pain

Pain
I feel.
Pain
I yield.
Oh pain
Go away.
Why stay
If I'm okay?
If I steal a bit of joy,
Will you leave?
Will you leave me?
Will you leave me be?
Please.
Pain
I feel
No more.
The pain
I yield
Is gone.

light of life

Light of life, 
Come into my soul,
Bring me joy;
Fill my hole.

Light of life,
You are so bright.
You make smile;
I forget about the strife.

Light of life,
The bubblegum that overrides punk,
You complete me,
And so I write.

Light of life,
On this night,
I thank thee
For what is right.
You bring life,
You end strife.
You use a pen instead of a knife.

moon

The night
Basks over my skin,
Bright and pulsing,
The nectar to my soul.
Even if it's dark,
It's a little bit light,
For its glow is so strong.

To its heights I long
For its protection.
O' great orb of white,
Protect me from the fears
Of the great dark.
I can only take so much,
So fill my soul
With light.

Black and white
Gray and brown
You fill the night
With color,
So you fill me.

gray space

The world isn't perfect; 
Never was
Never will be.

I am white with a little
Gray space,
A little darkness
That craves my soul.

The world is a complex web,
Connecting morals with law,
But at the same time,
Unweaving them
To the
Gray space.

Morals aren't subject to laws;
Laws aren't subject to morals.
No universality.
Regulation is made by the victors,
The dark,
And the gray,
For it's a world of
Gray space.

tears

tears fall down my face
for sadness
for joy
for despair
for euphoria

tears fall down my face
for the day
for the night
for the noon
for the dawn

tears for anger
tears for happiness
tears for everything
tears for pain

I am the water
I am my tears.

Beauty

Look in the mirror, 
They say.
What a monstrosity?!
Unkempt.
Unloved.
Antisocial—
Maybe you should have better vocals.

I look in the mirror;
I see beauty beyond compare.
I have things I can work on, yes,
But don't we all? That's fair.

Conformity is bad if done to the max.
Be yourself, even if doesn't add.
No one can tell you what's the norm.
Everyone has beauty,
You just have to see.

Poem for the Soul II

I crave the warmth against me. 
I crave normality.
I crave the release of pressure.
I crave to be me.

Stand up.
Don't sit around and wait for life to happen.
Stand up.
Look around:
You're free.

I'm free.
Free to be me.
Free to see what I see.
Free to say what I say.
Free to do what I do.
Free to feel what I feel.
I'm free.
I'm free as can be.

I see the world like a project to change;
Idealist too much, maybe.
But that's okay.
I'm okay.
Okay.

feel

Everything is strange; 
Everything I feel is strange outragement.
To reject the norms of even secularness,
To analyze life rather than live it;
To have a brain of facts
That override the memories
And emotions.

Everything I feel is numb.
I try to explore mirth;
Sometimes I fail.
Sometimes I want to cry
But no tears fall.
Sometimes there's pain,
but it goes away.
Sometimes I'm on top of the world;
then, I'm in the pit of lonely darkness.

Do I feel?
Do I feel emotions?
Do I feel like a human?
Do I feel like anything?

Calm down;
You're doing fine.
Go with life;
Don't worry about strife.
Difference should be the norm;
But it isn't,
So find the pride in yourself
To live.

That's how I feel.

First Love

First love,
The blindness to the butterflies
That tell you to run.
The blindness to the faults and facts
That say it's not a match.

First love,
The pink memories of a calm togetherness;
then, burned by dark revelations.
Dark revelations to white words.

First love,
The epitome of youth,
The epitome of probability,
The epitome of reflection.

First love,
You set me free
When you unshackled the chains
That unleashed my passion
To know that first love
Is young love.

who

Something calm is also chaos.
She’s oblivious to the world. 
Something sweet is also sour. 
She wishes to rule with her iron fist. 
And something intelligent is also dumb.

A world where everything is a grey area.
Everything is a pang of panic; a surge of wonder. 
‘Yes? No?’ rings though the rapid pound of the drums. 
But, in the end, it’s a swelling urge of solitude. 

She’s an aria of wit and opinion without consequence. 
Her ballad races the Tour de France without break.
She sways to the symphony of violins, lifting her into the clouds
until the orchestra breaks to the swelling of a 
heaving bass, rising and falling
And she wakes up.

But now,
And now, 
Who am I?