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I have never truly lived, all through my childhood, my mind and my lips were two distant shadows telling on each other’s void, learning each other how to calmly breathe.
The pen came and gifted voices to my silences, so these deliciously spilling yet painful words can help scatter and rearrange my thoughts and, help me crawl out of my darkness and live the life of a full moon, to allow myself the chance to witness another sunrise where I root for the longevity, truth, and healing of this boy’s body, spirit, mind and laughter.
This: writing became my home and playground, here I plant me, every seed and element of self along with discoveries, blooms, oozes, fruitful transitioning, and becomings.
I am twenty-five years young, and I’ve lived many lives, it has taken me a lifetime, to finally say I am here now: ready to live, love, dance, give, laugh, write, and paint my rainbow thus making my humble presence felt and received.
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Feathers of an ink poetry closet
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Love might not be enough
I think love to be sleeping in starvation Running from the mouth and into the poem And I am, but its residue  From your hands needles bloom And like a seed pressed into a soil I unfold into a new paragon, pommeled The water and sunlight that raised me  I'm not angry at you for leaving You and I are simply injured by love Incensed by each other's shortcomings Ha! How about we forgive each other Today, then lick ourselves Out of regrets  Moonlight, Mother that you [...]