Dear Loneliness,
We’ve met so many times before.
What’s mine is yours, and you can have it all.

Hey there, Angel.
I haven’t seen you around lately,
maybe it’s because I’m too scared to admit
that I’ve made plenty of mistakes.
But Lord, if you can hear me, I’m sorry.
Life has this funny way of working itself out,
or not at all.

Good Morning, Sunshine.
It’s hard to sleep when you’re shining in my eyes.
And I just want to roll over and go back to sleep until tonight.
Why should I make something of this life, when you’re better off crumbling with the walls surrounding you.
Know I’m too far gone, past lethal, I’d rather sing the song of a mistaken muse.

Pleasantries, Stranger.
I see your shadows in my dreams.
Oddly, you’re getting closer to me,
And I can’t see my breath anymore.

Again, loneliness…
I could be in a room filled with people, but all eyes are on you.
If I take one step, one foot in front of the other, I may just fall.
What’s more satisfactory; an alternative – I would rather give it my best,
swallow my pride and reflect courage.
I’ve changed my mind.
What’s mine is still yours,
But what are you going to do with all of it?

all rights reserved. ©

Stay Humble

Everyone (wants to) think they are an artist.
But, true art is meant to fall apart.
It is the “and” “or” and “but”s stringing along a paragraph, written that makes no sense.
It is the tint of blue hue that lines the border of a sunset that mocks a sunrise as it bleeds orange,
The corners of undeveloped film exposed to light.
The string of pearls mixed with coiled silver that have no need to be laced by the same chain.
Mixed media splattered in disarray, leaving the bigger picture as an untold mystery.
Pricks on your finger from a sewing needle;
The dusty antiques in your mother’s basement, that you’ve been meaning to put up for auction.
A kindergartener’s fingerprints that make even the most childishly drawn tree look full with leaves.
The sheet music with stains of coffee from a night of successful orchestri.
The talent of swaying to a tune too beautiful and hushed to be spoiled.
The morbidity of your mind clouded with cataracts, distracting from the overall picture.
Freedom of body language that tells its own story.
Science behind modern inventions used while
time passes, spent correcting the “if” “will” and “want”s.
The joy it brings, and the suffering that allows one to spill their heart in a vibrant scene of unforeseen dreams,
playing trickery with the minds of the mean,
the silent beings with modesty certain – making for the art that is worth it.

all rights reserved. ©

Where There Was Once Potential

If the soles of the glass slipper fit,

Well, the fuse may have burnt out…

But my heart has always been lit.

I’m a bit too serious, but I joke around a bit.

And I don’t want to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes,

I’d rather find my own to stretch loose.

And if you came knocking on my door,

Ready to throw off your brand new wool coat

Begging to let you in,

I wouldn’t.

Because this was your choosing.

The signs,

The spaces between the lines,

Begging me to rhyme for my muse.

I can’t afford to waste anymore time singing the blues.

Continue reading

Starry Skies Lend To An Unfortunate Demise

We all have hearts, but some bleed more;

We all look to the stars, but some only fall in our favor

We all think we know what we want, but some have no clue

We all need love, but some know better

We all have a unkempt destiny, but some are far more bitter

We all sing sorrows, but some have more joy to offer, rather than borrow

We all listen to music, but some can only hear the melodies

We all blow a whistle, but some can only repeat remedies

We all need lending, for some are still mending;

We all have spirit, but some are hasty

We all grapple at lies, for the truth is bendable, and unsurely tied

We all exude fortunes, but some are easier to visualize

We all possess problems, but some are more difficult to get through

We all see images, but only some are we pleasantly drawn to

We all shiver, for some coats cost a million

We all need touch, and for some, that option is enough

We all have brains, but some tend to be smarter

We all have hearts, but some beat faster.

Continue reading

Fool’s Gold

What a pleasantly haunting memory;

Of that which was once pure, untamed by mediocrity.

A beautiful tragedy in awe of the foreseen.

Sceneries of desired beings,

Pages of black and white readings,

The lingering scents of that which may never seek true.

Living too often in fear of actuality,

Hiding in films of warped reality,

Mistaken for epitomes of doom.

Cowering in corners too cramped –

Not enough room…

Lies put upon childs locked in bedrooms.

Drowning in has beens,

Up and down casualties,

Candid typography.

Texts of life versus death,

Holograms of what is to come next.

Diseases of upbringings,

Callous without reason.

Deeming anxieties and priorities of others,

While no one else bothers.

Singing off tune to a beat played for unfortunate drones,

Soft, subtle and distant moans.

Drawing lines within grains of salt and sand,

Coming to terms with a pitiful crowd –

An uncharted land,

A ferocious town,

While plugging ears occupied by infected sounds.

An audience begging for a witness…

To expose a color not meant for one another.

Casted shadows and unbearable prowess,

A fate that is a contemplate in the world’s abounds


The right to remain deceitful or truthful is useful in tactics.

Signs begging of strict animosity,

To only please…

But to play the game like a fool,

Causes sharp tools to remain blunt with ease.

Continue reading

Nostalgic Cardiologist

In times of troubling woes, maniac episodes and overall withdrawals (that were way overdue), I have attempted to find comfort in philosophies, ideologies and constructs that I cannot simply make sense of. No matter how hard I try, the urge to let loose of my inhibitions and give into what I am currently “lacking”, or better put as, “fiending” for, has left me stranded. The island is dark, cold and lonely. However, I have been in the process of rediscovering my roots during which I have been contemplating continuous suffering. My desire to land on the “Death Star” is a continuous notion that violently bubbles and rises to the surface in the form of aggravations, aggression and overall anxieties that I am consciously well aware are there. The only way for me, at this point in time, is to witness nostalgia and allow myself to be vulnerable until the pain no longer exists.

By this, I mean, listen to any music that I can find comfort in. Whether that may be listening to a depressing tune I remember ever so well, to lyrics and remedies that I can relate to in one aspect or another. Tempting to find reason beyond the tones of violence, tempo and musical lullabies sting, but soothes in the idea that I can feel empathy for the one expressing themselves through the sorrows, melancholy or beautiful melodies and notes. It has deserted me, but also brought me to the surfaces, of my own poetic potential and rheumatics, acting as a blanket to my desires, notions and seemingly endless cycles of pain – which feel oh so pleasurable at the same time.

As I stand by as my own witness…I hold my head high, knowing I will get through this…

I personally believe, changing yourself may seem like the “right thing to do”, but you are always the person you once were – just with more experience and maturity to lead you into the light and help you see the guidance that was always there. Not to say we, as human beings, do not change…we do…but that depends on many factors that I believe cannot be fulfilled without some form of expression, whether that be art, music, comedy, social relationships, or spirituality. Some may find a safety in numbers, while others find it in religion, morals or ideals they may not fully grasp. Acceptance in all realms, regardless of the concepts, suggestions or others innovations…giving credit and gratitude where it is due (even if others may not understand)…it does not matter…as long as you can find something to hold onto in attempts to pull yourself out of the vicious cycle of misery. It may be a bit selfish, you may feel it as being selfless – to be you. Because people will keep masking themselves with facades of who they “want to be”…not who they truly are. That is the root of many anxieties – expectations, grudges and calling yourself to complete duties and partaking in commonalities that simply…are just NOT your own.

Let’s go nostalgic for a bit…it is totally worth it…

Heartbreaker, Mariah Carey (Mariah’s outfit is so back in style – crocheted crop tops, high waisted jeans, platform shoes)

Mr. Brightside, The Killers

I Won’t Say I’m In Love, Hercules (my FAVORITE Disney movie, hands down – and one of the first songs I taught myself how to sing)

White Knuckles, OK GO (awesome music video I first saw on Dogs 101, and the song is extremely catchy and quite brilliant)

King of Anything, Sara Bareilles (another song I taught myself how to sing – unfortunately relatable…an incredible music video as well)

Telephone Hour, Bye Bye Birdie (first play I ever saw with my mother…and it is hilarious too!)

She’s So High, Tal Bachman 

I do not care to overwhelm…there are many more I wish to post…time will allow me to show more…(however, YouTube, unfortunately, stressfully burdens its viewers with too many ads, and an incredibly slow loading process)

Poetry and singing soothes the soul – the remedy that wastes it all is allowing your voice to stay untold…

“But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.”

– Maya Angelou 

You shall above all things be glad and young…

E. E. Cummings

you shall above all things be glad and young
For if you’re young, whatever life you wear

It will become you; and if you are glad
whatever’s living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love

whose any mystery makes every man’s
flesh put space on; and his mind take off time

that you should ever think, may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies, the foetal grave
called progress, and negation’s dead undoom.

I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance