when in doubt

in the silence: i am the roll in the thunder,
i shake the deepest core of any existance.
i am power,
solitude never sucumbs me.
i give words of encouragement and have the strength to break them down.
i take pride in my decisions and i cry only at the apropriate moments.
i am beyond life;
because life is limited,
i carry on the heaviness of my ancestors and take control of what is to become.
i am not to be broken,
& even if in pieces, ill tear down the walls of the impossible.
stop me? it isn't probable.

compliance {fiction's outlet}

i can not blame you...you wish to live life, experience what is new, or repeatedly visualize yourself in one situation. am i being too vague? perhaps i am. perhaps i am only concealing layers to secure your emotions. which is more true to you?, the life you live or the one you want to have. or maybe i am completely wrong, maybe its the life you wish you still had. will it be sacrificed or forever be buried deep into your customs. i hate the anger that follows with these thoughts. the insecurities that may proceed and topple over me. will you one day decide it isnt enough? is it starting to feel that way already? are you searching for something special that only stangers can provide. too much has been said, too much done, too much has been experienced and yet these questions still remain and i too remain.

not the same

how do i speak?
how do i get across my differences to the rest of the world?
beautiful garden of secrecy blooming into dark shadows that entrapped my soul
liberation is the cost of many disasters

how is the mirror of my world broken into pieces?
but put together just to look ready for the whole world.
never will ever let go of my pride, but for love ill do it all
the contradictions sweep me away into an abyss

im conflicted, disoriented, not wanting to move in the wrong direction.
why the pull to do so then?
how can i speak
and tell the world i am not the same

way before

I thought about you; the way you held Your composure, secure in your grasp as if nothing else was more fragile. You waved goodbye to the baggage You once hauled on your back; a seamstress with many cuts that burn deep within the fabric of your life. I thought of you; taken back for while, sipping on this new found taste: a freedom that seemed to limited but the wind blew you farther, and I watched you, I watched you take hold and work your way through the maze and find your self in a vortex beyond space and time. I watched you think of a possibility and I thought for once: about being one for you.

when you do the things you do.

I stutter, silently I wish for words that would equal to her beauty.
I tumble down this hill of love, and keep falling
When you do the things you do I throw myself on the line knowing you'll be there to pick me up.
I hover effortlessly through all my sorrows as if you were the angel guiding me.
Through drowning oceans and treacherous jungles I will always have You in mind
because you do the things you do.
The smallest details and the largest of embraces never fail
And I for one will run for decades if it meant the finish line is in your arms.
Then I will whisper "I love you" and mean it ten hundred times over because when You do the things you do, I can't help but be grateful for you.

one more year.

I'm here now, ain't that something? And many say that's all that matters. If it were only that easy, just being present doesn't cut it anymore, and that's all I am: I'm here bringing nothing to the table, watching everyone struggle and I can't help, watching the green monster be the source of all these problem and the only one who can save us from it all. I wish I was in a position to call the shots, somehow have a way to say "look what I did for you" in concrete form. One more year passes and I'm still laying when I should be up and about. One more year where I wait for the day to come and be thankful for something I don't deserve. Can we skip over this month? Just this year?

much to do about nothing

She walks: decent, elegant, different from all the rest. She is that flower that blooms and that one can't keep their eyes off. She is the wind that blows softly through the cracks of the window on a spring night. She stares: blankly and one can't figure out why she does what she does. Maybe she has done too much or way too little, maybe her competition is staring at her right in the face or she might think it is. She is disabled from the lack of courage she witholds in her body. She makes everything and everyone thecause of her future and forgets she is the Creator. She has marked soles from walking to much just to make appointments that have much to do about everyone else but her, she loves and she cares just to be ripped away from it all when everything changes. She knows she shouldn't dwell when there is much to be done and yet that frown appears upon her face unknowingly. She is forever faithful to the roots in which she spurred from and becomes loyal to her new found love. Who is she? She is the one that's crying out for help and understanding because she can't speak what is clearly being shown