I.Am.Not.An.ArtistI am not an artistI do not believe I am someone with a creative mindsomeone who can make something so bland into something so magnificentI am not thatI will never be thatI see art and the world it is inand I see nothingI see no beautyno creationjust shapes and colorsI do not see the beauty someone has createdor the depth and emotion that is hidden between the linesI don’t see how someone can see so much within so littleto be able to create a life by just a few linesand to be able to recreate something with their mindsI wish I could be able to do thisjust a little of thisbut I am not an artistI am my own person
The HourglassWatch the hands go round and round.Ahhhh, how long have I been sitting here,Listening to the grandfather clock?Watching him ticking away?Watching the polished wood yellow and rot?And with every sound he makesMore maggots eat his wooden flesh.Every grain that falls is an eternity!In the firelight you can see the glass.The dust that coats the cracking bulb,Listening to the sand that trickles down.Listening to the passing hours.With every grain that filters throughAnother man sleeps eternally.The sundial stands defiant!From my leather chair I see it!It stands defiant in the plaza below me!Standing in the moonlit night.Standin
Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,And hearing becomes simple background noise,While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonationsYet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,Because “black is free……..”
All-Seeing EyeAll-Seeing Eye We’re not moving, but He is……
I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister calls to ask me if I'll do her makeup;Mami promised that she would, but she's tiredand screamed when Maria reminded her senior promis tonight. She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,something she doesn't want to cover, and you've alwaysdone a better job of highlighting the subtle graces inherent to my bone structure, the angles we share."I say, "That's okay, but I can't pick you up,"so she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,telling me all the family business, waving her nailsin my face and talking about the pain of her extensions.She says, "Do you think we need yellow concealer?I plan to take pictures, and the last
unrequitedyou make my wordsgather at the hollows of my throatuntil i choke on them.my fingers ache tohold you--but my eyes ache to cry.you're nothing but heart breakwrapped in a bow of something beautiful,like the dust of grace fromfallen angels.i drink a little faster andcry a little harder because the way whiskey and tearsmingle on my lipstastes suspiciously of love.
Equestrian StormEquestrian StormI was walking through Canterlot,as rain beat my plot.I just didn’t feel right,before it came into my sight.The princess of the night,alone and broken.What a pitiful sight,out of my slump, twas awoken.“Princess, why are you here why are you crying?”“Because nopony loves our night, I would be better off dying!”“No Luna no, now that you shouldn’t say!”“And why ever not, what reason hath you that I should stay?”“Celestia for one, your sister whom you love.”“Right sure, the sister from whom to the moon I was shoved.”“Lu
DilemmaToday in classYou moved to sit beside meAnd my heart missedA beatYour friends followed,All sitting nearbyAnd I sat in silenceAfraid of being judgedThe presentation startedAnd I tried not to look at youBut instead peekedFrom the corners of my eyesThe presenters spokeAnd I tried to focusOn the droning voiceBut you invaded my thoughtsWhat we had talked about last night,What I should say to you, How I should instigate the conversation,If we were to have one at allI peek overAnd you look miserableSick, I remember,And feel an instant sympathyTime passesAnd fear of being judged By those around meKeeps me silentYou
All Systems are Shutting DownI shut down Kicking everyone out I sit alone inside myself, while other pieces of me close the gates around my heart And lock the door to my brainI refuse to let anyone in; I pretend I’m not home“Please leave your message after the beep…” Beep. “Where are you?” I don’t know.“Are you okay?” I don’t know.“When are you gonna let me in?” I don’t know.
Smoker's EpiphanySlipping through a puff of smokeexaggerated wisps slipping through my subconsciousand I am emptier than before, less than I wassomething subtle and heartySoftenedsmoothened and soothingit's almost reliefalmost.
No wordsI don't like to talk.I feel that words cannot truly express what I feel.When I am filled with emotion, I can find no word that can express what I feel to the fullest.There is no word beautiful enough to describe this joy, no word horrible enough to describe this hate, no word ugly enough to describe this miserable existence.
Never open the window... Never open the window...I see you're here.Pay attention, don't fall. It's dark.What? No, I don't want to light up the room. Yeah, nor open the window. It's useless. And actually, the only light I need... ...is that one that is so distant for me.She asked me why I was saying that.But best of all, I knew that actually she didn't careI saw too much faces ready to wipe away all my tears and all my fearsBut best of all, I know that actually they didn't care.Seems like destiny put me in this world to help others. Oh, I'm tired, but I won't show you. it has been four years, right?Four years that I'm holding all of you on my shoul
The BeaconThere it isSo far awayYet the sight of it brings me hopeOf restThe glistening red dotGradually growing largerAs I trudge closer to my destinationThe heat is consumingThe silence deafeningI'm so close, I can't stop nowI finally reach itThe beacon is right here before meI gaze upon it's bright faceI pause for a momentThen turn and continue on home.
The ChoiceSitting at the edge of the abyssBetween life and death.I’m greeted with a disheartening choiceSolemn and quiet, I think on it.As I sat, it is Death and all his friendsWho come upon me.He grimly outstretched his callous handAnd persuaded me with odd tongues.I thought of the missteps in life,The seemingly dire loss of joy and hope.Seeing no point to carry on, I decidedTo listen to what the black spectre spoke of.In the somber state my life hadAmounted to, I began to consider Him.As I listened, a glint of light shone inmy eyes, fiercely blinding me.From the clouds, a great white angelGently drifted down to me.The ange
Why must I think as I write?Why must I think as I write?Why must I write as I think?To sit here and establish my thoughts?To give you my personal feelings when no other can empathize?Why do I even begin to do this?Writing is a talent,And yet I write this.Discovering my talent meant that I could do something,Not just think about what I want.I want to become an author,A film artist,Hell even a poet if I choose.But I can never stick to one thing.Why is that?It's as if I have so many thoughts that they can not be put on paper.As I sleep my thoughts take flight,I dream of a world that can not be.Then I wake to find myself in a dangerous world that others fea
SoggyHe never saw it coming. Like good things in life claim to, it came to the boy waiting, waiting for the school bus to come, waiting for his mom and new sister to come home, waiting to graduate, waiting to grow up—waiting. It would be said about him that he was the boy who could wait forever as long as he knew what he was waiting for. But he never saw it coming.His bowl sat on the steps, the grains inside growing soggier by the minute. He hated soggy cereal. Around the bowl, spots of milk were soaking into the hardwood panels.The school bus had been early that morning. It was parked, not in its usual spot across the road from his house, but a ways down the road. Its flashing lights were overpowered and ignored by the ear-splitting siren calls. Neighbors milled about, moving their lips instead of their feet—or their eyes. They never stopped staring. With each passing moment, the crowd grew.A broken man sat on the curb across the road from the school bus with his face in his
Admit ItI’ve seen usTogether.Not “together” like two peoplewalking down the streetat the same time;“together” liketwo peoplesharing the same breathafter sharing a kiss. I’ve imagined what a futurewould be likeif it were you and I.We’re the typesthat could keep the firegoing long afterthe coals had beenburned up and become ash. I could pick your brainfor ages, dates, and historical facts…I don’t think I could ever get tired of you. You don’t have to,It would be nice you did, though… Haven’t you ever thought the same,even for a second?
Rent me a room in your left ventricle...What good is a heart if one does notUtilize its chambersAnd vaultsAnd valvesAnd hallways,To hold stories,To hide secrets,To invite friends inWhen they have nowhere else to go ...? What good is the human brainIf one does notExercise its muscleBy solving problems,By fixing hearts that have become to fullWith secrets,Or have been empty for too long? What good is the human bodyIf one does notStretch its arms around another,Help another up when they have fallen,Sit with those who cannot yet stand? What good am IIf I don'tTake your pain awayWhen it becomes too much for you to handle?If I don'tHelp you to see the reflectionThat shows the real you? What good are we,Any of us,And what good is a brainAnd a heartIf nothing is meant to be shared?
Untitled.I feel like I’m becoming more “me” than I used to be—Before, I was afraid of “me”,So I would just say“I don’t know who I am” –Or maybe I really didn’t know…And this is my journey to self-discovery?Maybe I’m just putting together pieces of peopleI know I like…Whatever it is that I’m doing… I think I like who it’s allowing me to become.
BulletproofI’d like to think that I amBulletproof.But the truth is,I’m simply a glassHalf shatteredFor different reasons altogether.
The Season Before The SnowBillowingthrough the curtains, the wind tried to whisper to her. Secrets sheneeded to hear, secrets that scared her. She turned her head away, andthe whispers feel on deaf ears. Vengeance - the chilling fingersgrasped her skin, to the bone she shivered. Fear creeping in throughevery pore, stealing her bravado, steeling her blood.She turned back to see the spirits mocking her false courage, enticing her withthe secrets she longed to fear. Amber spells at their fingertips andshriveled curses at their command - theirs was the season of curses,the season of death.Before this, before tonight she was someone else.Never had the thought crossed her mind that this season could beanything but pain. But everything changed the night she saw him. In thecluster of fall spirits - everything changed the moment she began tolisten. She had never given any thought to the season before thesnow...
What is it...?Is it "empty" if you were never filled with anythingbefore you becamefilled with nothing?Is it still "alone" if you were nevera part of somethingthat existedin the absence ofthe only personwho ever showed up?Is it still "life"if you don't feel alive,and continuallydie on the inside?