To the InferiorTo the inferior,I know how you feel. The thought of being "less." The notion that you have little to gain. The idea that you don't quite meet the world's standards. It's like you're stuck. Forever dreaming for something better. Forever wishing upon a star. At night, you sit up and wonder when the pieces of your puzzle-like life will fall into place. But isn't that just so cliche? All we do is wait...then wait some more. Yet, we're not far from the mountaintop. Someday, it will be our turn. Someday, we will see our long-awaited desires floating before our eyes, like satellites. And those who've never left cloud nine will finally understand. It just takes a bit of time, and a smidge of faith. Though it's easy to become vulnerable. Remember, even the "lowest of the low" have found their way. Some have even taken on the role as king or queen. And just know, that I am for you. Totally and completely for you. You never have to question your significance again.Sincerely,Everlasting Hope
Obsolete BeachThe lighthouse is catching fire tonight;the infrastructure is caving in.For several bottles of keroseneremain exposed, unattended.And the matches, ten years old,rub against the cardboard lid.Sorcery, or so it seems,taking course of foul revenge.Then fear falls fast on tired hearts;the angels have refused their part.So goes our love, our brick-built home,our oil, and our lamp.Still, we once felt angst before,the monsters piling on the shore.We'll reconstruct our secret placein the ocean's crib.
Tribute to the KingI had once dreamed of being queen. But not the one you might expect. Not the one to turn her back, so ignorant to flee. For you have seen their solemn eyes - the hunger beckoning demise. Still, you raise the cathedral spires, callous to their pleas. Then death takes hold of sweltering skin; guilt takes form of russet hands. Your ego, status as a man, is but an ancient thing. And purple banners start to fall, for the king who thought he had it all. Erect the tables for the feast! We're not disheartened - not in the least.Not in the very least.
Natural RestorationCucumbers like iceconcealing somber eyes.Pigment of chlorophyll -fluorescent green, divine.Capturing the light,conquering the night.Act of photosynthesis,soothing, sublime.
Spatial SerenityBathing in streams of coconut milk,I embrace my inner sense of youth -how calm, how mellow-minded,distinct of the Earth's mantle.A moment spent upon the moon.
Bobby PinConsider a bobby pin.How easy one could snap.Yet it tussles with gravity -leaves an atmospheric gap'tween your hair and your faceand your dimples like stars.I would be a bobby pin,just to unveil who you are.
MarigoldsYou call yourself a man,yet shamelessly crushmy pile of marigoldsbeneath your feet -your old rubber solesgrinding the petalslike mortar and pestle.Those apricot leaves.But you never knew lovein the form of a flower;how vibrant, how gallantlike the sun it could be.And you never knew thatthe true secret to manhoodis boldness with a touchof sensitivity.
PrisonerI hold the gauze against my lips,embrace the snow white fibers of its being -embrace the cotton candy-like tressesready to catch each speck of bloodthat will fall from my stitched mouth.Tonight, I'll break my vow of silence -my long-contained ghostly manner,no matter how much my mouth bleeds.For words weren't meant to be confinedbehind slithers of rusted wire;phrases weren't meant to run drybehind tired, parched tongues.Tonight, the clock will cease to tick,the rosebuds - cease to bloom.And my voice - cease to be mutedbehind the once ivory bandage.
Regarding BrowniesThere's a differencebetween gooey and chewy.
EvolutionEvolutionis a silent process of changingwe realise from the result.It Can't Be The Target.
A DefinitionWords that mean the same as ‘gay’:Happy, bright, joyful.Queer and homosexual.Words that do not mean the same as ‘gay’:Weak, stupid, lame.Evil, abomination, shame.You got that?Okay.Because ‘gay’Is not an insult.
NadirHis shotgun smilesays it all -smell of rabbits matingin the basementkeeps him up at nightand he likeshis neighbor's daughteras she stands on tip-toein the back yard,peering through his windowor drowning kittens in the river.He keeps a razorin his bedroom,siphons after-shave througha loaf of breadand calls it magic,remembering how his teacherfound him naked,shoved into a closetand how she putmarbles in his mouthto keep him from speaking.His mother only laughedand told him to washhis clothes outin the bathtuband not drip wateron her carpet.Don't leave a witnesshis best friend said.Pictures have earsand walls can feellike familywhen God has seen your secrets.
ExelixiΕξέλιξηείναι μια σιωπηλή διαδικασία αλλαγήςπου αντιλαμβανόμαστε εκ του αποτελέσματος.Δεν Μπορεί Να Είναι Ο Στόχος.
UntitledGlide through the heavensin hopes to evade the crimson wingsthat holds you down.Be free.When will you shut the pearly gatesand walk away?When will you cut the crying chainsthat paint you grey?be free.Be freeBe Free.
LostLost –Like a vagabond.Split – At a four-waystreet, past any signsthat I comprehend.If I had I had it my way,I would cruise on the highwayand never stop.
pillow talkthere are thousandsof tongues i couldmemorize; new wordsfor love tucked betweenteeth often bitingtoo hard.my chapsticked lipscould learn to bow togrammar laws incountries i'llnever visit.i could master writingsymphonies in syntax,spend hours penningvolumes in languagesof longing and love,but i'll never find aphrase that fits youthe way your body fitto mine, back bent.i'll never find a namefor how our lips tuckedtogether, for my handsin your hair, for therapture in your eyes.
adolescenceWe look up into the skyand see the stars as millionsof possibilities for us to wrap our handsaround and try, picking and choosingour favorite constellations like applesin the fruit aisle of a grocery store.We talk about our dreamsof leaving this townfar behind and far away,but we don’t talk about howleaving home means leaving each otherand each constellation we wrap our handsaround propels us into completely differentdirections. We want to hold on to each otheras much as we want to let go of this dustbowl,but we can’t have both,and that scares us.We look up into the skyand see how big the galaxy iseven when we can’t see 90% of itand we are suddenly aware of howsmall we actually are, barely grains of sand,barely specks of dust, barely here at all.We stop looking up and lookdown at our feet shuffling,worried and afraid for each otherbecause we barely sleep and failinga class means failing high school,failing to get into the dream college,fai
she told me i was her cliche.today i found inspiration huddledunder the dining room table,arms wrapped around her legsand shredded post-it noteslike an ocean surroundingher feet.i never thought it possibleto see her lookso bitter.i asked her why the hellshe decided to come backafter all this time.she shrugged and gesturedto the scraps of paperlittering the ground-i wrote your name two thousand timesto get you out of my head.i burned every picture and toreevery poem.trust me,i'm not the onewho keepscomingback.
Writer's Block Is...When a writer is feeling blocked.Yeah, that's all I got. :/Hence the term, "writer's block."