I was told I was crazy
I dream of a better world
But lazy to take action.
What are you passionate about?What gets me strangely is listening. You know those times you find yourself staring up at the stars at night. I've always felt the need to do that. Moments where you take in the world, yet you make another. When you look up at the sky, something that's always been consistent, you realize you're growing older but your soul hasn't. I've always had an interest in people, more so a curiosity of everything around me and the perspectives they bring. I strongly believe in presence; in having every meet sweet, to make others feel appreciated and to be appreciative myself. I guess that's why I love to laugh. I'm thankful that God has made these things innate in my life. I think it's important find contentment, to work on being more whole, to be an individual and do your favourite things. And that's where singing and drawing comes in
She leftIt's been months
A year at least
Haven't seen that hairy beast
Stuck in his den
Shunning the light
All he does is write
He knows her needs
But falls for his own wants
Haunted by afterthoughts
WeenieShe only intended the best. But things took a turn for the worse.
She took in an outcast. A little puppy, a mutt.
It was an unusual smoky grey with an ashy fur look.
Shabby. Stubby. Short.
The wiener dog waddled down the street
Between the legs of its new owner.
It was hungry but followed and obeyed.
She kept it close like a penguin
But never tripping over it.
Went a little too fast one time
But turned around for it to hurdle back.
Out of nowhere, a little girl shows up
Petting the puppy without asking.
You can't tell a 7-year old otherwise.
He couldn't talk, doesn't bite, didn't bark
But scurried behind.
"Look it's a puppy!"
Yelled the kids down the block.
They were her age as well.
The little girl asked, "How old are you?"
Being the adult, she was she knew better
Than to talk to them.
She continued down her path
But feeling the stares
Of the adults there,
Telling their kids to go in.
The little girl ran out her house
And followed her down the street.
Beautifully Out of PlaceDaily and nightly
She sat there quietly
The clouds drifted away
But not her thoughts
DenialIn the mood for crying
To myself I have been lying
I haven't been hurt in any way
There's so much I want to say...
WrittenUnheard but written
Are the stories meant to be spoken
Heard but dismissed
Incomplete and misunderstood
Are the stories meant to be spoken
Forgotten but there
No one to listen
But to read
The experience and thrill
The writer dead, reader still
Internal battle rages
But anxiety filled
Ready to spill
Dear Poetry,I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers, & past lovers.
We are the perfect poster children for
battered homes, aren't we poetry?
The dysfunctional couple
black-eyed and angry love.
You can't protect me from myself forever.
My Masquerade~My Masquerade~
For the world I am displayed;
They always watch but cannot see
through my masquerade.
I feel every moment fly;
My heart is beating, pulse racing,
breath held as I lie.
My innocence I can't defend;
I know that surely this will linger
'til my very end.
I brought this all upon myself;
Mask upon mask, lie upon lie
like valueless wealth.
Dare I take these masks off no!
My former self haunts me
everywhere I go.
False glory, false honor, false fame;
With all these masks I seem to have
forgotten my own name.
Aura: The Respark
Aura: The Respark
I, the sheltered child who started to tragically fall from your grace
Into the void of this sudden loneliness
Realizing I followed every single one of your steps
But yet, I failed to hold onto those uplifting moments
Now I feel as if maybe I had forced you to make every one of those promises
That which you still kept
So I don't want to sound dishonest, but out of us, you are the strongest
You make sure to protect
To you, everyone, and everything is dearest
None left to neglect
But with all of that, you take on those heavy burdens
And try your best
Calling out your name into the nothingness
Forgetting about the peace you bestowed upon me
I guess it's just too hard to be away from
constellations, ambitions, and things in betweeninstead of poetry,
i want to live in
draco & orion,
wrapped in nebulae.
oxygen is too
want to breathe in
neither the gods
nor my demons can
stop me —
i will make the universe
GlareA little girl
born into a broken world.
A smirk on her face,
death in her eyes,
her facade in place,
but inside she Cries.
Beyond the surface of apathy,
she lies in hopeless agony,
daring you to question her role
Such cruelty came from
a crushed soul.
She walks among the strong
with the world on her shoulders.
Innocence went so wrong
when Hatred made it colder.
And thus the light became
her dreams crushed by a weight she shouldn't bear
When Innocence is interrupted
all that's left is
At the turning age.
Minds all the same.
To be in control.
What they told you
They tell you "You are broken"
They tell you "You can not be"
They tell you "You are a disgrace to the human race"
They tell you "You are blasphemy"
They tell you "You are not alive"
They tell you "You can not love as much as us"
They tell you "You are confused"
They tell you "You are sick"
They tell you "You were hurt"
They tell you "You are missing out"
They tell you "You are faking"
They tell you "You are a freak"
They tell you "You are inhuman"
They tell you "You are just young"
They tell you "You are just old"
They tell you of your "woes"
They tell you "You are not like us"
You tell yourself "Of course not, I know I am none of those"
-sexuals don't-Heterosexuals don't blink.
(Because they want to see the world,
But they are blind by their own
Blinding light and it doesn't
Homosexuals don't swear.
(Because, as said by others, their God
Refused them and abused them,
So who can they swear to
Bisexuals don't dance.
(Because no matter what song plays,
They can't hear it as they have
Already filled their ears with
Polysexuals don't feel.
(Because what is there to feel
When every single emotion
Is against you in every
Pansexuals don't breathe.
(Because the air is thick with smoke
From fires of oppression and of
Depression and so they
Demisexuals don't pray.
(Because why pray to someone who
Has ignored you countless times
When you wish these people
Asexuals don't smile.
(Because what is there to smile
About when the whole world is
Ready to throw you to the
You should never attack a poet,we are the best at exploiting weakness.
the night you took a scalpel to my chest
& fed my heart to the stars,
you told me i could hate you
if i needed to.
with an exorcism
i tried to cast you out
of my body.
i was contorted limbs:
the language of tongues
trying to find myself
in the cosmos
of lit kerosene fingertips,
& the kinds of habits
that only choke me at 3am -
when my eyes aren’t yet heavy
enough for sleep;
my mind tells me to do awful things.
between fucking &
you are the calories
in the mathematical equation
i think of shy moons
and i don’t eat for three days.
you only liked me
when this poetic tongue
space shrapnel aside-
you’re too far down now
for even the stars
to graph you into their maps.