She’s not afraid to cry.
Weeping is weakness
and fear
Rolling off of her cheeks
and adding to the ocean
of her strength.
Poetry. Photography. Thoughts On The Way Of Things.
She’s not afraid to cry.
Weeping is weakness
and fear
Rolling off of her cheeks
and adding to the ocean
of her strength.
Ever wonder why
The world is afraid of you?
Because it’s easy to be in your shadow
When you burn so bright.
Cold exposed brick
and warm whiskey.
Humid nights
stretch underneath us
Endless as oceans.
We feel the smoke fill our throats
we smile
we wait for the sun to rise.
Show the world your everything
if they are afraid,
They don’t deserve a glimpse.
Light a fire in me
Let me burn
for you.
And my light will keep
your darkness
at bay.
We play the game.
With our worry
that we aren’t enough.
With our concern
That we won’t make it.
With our fear
That when all is said and done,
No one will remember us.
I say, fuck that.
Play the game.
Play to win.
Crimson sunlight bled from the sky,
Lighting up the new dusk like fire.
It was nothing to the sunset behind your eyes.
Autumn taps against the window
Cold grey and deep earth beyond
the etched glass.
Nothing for us there.
But here, warm
Our breath
Vapor like clouds
Let’s stay inside
And let the world drown in grey.
There too they had waited
looking over the cold neon of the city.
There too they had splashed paint
across the future and the empty walls
in the face of every one
who said they wouldn’t make it.
That they should be ashamed.
It was a different world
she thought to herself as she waited
now alone.
A different time.
Paint me a picture,
of us.
Awash in the cold blues
and warm yellows of summer.
Paint me a picture
of us before
it wasn’t us anymore.