It all started with him

The magician

Disappears without a trace

The illusionist always slipping in between the cracks

Never to be seen

Never to be heard

Like his father and his father

All magician full of smokes and mirrors

Fathers have always seemed mystical to me

I think of mine often at 1am the loneliest time of night

I see his face, I look nothing like him

He reminds me of music

The kind of music that plays in the background of tragedies

His name is sin

I dear not speak it

My mother talks not about him

She's washed him of her mouth

She has cleansed herself of him

Scraped his skin of hers

Cleaned every surface his ever touch

Burned his love and his letters

Cut his from pictures

Blinded her eyes of his face

I try as well

Not to see him

Not to think him

Not to write poems about him

But he makes his way to my fingers and I find him in every poem I've written

He makes his ways in to my dreams and I see him in all my nightmares

My father the magician

His Made his way into every heartbreak

Into every tear

Every doubt

Every insecurity

My mother says fast

Wash your mind of him

wash your hands of him

So I fast for days and nights I pray to forget him and his face

His name

I pray to be cleansed from him

From his magic

My father

The magician

Always disappearing without a trace

-inspired by Warsan Shire

U learn to love it

The feeling

U learn to appreciate it

To crave it...it makes you feel.

Makes u have a purpose

U let it consume you engulf your every existence until all that u are is it. It convinces u it's all u have, whispers sweet nothings in your ears u believe it. U spend hours just feeling it, letting it drown you in its darkness

You don't fight it, u just surrender

Let it take u to places u didn't know existed, places painted with the blood of its victims, decorated with their tears

There u belong

U let it think for u

Let it feel for u

There comes a point where you even Let it breath for u.

It has always been there eating away little pieces of your being but u ignored it, u let it be...its just a phase u said until one day when u looked inside and all you saw was it staring back at u with its eyes of ice

So u learn to love it, because it's the only thing that remains you of your existence

It destroys and you let it because u think at least there is something left to destroy

You don't fight u don't cry u just lay and stare at its work of art

U wonder at its beauty

u marvel at its creativity

it's an artist and u are it's art

It molds and folds, bends and twists you in to its portrait, its model u are the pinnacle of its creation

U are not u anymore

U are a mare figment of its work

It won't leave you u think

When everyone else is driven away by its artistry u will still have it

It will comfort you

Hold u turk you understand it's cold and lonely embrace

U will learn to love it

Your sadness, u will learn to love it.

Like I did.

Those sweet Sunday mornings where the sun had a smile so bright it illuminated the inside of my soul.

I'd sit and listen to the sweet silence of nothingness

I'd feel the rays of the sun coursing through my vines

It filled my existence with wholesomeness.

Those sweet Sunday morning brought sweet Monday mornings

When the 5:30 alarms meant the start of an adventure

Those sweet Sunday mornings brought the unexplained happiness, the sweet desire to live, to experience, to believe and to dream.

Those sweet Sunday mornings erased those dark Saturday nights, where scary thoughts roamed free, where the monsters under the bed escaped to a place more permanent, my head.

Those sweet Sunday mornings silenced the voices in my head. Made me forget they were even there.

How I miss those Sunday mornings, life was easier the world was brighter I was happier.

I can't remember when those sweet mornings stop coming. Now the sun has stopped smiling, now the voices are back, scattering the sweet silence of nothingness like ashes in the wind.

Now I can't feel the Rays coursing through my veins. Now I forgot to forget about those scary Saturday nights in all its glory and despair.

Those sweet Sunday mornings are long gone, with no warning, or explanation leaving me to wake up to the harsh reality of my existence.

I miss those mornings

I need those mornings

Now I sit and wait for their return

They took with them their happiness, their desire to experience, to believe to dream...they left their desire to live, I still have that. Because living means waking up every morning to the possibility for those sweet Sunday mornings.

She's 5.8 and weighs a 110 pounds, she has long blonde hair that pasts her shoulder. Her eyes are blue and he swears His never seen better. Her lips are pink and full and her cheeks are ever rosey. Her skin is as soft as cotton and sometimes he swears she glows brighter than the sun. Her smile is priceless and if he got just a glimpse his day will be perfect. To him she is perfect, and no one can ever compare. She smiles with her eyes and laughs with her heart. He adores every breath she takes, the first time he saw her he dreamt about her for a month. He tells no one about her or how she makes him feel. He is never late to school because every morning at 7:36 she walks to her locker to get her books. He stands from a distance and admirers her beauty. He still remembers the time she smiled at him. His heart stopped and he froze he couldn't curve his lip upwards to form a smile so he just stared and got lost in her beauty. She's not miss popular or has her nose up in the air, she's kind and gentle her voice is the softest and in his mind she is always running while. It's always in his mind the time he saw her cry, his heart dropped as the tears on her cheek fell. Her boyfriend cheated and she was heart broken, he wanted to hold and stroke her perfect hair but he couldn't because to her he was just another face, she doesn't know his name or remember the color of his hair, she doesn't notice when he look at her from a distance, to her she's he is just another stranger. He seen her been hurt by many, and it pains him dearly. He knows he could treat her right, spend his days loving her in and out. He dreams about reading her poetry and holding her hands, he dreams about her smiling in the sunset and how beautiful she would look when the light hits her eyes just right. He dreams about singing to her and kissing her forehead and telling her just how beautiful she is. He would do anything to make her smile, he loves her smile. He writes her letters and poetry and he knows she will probably never see them. But he still writes. About the way she looked in that pink dress or the time she did her hair up. She completes him, in every each way. She inspires him to be more, to be stronger to be wiser he feels he can never be worth of her. To him, her face is a reminder, she reminds him of joy and peace of hope and love. He pictures how life will be with her will be, "it will be so easy" he thinks, "she wouldn't have to fake her smiles or worry if i loved her back. She wouldn't need to wear makeup because she's looks flawless without it. She would never cry or feel insecure . I will give up anything for her". He stays up at night thinking if her boyfriend is making her laugh, if her boyfriend is holding her right. To him, no one can hold her the way she is meant to be held. She doesn't know just how special she is to him. She is the day and night, the only truth, the only one that will ever be, to him she is greater then life itself. He is unconditionally and absolutely in love with her. But she will probably never know, to her he is just another face in the crowd.

I can stand in front of a mirror and point out all the parts about my body that I hate and explain my exact problem with them. For example I hate my arms, I think they are too big for my body and when I shake them the giggle, I hate my belly no matter how many times I try to hold it in it is still too big. And I've tried the push ups and crunches but they just don't work. Ok in fairness I only did it for about a day or two but that's not the point. And don't even get me started about my legs. But I can also tell you about the parts I love. I love my eyes, not because I think the shine like stars but because I can see the world through them, I can see the beauty and the ugly, the pain and the joy, I cried when the third love of my life broke my heart and I can cried when I saw my baby brother for the first time, held him and looked into his eyes and saw nothing but innocent and pure joy. I love my mouth, because I can laugh with it, I can sit back and laugh at my past ridiculous choice for clothing and hairstyles or that time when I fell face down in front of my crush. I can smile, I can smile at the time when he helped me up and looked at me and say "you're very beautiful". I can use my mouth for words, fuck! When I stomp my toe on a desk or when I remember I left the flat iron on...again. I love my hands, because I can hold yours, I can feel the world around me, and sometimes when it gets to rough I intertwine my hands and pretend it's my long lost love's gently rubbing mine and telling me it will all be alright. Weird I know, but it's true. I love my feet because I can run, as far as I can and as fast as I can run, away from the sadness, the suffering, to the joy and peace. And lastly I love my heart because not only is it the strongest part of me it is also the best part of me. It has survived three "true loves", the loss of a father, the loss of a best friend and the only aunt I had it's been stabbed, wrecked, but it is still always open to love.