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I am naive,  I have everything. Being a youngin, Is not that horrendous. Growing up  Is like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
I am naive,  I have everything. Being a youngin, Is not that horrendous. Growing up  Is like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
I am wandering down a river bed Without a map in my hand  Or a plan thought up I saw the water drifting and Floated along with it   Sometimes our attempts to escape reality
quiet the voices quiet thequiet the voices.  
water wraps around my legs sticky with salt and bone numbing wisdom   my fingertips stroke murky clouds billowing across the sea’s glass
Hey little girl, Deep down inside. Don't you know loving kills? Makes you vulnerable, you can't hide I agreed at first because of the thrill.
Sometimes I wonder,  if what I write becomes reality? In some distant universe my blunder means catastrophe.   But if that is the case, then what happens when I erase?
Once Laid Footsteps 
The "Looking Glass Self" says that how others view us is how we view ourselves. It's amazing to think that we see ourselves through the eyes of someone else.
Look upThe sky is EndlessYou are the sky Look downThe earth is StrongYou are the earth Look forwardThe future is BrightYou are the future Now look backThe past is DarkBut you are not the past You are EndlessYou are StrongYou are Bright You are Eve
I have an unhealthy addiction.I think that’s whyI subconsciously refuse to evolve.I don’t knowif I’m too afraid to change,too proud to admit I’m wrong,or if there’s even a difference.
We sit quietly Gazing furtively with lust in our eyes We sit quietly Shying away from talk   We are lovers upon the garbage heap
Can this just be the present    That everyday is    Even with a nemesis   Or without even saying    Wanting the same Even if it's in different shades   Or different context 
White goose-downon Ebony shroud    A flash of Silverbehind the Clouds    There is Always a Reason
A dusty mirror catches my attentionInstinctively I search for my reflectionAs I look past the grime to meet my twinShe stares back with a maniac's grin
When people ask me who I am, I stutter, because for some reason, the language of myself is foreign to me. We could call it a result of bullying, mental illness, or plain teenage mystery.
Beauty is never a careful color Its an angry amber, a vibrating violet Courage is never a planned step Its a shaky bridge, a broken ankle Truth is never a smile and a wink Its a broken dream, a sober triumph
There lives a girl inside my mind Her face fragile, yet worn She cried tears for a thousand years And cannot cry one more   She sits stone-still upon a floor Its boards scarred from her fists
  Driving away, blistering through toll gates of expectations and societal feign traits booming radio raids of rebellion streak
Truth be told, I only saw what is real Because my heart is an open sore that I do not expect to heal. You see, a beaten and battered heart knows how pain feels So it lacks all remorse when it comes time to kill.
I once made a choiceWhen a choice made meConsider the soulWhich I would solely beI could've gone rightTo just fitting inLeft all that was leftOf me, quitting again
    You won’t find me in the crowd My colors won’t capture your attention So what do you see When you turn to look in my direction?   When I stare into adversity
And she was high as she jumped off a building,
When you think about death?Do you think about me? My smiling face?My laughter and glee?
Feel what you see The pain is not mine It isn't yours Who does it belong to If not you or me?   It's better than pity That lacks kindness and charity
The sharp and the stabbingLike the shards of a broken bottleAnd its gleaming smoothnessLike the beads of a necklaceThey cut my stomach  liningLuminescent- like stolen stars
Oh my dear, I can hardly wait.Soon we two shall dance with the teasing belladonna hoping to ensnare us bothYou have been too long without a partner, but you have been beautiful  
Another pass over the bigger city to the south makes me wonder about all the absence in the night; the pitch-blackest part that the eye can’t see.
I've seen without eyes goals to be realized, but I have no hands; so I'll never feel it. Having said that, I've felt more and touched more without fingers. Without pores
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