Never out of sight

Pauses

Nauseating anxiety...

Before every time I write

To trust the pen

-the only true measure of my might

Is a reconciling of what we've always known

So I drown in blissful ignorance

-nobody wants to be alone

A reluctant fiend to your every whim

It's all I could do to breathe

-so you burnt me alive

Smoke clouds and choked throats

The nights have always been what I hate most

Out of mind but never out of sight

-the only way I know how to love you right

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Do you remember

Do you remember when voices from the past called me to your side Do you remember when both our heartbeats were the toughest to hide Do you remember when you called me a gift because to you time had never been too kind Do you remember when you said my stubbornness was my strength and not a weakness Do you remember the holes we patched over like a seasoned seamstress Do you remember when you touched me and it felt so good I couldn't imagine how I had existed with so much less Do you remember when we got home and all you wanted to see was my body underneath that dress Do you remember when you whispered love and chuckled like you were new to this Do you remember when our eyes met and it was as natural as coming up for a kiss Do you remember when you made me laugh until my belly was sore Do you remember when you promised you wanted to give me all that and more Do you remember when the cancer started to grow Do you remember when we started fighting and we didn't even know...

Art For Art's Sake

I am a romantic and I am a writer. I could write a library's worth of love letters about a single glance from a passing stranger. Emotion, vulnerability, brokenness are the only things that truly move me. Some writers question your authenticity when all you create is based on feeling. Feeling low, feeling dejected, feeling hurt. But ask yourself, if your art has always been your therapy before you were brave enough to give voice to your fears and tears then who really is the better writer? Does it even matter? I've been questioned/doubted for my writing style since I can remember. But if it is MY ART. Whatever it is, how do you doubt the validity of words coming from your chest as opposed to your mind? I'm not trying to sound "smart". I am merely trying to find healing through expressing pain in pages. You might think, "one trick pony". It's cool. I get it. But you can never assume to judge me because all I've ever related to is ...

Dark Skin

The taste of your skin is reminiscent of the Holy roots of our kin Dark skin your fingertips trace a map of the rich history of where our ancestors have been Dark skin I hold you tight against my belly and my bosom The feel grounds and gathers me under fertile soil so I blossom Dark skin your words are like the intricate anatomy of home Landscapes that spread out as far as the eye can see Dark skin standing beside you is to be honoured as a queen Your love and understanding are a soft pillow that rebels the hardness of how this life has been Dark skin you are reassurance and security The likes of which cannot be compared Dark skin your sadness are the cufflinks that tie your heart to your sleeve Soft and tender I struggle every time you have to leave Dark skin the only doubts have never come from us In your subtitle ways and boundless kindness my tainted heart I entrust Dark skin of your affections the world will never be worthy I daydr...

Sola ellipsis

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