Whoever

I don't need light to view you.
The glimmer of your effortless aura gives me the right amount of shine to smile in your direction.
I can feel you in every sense of emotion that I'm allowing myself to currently succumb to. To finally feel you the way I am meant to.
I'm so stubborn. The walls around me, placed undeniably by me, have cheated me of knowing how completely infected by you I've become...
So I guess I'll just continue to deny it.

Bitterness

Bitterness is a reaction. And when that reaction bears it's ugly head it is met with equally scathing sentiment. Bitterness has many causes but without asking the right questions or any questions at all, how would bitterness be resolved? Judgment is so last year, I'd rather we as a people become just *that* much more engaging with each other.
I am so sorry.
I'm so many things but the last thing I am is sad.
I could give a name to my sorrow but I refuse because she does not exsist. Tommorw will come and I will be. Just. Fine

2014

In some form of defense against my perpetual possibilities I would ALWAYS downplay certain compliments. Now my friends, as honest and powerful as they are (and I'm lucky to have them), they never shy from teasing me about my physical vanity. However, personality compliments always enacted the "Be Humble" alarm and I end up playing off the kind dialogue with some humor (my defence mechanism). I fooled myself into thinking that my comfort zone in empathic-mediocrity/automatic humility meant for me to never accept genuine accolade and instead laugh it off like some potty trained puppy. What the hell was I thinking? A little pride in who I am would have probably gone a long way in life. Hm. "New Year New Me" or nah?

Momma

I often refer to myself in the privacy of my thoughts as a prodigal daughter...simply because I fight whats best for me for the sake of battle and even maybe a challenge. Recently I watched my mother pray without ceasing (probably for me) and I saw her war-torn battle tested bible and prayer books. The tape and rubber bands barely held the paper together, the edges pig eared to tearing, and few bare spaces were scribbled in with deep passionate cries for change, help, blessings...something.
This made me cry. I felt so helpless for my mother, someone I fight with constantly... For what? The day she leaves me will be a horrible awakening of wasted pride. I should be proud of her and vice versa. I felt horrible that she was hurting so deep that even holy text left her empty. That even reading the same Jeremiah 29:11 "for these plans I have for you.." didn't appeal to her cries that I probably caused her to scream. Whatever prayer she was decreeing over me went unheard. I cried for mom then, and saw her as human as myself; but somehow better. She is my mother.

Come.

I just want you to come.
Come to me with everything you own, all your baggage, your indecisions and shames.
I want to unpack it all.
Place them neatly on the mantle to remind me of how far you've come. Also to remind me of the lenghts I have to go in order to reach you.
The lengths I'd gladly go if you were my last gasp of air.
Come to me.
Bring your renewed hopes in us and let's unpack them together. The mistakes we made let's not harbor on those packages, and treat them like last season gifts.
Whether we enjoy the process of unpacking or not is irrelevant; I want us to share the everything that encompass the beautiful being that is you.
Come and unpack.
I won't judge your filth, I won't question it. With compassionate words I help you amass what's unpleasant. With that I would only dare to remind of how I adore you for those same reasons.
I adore your filth because it is a part of you. For that reason it's unfortunately named by you which I chose to change to mere skips in your perfect beat.
The beat I dance too in hopes that you will come.
Come and unpack with me.

I'm a confessed Bottler

Rarely a late night passes me by without a motley movie of thoughts.

Well, I'm a bottler.
No. I don't work at a brewer (if heaven were to only bless me!) But when I say bottler, I mean when undesirable happens, undesirable gets packaged, wrapped tight, and stored in a closet to be opened never. There's comfort in a dissmisive attitude; no matter what anyone does or says, if its not what I want to hear? *Boxed* Unpleasant? *Boxed * Annoying? *Boxed * Boxed, swallowed and stored in sacrifice to neutrality. Neutrality is a comfortable place where nothing happens, quite unhealthy. So...in essence...
Whatever makes me uneasy gets thrown away projectively in a place I chose to not occupy; my soul. I know the power of my soul well! Its large, powerful and gets me into trouble. Here lies my unpleasantness, my poorness, my cries, and perhaps s joys too. Every compliment I didn't believe placed neatly next to every diss I secretly believed...not from strangers. From those whose lies I bought when the price was too high but the product was shiny, new and smelled tempting..  So like someone who likes shiny new and fragrant things, I paid. Paid with love, with attention, with secrets I regret and especially with my laughs. I love to laughs. And I love my laughs. I love laughs and TO laughs. My laughs mean what you said made me smile and to think my laughs were the result of a charade? It hurts. So to move on forward the best way I know how, I take those hurts and toss them where I can't see them. Although they didn't mean to bring such awesome joy I still genuinely enjoyed it. In all, it is their loss to lose someone who chooses to laugh with you. That's what that soul is about. Memories of good juxtaposed to what was great. Aligned to what scarred and memories of less. What's in your soul?

Namaste

When this happens

Its so subtle, the thought of you.

The thought of infatuation of you and maybe the retune of such manic expression towards me..

one lonely dreamer can only wish upon a star that doesn't care for my presumed inconsequential existence. Until those waves of surprise...that wait for an opportunity to rock my center of balance to a new or old alignment that I've forgotten.
I desire a "rocker," amongst me. A no holds bar, shakes me to extrasensory over load of emotions that are undecipherable. To the point of "whoa" And sadly my mind wonders of your purulent clauses of beauty.

My unknown and volatile beauty, can I know you?