You there,
with your body laid
& your head rested
on your tear soaked pillow.
With the stains of unforgivable acts forced upon your body.
With the scars of abusive lovers,
with sharp tongues.
  
Yes you.
You deserve love.

With your battered bones
that creak & rattle,
with somber hymns
of hidden shame & hopelessness.
With insecure tastes
in your mouth,
that make you curse your being.

Yes you.
You deserve love.

With your desperation
& all your fears.
With your desire to awaken
from your fallacies of comfort.
From the caucus of neglect
that they left you to rot in.
Even though you may not know.

You. Yes you.
You deserve love.

Poetry
stops
the brain
and starts
the heart.

I'm just listening to Counting Crows,
and I get this feeling,
That I am so close to understanding,
Something, myself? Something.
And it leads to this eerie feeling of contentedness,
In the darkness.
But I'm just a step behind,
And the more I think, the more...
I lose my way, The more I question,
instead of listen.
But it scares me to let such a moment pass,
without pursuing... it.
Whatever it is.
Poetry? I think not,
Just splutter along the road of my soul.
Sure to be meaningless in the end, but,
Looking at it now, looking back a bit...
Oh to be **** half in the past,
And nirvana just out there,
A bit further along the way.
Almost childly, I blindly,
Reach my hand out and up,
Hoping that I'll be able to grasp the Sun,
As if I won't get burnt,
That since it seems so close,
I just need to grasp,
and the world will be mine.
But some things are not for mortals.
And demons, like kids,
Must too, one day,
Wake up.

We started out nothing
And as nothing we shall end

“The truth is messy. It's raw and uncomfortable. You can't blame people for preferring lies.”

But I like the raw truth, the truth that hurts and makes you think and change.  It's what makes me feel alive.