Sometimes I have to close my eyes to feel—
and when I do, the sensations leave me breathless
with wind on my skin, allowing me to slowly take it in
I waft in the experience with ease…
I feel it in the sounds—pins dropping on my ear drums,
beating until the ringing begins;
what is it?
I would close my eyes again but
I want to see the sounds.
free
I want the freedom of nudity within my soul, my essence, my words—
We pointed our fingers at each other—
while solutions made fools of us,
no reflection, no progression
same difference
I suffer from the human condition of
separation in my mind
I believe my eyes are right
in what I perceive
and I do not feel the connection
between my ache and yours
I feel torn against the put together
and the anxiety that separates me
I feel different because I choose to be
Source: iamdeeplyrooted
Life.
God forbid, we only stop to smell the flowers right before placing them on a grave..
Sometimes I want to dance and frollick in the grass on a nice day.
I want to bask in the beauty of it all but I don’t know if that’s sane…oh yes, its the little things.
I will laugh today and at the most silly thing too.
Oh and the flowers…they will smell quite divine today.
Source: iamdeeplyrooted
Mask, me.
I wore the people’s mask
—the facade of socialization.
I became a shape shifter,
turned my frowns into half smiles,
I was a liar,
all with the utterance of the words
“I am fine”
when really I was tired…
of being misunderstood
Sometimes I really don’t know whats wrong.#3
Source: iamdeeplyrooted
I know my words will never measure up
to your expectations but
I don’t use the metric system
I use my fingertips that touch these
keys to please
my undying desire to feel right,
I use these words to ignite—
a fire inside my soul and maybe finally find
my missing piece
Source: iamdeeplyrooted
If someone calls me pretty while I am dressed up, I never believe them. Or maybe I do believe their intentions but I almost want to argue with them. Almost as if they’re allowing this pretty facade to barricade their view of my soul. Maybe its crazy but I’d rather be a beautiful soul instead. I’d rather you try to see me first. This is my self worth and my confidence condensed in the most basic terms. I want the real meaning of loving me at my worst and if these clothes shroud your view of me then oh well. I’d rather be comfortable and allow my soul to breathe—why can’t they just breathe me in too?
I can’t help but feel like I’m falling—
second guessing every single commitment
until heart felt secrets turn my soul blue;
what does a wayward soul do?
Should I confess my sins or keep it moving?
I could love from a distance…
miss it
replace it with memories
reminscent of love’s bitter sweet musings
a love moving
but I could never allow myself to be loved
to breathe love and thanks the heavens above
for everything we think of
I only know so much because I went looking for answers and heard more stories than I ever fathomed. I heard and I learned. Everyone has a story. I want to share them.
