been homesick
For the girl I used to be
Im in the same place with the same people
But the loneliness lays in me
I'm a hopeless romantic who's found love
Yet my heart has been ripped from my sleeve
Deep down, all the things I used to cherish have been shoved
The crazy, tea-drinking, book-reading girl is who I grieve
I'm a mere skeleton of the free spirit I was
I've been chasing a warm cozy feeling but it was never retrieved
For the home I've been feeling for is inside of me
My life may be onto better things but still I reminisce
For the girl who would so simply find bliss
My problems have been solved
So why does it hurt?
Maybe it's time
I put my heart back out onto my shirt

You chase the blessing without the lifestyle,
You want the power without the prayer cycle,
You talk about God when you need saving,
Then ignore his ways, when your ways need paving.
A true believer knows we don't have to wait,
Because the son came down and opened heaven's gate,
God called us to reign as kings,
Whoever is free in Me is free indeed.
The enemy came to destroy, steal, and ****,
The Son overcame Him, so we may have joy in His will.
With authority comes responsibility,
With the cross comes bearing.
Love requires truth,
And truth requires changing ,
So stop trying to amend God because your life needs rearranging.

I may be just another star in your sky
But the thing about stars
Is each one shines bright

Humanity is simplistic contrary to the complex, misunderstood, myriad of separately analyzed individuals that psychologists, artists, poets, and scientists paint it to be. Each person is labeled with a different disorder founded by their apparently personal past tragedies and harbors the wholehearted, mistaken, belief that they are alone in their “tragedy” which is indeed not tragedy but a side effect to the human condition, and arguably, to the optimist,  one of life’s sacred milestones. Humanity likes to romanticize these milestones. They dress up their societal deemed shameful past with cashmere sweaters, line their lips with the grief of loss, and sweep their eyes with trust issue mascara all in an effort to pronounce themselves worthy and prove themselves beautiful despite their “unique” past events and tragic flaws. But they are not unique. When you peel off the pearls, when you delete the username, when you strip away the added flair to each sad story, humanity is all the same. They all front loss of some sort, they’ve all battled insecurity, they’ve all woken up one day perhaps wishing they hadn’t woken up at all. They’ve all laughed, cried, chased after the fleeting ideal of love, and questioned its palpability. They’ve each found themselves in a situation that made them ponder their ability to ever trust again, if they could ever love again, if they could ever be the same again; but what they don’t realize is that they are all the same. Rough the personal and each person is the same, just with a different name. Step back and behold, these seemingly individual fallacies of the human condition all spin together to weave a simplistically complex web.

The May flowers from my April showers still haven't come

My lungs collapse as I draw a sharp breath
Leaving my soul an empty abyss
******* me into the depths of the universe
And by the time my breath draws in
I'm gone
Every trace of me off this burdened earth
A soul blasted into oblivion and nothingness
My name not even causing a flicker of familiarity
Not even a memory
Though my presence still lingers
Every memory
Every word I've ever spoken
Gone
Just like that
Like a burned photograph
Or the last note of a beautiful ballad
Gone
And though the notes rang with change, mystery, and joy
Like a song I'm over
Something forgotten in the back of your head
Too deep and unimportant to be pulled out
But when you hear those strangely familiar notes again
You will remember me
The words I spoke
The things I changed
And just like that
A tangible  melody is born
And the song begins again

I've always been there to catch you when you fall,
But every time I fall,
It was you that pushed me.

Don't give people the benefit of the doubt.

I feel what I want to see
But the gift to create is no longer in me
Passionate flames engulf my heart
They want out, for all to see, as art
I know what others need to feel
But my heart has formed an unbreakable seal
My head pounds with the words I need to share
But When I reach for them they are not there

Yellow journal
Aged in fondness
Worn by the weight  of powerful words
Forgotten upon the shelf
Neglected despite your cheery shade
An artist leaves a piece of themselves within their art
A fateful discovery
Thats exactly what you are
Beaten up, broken,
torn weathered-
By years of dry land and drought of inspiration
Made alive by Christ
And awake in its pages
Your cover is worn
Your pictures dilapidate
But once you open up
Magic careens
Unveiled under your dusty pages is joy
Romance
Poetic trances
Art of divine nature
That is exactly what you are
Worn yet beautiful
Aged and reminiscent
Evoking fond warmth
You are the yellow journal
Beloved yellow journal

Maybe everything is right
Maybe I had just been wrong my whole life and never knew what it was like to be right

When you left me, I shattered. Shattered like a broken mirror. Leaving me to stare into my own tear-stricken complexion. A reflection of a girl who used to be happy, bright eyed, cheerful. Now the only shine in my eyes are the tears you left me. Looking at me now, you'd think I was a totally different person. The person you made me to be. You took the love I so willingly gave you and crumpled it into wasted youth, tossing me into a wastebasket of every heart you've ever broken. Now, I'm one of them. A distant memory. An unimportant detail. Just another face in the crowd. And yet I STILL love you. And no amount of inconsolable tears will EVER change that.

"Our minds are death traps,"
She said to her son.
"The gun has the power of abomination,
But without that one miniscule thought passing through your head,
The damage never would've been done."

I live a deathless death,
You said you loved me then you left,
I saw it in your bottomless brown eyes,
All the love you'd ever felt for me had died,
Died like my heart, soul, and mind,
Without you,
I'm blind,
Oblivious to the rest of the world,
Ever since your love for me grew old,
I guess it is true what they say,
You'll always love the one that got away.

Maybe dying isn't so bad
I'm already living like I'm dead
I'm perpetually sad
The black slug of depression is weighing me
down like lead
I'm not who I want to be
I feel as though I'll never get there
If I could run from my problems I'd flee
& feel my problems become as light as air
But that's not reality
And deep down that's not me
So every night to God I pray
And keep fighting knowing in my future in joy I will lay

Is this a feeling? Or is it a phase? Feelings are temporary but I've been isolated in this pain for so long I don't know how to live without it. I breathe fresh air and its foreign to my lungs for I've been drinking up this toxic tragedy too long

"Everything has to mean something or else we'd all be nothing,"
She whispered to herself as she put the scissors down and dried her eyes.

It is every emotion and no emotion. Like licking every lollipop at a candy shop or one giant brilliant combustion of all the colors into one color, or simply no color. To put it in exact words, love is a flavor bomb. just exploding through out your whole body as if it were your taste buds taking in every delicious bite of a candy bar. And while love may not come in normal flavors like chocolate and vanilla, it comes with its own bittersweet variety. It is a terribleness and loveliness mushed into one undefined yet glorious feeling. It is the sweeter part of sadness; the weightless relief you feel when all the tears have dried onto your flushed cheeks. It is the cause of your tear-stricken face at two am and every heaving sigh after you take a shaky breath. But it is also the pang of happiness you experience at the sudden thought of your unattainable lover. It’s the lurching in your belly at the sight of them walking in. Although there are infinite descriptions of love, in the end it is a promise. A promise not bound together by unsteady feelings, but by commitment. And that is the beauty in it all, because even after the “feeling of love” fades , the eternal swear you have made to that person , is more rare and beautiful than any feeling of “love” at all.

You were a liar when you were little you’re a liar now
You’re lazy
You’re selfish
You’re a disappointment
You’re not worth furthering a friendship
You’re overly sensitive
You’re depressed
You’re insecure
You’re  anorexic
You’re not making any progress you are degressing  
This is the anthem rerunning in my head
Yet I harbor too much anxiety to end it
Too much fear to run away
And as I cry you stare straight through my face
Leaving me hunched over and neglected.

They say ink is poison,
But so is your touch,
So aren't these words,
Better than cuts?

We blindly type out of memorization,
We blindly write from practiced habit,
We blindly skip paragraphs, ignore articles, and pensively print upon the line without realization of what we’re saying at all.
We never truly see,
We deteriorate out of muscle memory
Absently offering an embrace neglecting to fully eyes-closed experience the wonderfulenss of it at all.
We go through the motions,
Dwelling in our minds straining its relation to our souls,
We no longer act in love,
But the muscle memory of it.
We look, but don’t truthfully see,
We touch, but forget to truly feel,
We hear, but we no longer listen,
We have flesh, yet we are merely programmed.
Advanced, but empty,
Knowledge unimaginable, yet still lacking,
Right, left, up, down, but do we realize the palpability and tenderness of the action?
Or are we too much on automatic?
In over drive,
That we forget to live out the littlest things and realize them to the fullest

I am sick of being silenced
These chains wrapped around my voice won't break
By the time courage has woven around them
The words are lost and I have slipped into an anesthetic languor
I crave the feeling of the fire
But when I want it the flame is extinguished
And when it burns for me the chains snake around my brain and the words become jumbled
I have the fire in my heart and hands
But I no longer have the power to use them

She knew the love was dead when She could count more "I'm sorry's" than "I love you's"

Sometimes a mess isn't a mess, but is just unorganized beauty

I search for myself within you
Offering fear founded issues
Love must be embraced before shared
Through self-hatred I’ve evinced
Selfish care

Depression reaved my friends
Coaxing them with her motherly apparition
Nurturing  their tears by plundering their motivation
Depression deceived my friends
Singing a sweet lullaby of anxiety and isolation
Cradling their meager hearts in her lonely hands
Depression was once my friend
But I cast-off her beguiling, love-robbing sham

It is often claimed that the best of love is the sudden, unexpected kind
This love reveals itself recklessly like the storm after an almost peaceful stagnant calm.
But such a quick erratic love
Ruptures just as instantaneously as it comes
This love though so tempestuous
Deserts you with nothing but a memory sweet, yet impalpable and far-gone
An everlasting love is a drizzle crescendoing into a symphonic storm
A quiet infatuation, which like a blooming flower, harbors an innate need for nurturing
Infatuation can potentially be spun into love, which upon revelation, harbors a feeling so warm
Admiration always cradles the opportunity of this wild, consuming love
And the chance at this love knocks at everyone’s doors
But those who stroll through the drizzle differ from those who take shelter in familiar warmth
The hopeful, heartfull few, who don’t mind strolling through the light rain,
Possess the bounty of a doting and undying downpour.

Our hearts. They hug the heavens
Then I fall right back to you
We kiss the stars then grasp each other
And old weaves its way to new
The prophecy of a poet
Solomon breathes it true
My eyes. They look to heaven.
But my hands, they reach for you

I find you in the wind
I find you in the  sun
I find you right beside me gazing at the sky above
Dreams intertwined with memories
I find you in my roots
I find you in my home
The lost feeling; sun down, long winding road
My past aligns with my future and you’re caught inbetween
In wistful memories,  my yearning future, and memory-like dreams

To love is to know,
And to know is to love ,
A bond sacred by intimacy,
Not birthed by erratic physicality.
No touch, no kiss, no hand I could hold,
Could warm the emptiness of my heart, so cold.
Two hearts torn
a broken hello from opposite sides of the world,
Our love simply lost, not permanently lorn.
Not by your kiss, not by your hold,
Will new love emerge from the fettered old.
I miss the warmth of your words
Their tantalizing embrace
Bonding immeasurable next to mere attraction of face.

You taste the lips of a hundred fragmented men.
Boasting that your divine secularity exalts you a writer of better poetry.
The cries of 12 men are more artistic than the drabness of one.
You forgot to peek in to the kaleidoscope of every angle.
A ravaging between your thighs signals the only sense you have awakened.
It’s bellow so great it drowns out the miraculousness of every other sensation. Stuffing love’s nomothetic void with the resound of the broken cultured man.
Your prowess is not poetry, but the neglect of it.
Your myriad of lovers elicit the lack thereof.
Are you a tormented poet or is this simply a masquerade of whorery?
You drape the silk sheen around your shoulders and dial up the only poetry you have ever come to know.

Life seeps through my frozen rendered winter heart,
Eyes blooming to the previously empty color,
Ice caps melt precipitating long-overdue art,
In spring I awaken, and joy I rediscover

Gardenias stretch their petals to the sky
Delight drifts through the air
Despondency and heartache wave goodbye,
Welcoming spring with all its whimsical wear

Spring means fresh, and chances anew
Affable spring, it is well with you

My light:
Dappled in the rearview mirror,
cracked at the surface.
I am bruised but not broken.
Scarred,
But i still have my  foundation.
Bruises they heal.
Scars they scab over.
Hearts torn apart,
But in heaven they’re woven.
crinkled skin wraps around the sunlight,
Fingernails kissing the moon.
The light is there i just have to dig farther,
The light is there,
It's you.

The oblivious night in need of salvation
The moon emits love to the night’s unaware starvation
We the stars, reflect that love in our light
An outlet of faith to the incognizant night

You are not the pages of a book, though you breathed them. If you were, upon closing, we would no longer experience you. You are a never-ending poem, the graceful break of a reckless wave. You are a perfection that loves--a perfection that we don't have to tire ourselves striving for.  You tell us to be still, knowing that you are God.  Your love is three dimensional but it only requires one to accept it.  And yet, it confounds us because You are simple goodness and we are the product of overthinking.

Slips of time,
Stolen by,
The frustrating cry of empty space.
Just 3 words, just 3 breaks,
The clock ticks by,
I see your face.
Skin for every pocketed minute,
A strand of hair for each delayed train,
A minute here, A minute there,
An hour lost in anywhere.
Slips of time,
Stolen by,
A friend from a better place.
You're with me always in places I refuse to see,  
Teaching me to tune a better melody.

I feel what I want people to see
But the gift to create is no longer in me
Purpose pounds at my jailed heart
But yet to escape is passion filled art

I sang a wish to the angel in my room
She blew back cosmos from the moon
And sprinkled stars atop my head
Daring my dreams to dance outside my head

Beauty, i've realized, is not confined to one singular moment
Nor one singular place.
Not one precious moment in time but perhaps a web of them.
It's intrinsic to nature.
Confounded through and possibly limited by the dullness of people.
We need too much.
We desire emptily.
We set definitions leaving little space for the outlier.
But beauty, in its purest form, is the outlier--a great composition of them.
For what we set our eyes forth to blatantly, routinely, and  mundanely is often the most beautiful, masked by our innate desire for novelty.

Break me so I may begin again
high way climbing grasping ethereal ends eyes set forth to the heavens
trapped inside a doubt filled worry laden dream swirled head
Our fullest fragments allow us to shed our skin
When we are the most broken is when we begin

A love that hurts
A love that aches
A love that swells with dreams and plans
An end unknown, but hearts eternally bound
Rolling hills
Summer breeze
A love so deep it hurts to leave
Freedom in your eyes
Freedom in your speech
Freedom in our hearts and bonds unbreached

The heavens buzz betwixt my finger tips, and the stars hover in my palms.
I can almost cradle them.
My fingernails waltz gingerly against its radiant light, and His presence rings silently around the room.
I’m on Mars.
He’s not speaking, but I can hear him.
  Lavender pulses blue through my veins and wraps my mind in stillness, but something is missing.
My heart.
My body sways in His present serenity.
Blue.
But my spirit is deaf and disconnected.
My mind is bent on the ethereal realm, but my body pulls against it towards you.
When she moans she talks to angels, but in her quiet she’s hugged in broken virtue.

My fingers tap against the keyboard. The stars linger above my cross-legged, country trance spilling across the indigo campfire sky. Jasmine ransacks my senses dazing my context of the red, wooden bridge, and my head tilts upward both in flowering pleasure and earnest reverence. The stars become you. We bathe in naked sunlight. The heavens fall to earth, and I capture its ecstasy  in bodiless waking moments.

Everything pales in comparison to the nomothetic voices of the past. We flail and grasp for the tugs in our hearts hoping to capture inspirations heavy hand for the long while. Meanwhile our other hand struggles to cling to the past while. We endeavor to create the perfect alchemy in discovering the ways in which we can use the euphoria of our past to create the prospects of our future. Our hands are torn apart. Time is short. We lose the world we encounter to every fleeting moment. We reminisce and reminisce and soon the moment blindly pattering on our insides is gone. And she becomes nostalgia too.  Stop trying to extract the contentment of the past and realize its fullest in front of you. Realize every moment. Be mesmerized by its Singular beauty.

Dreams swelter into far off lands
Crushed or frozen
Alive or broken
Dreams liquify upon these brazen hands
Almost missing grasp caught by their last strand

The only love gained is the loss of it.
You're still mine, but my spirit convicts you're not.
The only way to say it is to say it.
My hand grasps emptily for your heart while your fingers intertwine with mine.
We thirst for an unfathomable security.
We chase love, yet disappointedly grasp wind.
We heart-wrenchingly stumble for a name that dies with the breeze.
What's ours will never be ours, not even ourselves.
And yet we pierce our own vitreous hearts denying our inevitable scarcity

Holy meditation. My fingers tap against the keyboard. The stars linger above my cross-legged, country trance spilling across the indigo campfire sky. Jasmine ransacks my senses dazing my context of the red, wooden bridge, and my head tilts upward both in flowering pleasure and earnest reverence. The stars become you. We bathe in naked sunlight. The heavens fall to earth, and I capture its ecstasy  in bodiless waking moments.

I find myself in a series of rises and falls
Extreme to extreme,
my lows found cradled in an isolated ball
"Its lonely at the bottom", I scream from the top
riding down the euphoric tangent
Where I hit the bottom and stop
Tear stricken smile
a laugh shifts to a manic cry
inspired 4 days
inspired 1 day
discouraged more days
"maybe one day"
MAYBE ONE DAY
hope has arisen
the well fosters water
and with it, charismatic visions
CRASH BURN
I am my mother's daughter
"Oh to be on a good day," I reminisce from the bottom