will always leave its mark;
people have a way of leaving footprints behind
that will endure
though their body have decayed,
the passing is the only thing that stays.
It is late at night and all is asleep,
All but me for sleep does not come easily
To the starving, tortured artist.
It's a layer of defense
Soft and Smooth
It crackles , it can breaks if you have a wound...
A poem is the solace you didn't find in things that are tangible. It's a chip on your shoulder that needs to trickle down word by word, phrase by phrase, until the care has turned to dust, eroded and carefree with the wind.
I shed my skin, callous as it is, hardened by time, and by solitude. I wore it like a badge for so long, thinking it was an exoskeleton that help my soupy insides –
I like tea and I think the universe is conscious, I believe in kindness and I think there's much more to life than meets the eye.
I peel away the night sky slowly and smile at the easy success
And continue in and inhale the dark,
I am the custodian of my own world, my own thoughts, my own mind.
What I think is what I choose to think, what I let in, is what I choose to let in.
For darkness was a state of mind
And any lightness, any spark
Was all mine
Today I have the ability to shape my own world.
Today I will light fire to my soul.
Today I am the master of my own life.
Today I am alive.
When I was young, my grandfather told me, “Don’t fear death.”
I never I understood my dada. I thought he was being morbid.
But now I realized what he meant.
You have your mother's eyes;
But the world is telling you
That they are not big enough