Dear mind
Please remember you are not meant to be perfect, there are cracks in you like an antique porcelain glass, you are still useful and beautiful but sometimes things leak
Dear mind
You are a soldier
You have dealt with so much in the past it's a wonder you aren't shell shocked. Trauma is the worse, the world around you is so full of pain you can't imagine confiding your hurt with anyone but yourself and for this you suffer
Dear heart
You will survive, you have been shattered like a clay pigeon, blasted away by the shotgun shell of betrayal. You have been broken so many times it seems easier to find a formula for time travel to reverse the damage then to piece you back together, but here you are beating in my chest with so many scars you look like a road map of Manhattan
Dear soul
Speak up there are times when my mind is lost and my hearts playing hooky,
If my mind could hear you it would find true north and my heart would start its engine. Pressing forward to what we all want
Dear voice
Be kind, sometimes in life this is impossible but in those times promise to always be honest,
Dear voice
Hold steady, my mind may be hectic and my heart may be racing but it is you who must stay the course. For all our sakes.
Dear feet
Move forward, what is behind us is to teach us how to navigate what is in front of us. Be firm in your footing and bold in your stride this greatness you seek was never intended for the timid
Dear shadow
I promise if you continue to follow me someday it will be worth it.

-Vaun Niklaus Christiansen.

What are we
but simple beings, wannabes
Every one a small piece
of the game, Reality™
We all live in conformity
social norms followed religiously
Until one dreamer dares to dream
steps away, breaks routine
gazes upward and flies free
Imagination is all we have
when this world is our lab
where we can be extraordinary
philosophers, never ordinary
Without these dreams
what are we
but simple beings, wannabes

Blood has risin
Fallen under the demise of gluttony
Throats shutter in a flourished gleam
Spilling out their smokes; the evil stream
With closed eyes the horizon did strike
I was the one who favored spite
Invisible to eyes the mind grew thin
Wearing down from the mask of sin
Oh sweet child have you strayed so far?
In the final moment did I become a star
Ripples of triumph
I have fought death
Swimming towards light
For one last breath
Decrepit old sun burnt out and cold
Heart wondered beat less
Fortune favored the bold

Is there a better tradition than Halloween?
When I was a child, cloaked in the velvety darkness,
The night felt like it was crackling with electricity, possibility.
Swapping candy, riding the trailer, being out late on a school night;
I realized from a young age nothing emboldens you like friends and the nighttime.

When I was a freshman in college, I saw Rocky Horror for the first time.
"Creature of the Night" rings in my ears as I
Put on makeup,
Take a swig of *****,
Place on the final touches of my costume.

Halloween becomes a blurred vision of masks, laughter, and kisses.
Locking eyes across a room,
I am more alluring as
Daisy Buchanan
Holly Golightly
A fairy
Mary Poppins
Alice in Wonderland.
They're all cute, animated, familiar, warm.

Each day after Halloween is a sickly feeling,
nausea from overindulgence
I will always be emboldened by the night.

Childhood
     >Insert Tragedy<
2. Lost
3. Found...   Depression
4. Froze
5.Watched the world
     >Insert miracle maker<
6. Found Happiness
7. Watched Life
     >Insert real problem<
8. Found Boldness
9. Solved Problem
10. Live

She is the unsung lyrics,
the pieces of her favorite quotes stitched together.
When one plucks the lyre of her heart
melancholy melody soothes another heart.

She is a pallet full of rich and moody colors.
Sometimes she is bold like the streak of red of the sky at dawn
or delicate as soothing soft colored pastels.
At times she's vibrant
with her colors high on hue
and at times she is dim and quite.

She is contoured with passion;
whirlwind of colors
coaxing the brushstroke
as she is canvassed.

She is the evocative strokes
of a tempestuous soul
of curious contrast;
an exquisit chaos.

She is the raw,
broken tiles pieced together
into a mosaic
s intricate masterpiece like picasso's.

Her body
Her soul
is constantly moulding
sculpting into a phasing masterpiece.

She is an album;
a gallery.
She wasn't built to validate
to be understood
and loved by all
She's supposed to make you feel in the way she thought.

For she is the enigmatic narrative of her truth
and a beautiful ambiguity.

Soul be told
All thoughts be bold
And filled with liberation

Live your life
Free from strife
Don't let others cause hesitation