Ghosts.

"There were ghosts of her in the eyes of everyone who loved her"

The type of girl that doesn't have a 'type', the type that is so unique that boys are left speechless trying to describe her and girls are left dumbfounded trying to trick her- spoiler alert: there is no way to trick her. 

Dear Owls, saviors.

Sometimes, things change and you stand at a cross road, wondering where you went wrong.
Sometimes, you change and you're left with the doubt; "Has it been a change to the better or worse?"
Other times, you just stand so still that you manage to see your future dance alongside you, swaying to the mistakes you'll make and smile because they are perfect mistakes that will drag you to your success one day. You watch as your words slide off your past's tongue like pasta being eaten in reverse and you cry.
You cry because you wish you never told anyone that you'll be there for them. You wish you never told anyone you'll love them forever because sometimes when no one's looking, you feel like you're a disappointment. You can't be there for the person who needs you the most and there's nothing you can do about it. You can't smile for those who need to see you happy because that's really not how life works.
So, when everyone is asleep and you're left alone with your thoughts, you feel the constant buzzing of things gone wrong. You tell yourself that it's not your fault because you can't save everyone; but shouldn't you be able to save those who matter?
And when all your thoughts are screaming in your mind, your eyes searching for a shelter, your ears pounding from the voices, you stop for a moment and take in the beautiful disaster. You watch as the black and white memories develop colors and you see that life will move on. You see that your past is really just your past. Black and white will only be dull for so long, until someone grabs some crayons and fixes the unfinished masterpiece.
You realize that you can't keep worrying about saving everybody or even those who you promised you'll rescue because if you're out saving the world- who's going to save you?

Life is good, dear owls.
I hope one day mine will make an awesome difference in someone else's.

Yours always,
Me.

Poem || Lines.

Along the lines of good and bad,

I choose the tangent crossing.

I choose to be both of two,

Commit the murder, but without watching

Along the lines of good and bad,

I did not like the line.

I wanted all that evil offered,

Whilst being kind.

Along the lines of good and bad,

I was on the edge.

To tip into the boiling sin

But surfing on a sledge

Along the lines of good and bad

There still is not a cure

To want to be so wicked

With a heart so pure

So what does one do now?

What does one say?

When all that the world is reaching for

Is a little too cliché

I want to be a rebel

That draws inside the lines

That makes the picture perfect

But not be so confined

Along the lines of good and bad

I pleaded to be unique

To be the angel that I am

But not seem so weak

Dear Owls, city lights.

Dear Owls, 

Somewhere on this round planet we found our lives on, there are people with souls blown in them. There are doctors, engineers, singers, dancers and writers. Hidden beyond the greed and hunger of rich men, there are those of us who try to get past a bad day by simply connecting again. Connecting to ourselves, to each other and even to the world. 

Somewhere among thousands of lands claimed by men that died over the years, there is a country with bright lights and tourism sites. There is a picture-perfect image sold to people who don't live there and people believe this is where they will/must find happiness. There are pictures of smiling children all over billboards and commercials, screaming out to desperate souls that are needing for love and attention. Desperate souls that need to feel young again; we're all children on the inside, we just got bigger externally as time passed. People come here to feel "alive" again, paying thousands of whatever the currency is to make their hearts pound like fists of angry protesters. They need to feel their hearts again. 

Somewhere in this country, there is a city. A city with broken hearts that did not find what they were looking for, just a bunch of lost souls with no compass because the commercials they had didn't have warnings.

Disclaimer: whatever you see in this well acted skit and on the well dressed, badly paid actors may not truly exist in real life. Your love life will not become better if you eat our tropical lies and swim in our artificial beaches that have been cleaned to ensure you don't get stung by jelly fish- life does that for you. Whatever you see in this propaganda we put together within weeks, will not last a life time. It will not give you "The BEST deal in town!" and it probably won't "Make you WISHING you lived here." 

Because, somewhere in this city there is a girl that actually lives here. She has never seen what her neighbor looks like and has one friend in her apartment sized life. In this city, there are so many bright lights, but none of them light a spark in her, none of them enlighten her life and to her, all the lights seem to flicker out and die eventually. She sees labor change the grass every week because it's plastic, she watches are they rip the old grass out from the soil and replace it with newer one, so new tourists can marvel at just how amazing this synthetic view is. Sometimes, she wishes she was grass, sometimes, she thinks she already is, sometimes, she worries she will be.

Somewhere on this planet, there is a child that grew up too fast to become a women, to please herself and others. There is a passion waiting to burst out of the pages of her diary, there is a song waiting to melt out of her mouth only to mold itself into a wax candle. She will lift a stand of betrayed grass that lost tourists once marveled at and use it as a wick for her exquisitely flawed candle and she will use the raging fire of little girls who got called names by those they trusted the most to light it up. She will light her candle because it makes her feel whole. She will light her perfectly imperfect creation because it brings her graceful thoughts, mediocre hope and glittering eyes at the side of her bed, wishing that this light never goes out.

She will light her candle because maybe city lights were never her thing.

Dear Owls, something good.

Dear Owls, 

For the longest time, things haven't been going my way and they still aren't, but I'm changing my look on things. If I don't pick my shit up, it's just going to make everything smell really bad. 

Besides, this blog could use a little 'happy'. 

One of my older poems was called "Heart Attack" 

My latest one is called "Heart Beat" 

Something good is going to happen, and if it doesn't, I'll make my own fate. 

You're always, 

 Me.

Ps: If you're reading this, I want to thank you. This blog doesn't really work if nobody's reading it. No matter who you are and what snack you're binging on or what twisted destiny caused you to click on my blog and read it; thank you. 

You're welcome to send me an email if you're feeling generous. Tell me how the weather is in your side of town, or not. There's nothing like hiding behind a computer screen... I should know, right? :)

Poem || Heartbeat

There are three reasons why people jog:

1. They wish to lose weight

2. They wish to have alone time 

3. They need to feel their heart again

For the longest time, I've focused on number one. I never even cared about the other two reasons, 

Until 

One day, I realized I needed a new hiding place.

Far away from the drama that everyone seems to have, and 

Far away from everything I can't run away from

So, I pretend. 

I'm on the treadmill and 

I close my eyes. 

I imagine my problems chasing after me. 

But I don't run away from them because, I'm not that fast

So I learn to run with them 

And befriend my problems like they were my 

Cup of coffee

Did I mention I hate coffee these days? 

But that's beside the point. 

Ask me what happens when you run with your problems?

You start to run faster because
You can now look past your past 

Like what happened doesn't matter and what will be is far more important

Like a pair of wings you never knew 

You could grow 

And so, I run so fast

I'm talking ultrasonic speed that I went back in time 

And I saw myself running 

Again and again and 

Again 

Then I stopped to catch my breath, and I feel it. 

Pounding like marching bands in London Square 

Announcing the Queen's arrival

I feel it. 

Singing like girls in the orphanage that never got a home 

Tap dancing in Hollywood's best theater

Screaming like women in labor 

Howling like the babies coming out of them

Gambling like poker on 

Tuesdays 

When you know you're dead broke 

But you still try and Oh 

I feel it.

Louder than Big Ben, Taller than Burj Khalifah 

Faster than Ultrasonic speed 

And I went back in time to feel it

Again and again and 

And 

An organ that lost its donor so many times

Due to heartbreaks and mishaps

Fights and complications 

People telling it where it can and cannot bleed

Where it can and cannot be 

What it can and cannot see 

I feel it.

Pounding in my chest, as if to say,

Run. 

Faster.

Your coffee is getting cold.