what happens after death?
no one really knows.
and honestly --
i don't think
i want to know.

some say
you go to heaven.
or hell.

others like to believe in
the afterlife,
in ghosts,
in wandering,
in haunting what's
left behind.

but me?
i just like to think
its just
that it's a kind of closure.
one thats quiet,
and final.
the kind that doesnt need
to be explained.

I do not love you
like a traveler loves a view—
I love you
like a secret loves silence,
like depth craves depth.

You are not just water—
you are emotion in motion,
a hymn sung by moonlight,
a soul with salt and storm
in your veins.

I love how you breathe
without needing anyone to notice.
How your tides rise and fall
without shame,
how your waves hold both peace
and power.

I love that you rage
when the sky grows cruel,
that you speak in roars
when you're no longer heard.

You are not just blue—
you are every feeling
I’ve ever buried,
every tear the world
never saw me cry.

And I,
fragile yet fierce,
quiet yet alive,
found in your vastness
a mirror.

I do not visit you.
I return to you.
For in your depths,
I remember—
I am made of wild things too.

Why do we read books?
Why do we listen to music?
Why are we alive?
What's the purpose...

I've heard a lot of people say:
Follow your dreams.
Let your heart lead the way.
Have GOALS and WORK for them.

But something is off.
You don't need to do something big
To be significant.
You don't need to be important
To be authentic.

The purpose of life is to live.
Really, actually, willingly live.
Something so simple but so hard to understand,
Sometimes even hard to achieve
Is to be alive...

We don't read just for the plot.
We don't listen just for the chorus.
We read because we love the book.
we listen because we love the song.

Enjoy. cry.
Learn. Live.

You know, you're enough. You're important
even if you don't feel like it.
If you spend your life chasing meaning
You might miss it----
Unless you look around
And see the little things
while still running.

The ocean flowed in the breeze
I could feel the waves as they pushed
My fingers began to freeze
It was cold, sharp as a thorn bush.

I was lost on an island.
I couldn't see a boat.
And I thought I could find them
So I created a note.

"Farewell my good friends.
Enjoy those fun days.
But this is where my fun ends
Continue to be full of craze."

An ocean lives inside
me, and everybody knows it.


They see it rise and fall
down the mountains


of my cheek bones. They wonder
where all the water is stored.


Is it in the jars of my breast or
sweat on my skin? In the


curl of my hair between
my thighs or is it all


in my head? The waves slap
against my ribcage


and crack them into broken
eggshell pieces. Yet I smile


calmly, assuredly, like the sun
is on my sea. I know these murky


waters will wash afloat every man-
made plastic thrown into its depth.

There is a cycle where the veil lifts
The material is distant
And the spiritual is tactile
God feels closer
I know this unseen world
My body convulses with surges
Energy shoots through me
Heavy tears drop
I imagine them quenching dry red earth
Falling through cracks
There’s a direct line
A connection
God is speaking to me
I feel a longing for home
For the earthly dirt
For the higher realm

Before I bleed
I’m sensitive to this density
Energy feels weighty
Visceral, almost visible
I’m reminded of my spirit
My own wild nature, tamed
But the essence of my heart roars
My feral body sings to the beat of nature
I bleed like the red earth
I am tribal. I am feral
I stand with and part of creator

I want to see who I really am, not who I thought I was because of my conditioning and history.