As I rode the subway, I took interest in the people around me and wrote little pieces of each person.

Long hair, greased with no products
Just a simple man wealthy with problems

A tube of pink lipstick, coating her lips
But no man to wipe it off with

4-inch heels; painted red bottoms
but no label reading Louis Bouton

tailor suit, always paying the cover
Till he goes home to the basement of his mothers

Class clown, winning the word with his jokes
Social anxiety covering the real hoax

Instagram-friendly couple of the year
Pictured smiles practiced in the mirror

Weed leaf socks, cool kid to all of his friends
But little do they know, that joint will transcend

skinny but full, her protruding bones disagree
A shadow of her future if she continues to feed

He dips his toes into success and prepared to dive-in
Until the veil of truth fell from the glittery abyss

Is it true, is it true
what happened to you



The questions of love


When i get asked about love, it’s never the right questions.

Does love have a good job with an above average income? An income you can eventually take half of? A car worth triple your life savings and a mansion with a 5 car garage? Does love wear tailored suits or jackets lined with fox corpses? Oh and love better come from a good family with an even better bank account! Does love pay for all of your meals and shower you with gifts?  Did you find your true love?

These are the questions I am surrounded by, because love to some is a synonym for stability, convenience and comfort.

They don’t ask me if love does everything in his power to make me feel beautiful.They don’t ask if love tries to make me happy even when circumstances are rough. They don’t want to know about the butterflies that fill my stomach or the smile he puts on my face. God forbid they ask if love is trustworthy and loyal. They don’t take into account how love drops his pride for forgiveness or travels 3 hours by bus just to see my face.

Love has many definitions but unfortunately some exclude genuine happiness as one.

Ain’t it beautiful, how ugly life can be?


Ain’t it beautiful, how ugly life can be?
How a smile so radiant can hide a shadow so dark
Or a cigarette so deadly forms smoke like rising art
Withered rose pedals beginning to stray,
A truthful view of beauties habit never to stay
A book ripped and ruined from reading in every corner
But that decayed book tells more than one story
Ain’t it beautiful, how ugly life can be?
Sacrificing our health for memories we won’t remember
Laughing at the vulnerability of a man so tender
The quick rush of adrenaline, never worth the guilt
Or the degrading experiences ruining the persona you’ve built
The undying love for a man drowning in his own vanity
And the euphoria before hitting the brink of insanity
Ain’t it beautiful, how ugly life can be?



Why are we created in confusion?
Made to live a life spent questioning everything around us; everything we see, everything we hear, everything we feel.
Is it our destiny to spend eternity searching for these despairing answers?
Or instead to roam free,
And the fact that we are not aware of our objective
Is what makes life worth pursuing.
We can continue life, swerving through the labyrinth of question marks.
Finding comfort in what our society labels as comfortable,
Being the person society says we are,
Trying to keep our balance on this type rope.
Or we can find our own path
It may be hard to follow, a little dangerous at times.
But this path full of jumps, ducks and the odd fall from tripping over a loose question
Is what freedom really is.
Avoiding what will never be certain,
And instead creating your own meaning to life.
And once we figure out these “answers”
We will realize they were never really worth questioning.



In a crazy world

Where anxiety doesn’t exist. Repression, depression and all those words that attach weights to the bottoms of our feet are nothing but a nightmare that exist only when our eyes shut. A place revolved around encouragement, confidence and equality. Where everything and everyone has a place and being humble is a natural innate thing that comes with birth; like hunger and hydration. Where our conscience only consists of an angel on each shoulder, whispering breathless soliloquies that keeps your head high and the ceilings higher. When money is just a bonus and not a goal, and inspiration isn’t a Google search away. When walking into the sunlight does not make us squint and run into the shade, but instead embrace and bathe in with the hopes that it will shine brighter than our iPhones. Where staring at a garden in physical form brings a satisfaction that doesn’t need to be photographed and publicized, but rather a solitude bliss that only your eyes and that moment deserve. Showing your children attention isn’t considered throwing an iPad in their laps, but a baseball and a glove to form bonds that don’t require a Facebook friend request as reassurance. Instead of drugs being the only resort to temporarily block out the pain, we instead cope the natural way that forms a stronger layer around the broken areas. When the media encourages beauty to be different and much more than just a muscular, flawless, tall, trendy, narrow-minded silhouette of inaccuracy. A place where monsters are only under our beds instead of in our heads.

Like I said, a crazy world.

Infinite money buys happiness?


“Money buys happiness”

one of the most controversial lines known to man. To me, money brings temporary happiness. Anyone who is financially stable can walk into a store knowing they are able to afford as much as they’d like and spoil themselves to the core. To me, the feeling of walking into a store with a limited amount of money can bring a happiness that no infinite amount can bring. As a kid, i was always put in those positions, constantly wishing i’d get lucky and find a 50 on the ground. My luck never changed, but now i am grateful for that. I remember the feeling of walking through the aisles with only the sound of my allowance clinging in my pocket, reminding me of my limited choices. I had this love for animal figurines, but finding affordable ones was my biggest problem. The second i’d see one an array of emotions rushed through me. The most dominant was hope and excitement for the item meeting my price limit. When i found out i could afford it, that I was able to take it home to my collection, i don’t think anything could of brought me more happiness. To me there is a big difference between the happiness of knowing you could buy all the figurines that the store has to offer, and the happiness of finding one unexpectedly that you will cherish and appreciate because you walked into the store not knowing if you can afford something that special at all.



A bucket. The only metaphorical way that helps me understand the growth of a person. A bucket starts off empty and clean. Eventually the bucket will be filled, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. constantly filled with different liquids or solids. Most of the time it can leave debris from its past, overlapping other substances or mixing together. Over time this bucket will ware out and become effective on how well it works.

A baby. Born into confusion with pure innocents and an empty bucket. Growing up you get yourself -or get thrown- into situations that effect the way you perceive and deal with things. These types of experiences leave its remains that eventually start building up. Everyone grows up getting filled to the rim with these incidents that haunts their every action, sometimes influencing it on others. So we carry around these buckets, straining our backs to avoid building the strength to just empty them. Some ignore it, let it eat away at their mind without even realizing the damage its doing.The only problem is, we cant go out and buy a new bucket, the most we can do is free ourselves from the heavy load or throw a lid on it.

The worst pain of all


The worst pain of all is knowing the person who blooms a rose inside you.
Merely roots a cactus, pricking any intimate truth.Edit Edit date and time
She looks at him like an abstract mural, painted by her imagination.
But when he looks at her, she is just a in-the-line sketch, traced and imitated.
She loves to admire every wrinkle that forms at the curve of his smile.
And as her own smile peeks, his delicate eyes stay dull and hostile.
You both live different fates as midnight hits and the ceiling is her muse.
But he lye’s with his eyelids slowly shutting, content with what is true.
She wishes the roof was transparent to compare him to the moon.
Wondering which brings more light in the darkest of views.
But as he looks up, only the stars is what he sees.
knowing that there are hundreds more spread all over the galaxy.
She hates thinking of the day he will come to realize how she truly feels.
knowing she will be tossed out of his life with just their memories at her heels.
But she knows she will be okay because her imagination is all she’s ever had.
She will be looking up at her ceiling, picturing the day he will come back.

Put your phone down after reading this


The accuracy with life’s expectancy is fading away with every life you see
The things you see on your tv are all propaganda and imaginary
What we need to see is the truth of technology and our deteriorating creativity
Because life will never live up to be what the media is trying to force feed
The only reason kids will ever step on the grass and leaves is because they lost track from staring at their hypnotizing screen
The only reason a teen may go out to eat is to post a picture to gain likes for all the rest to see
And soon these teens will be older and see that their children’s childhood will be replaced with the constant need
To build their confidence by staring into a glass screen that will predict if they will be accepted into society
Yes I’m contradicting because I am a product of this scheme
But now I know what to blame when my child feels to incompetent to just be.



There’s a lunatic running around in my brain.
he camouflages in my thoughts which makes him impossible to maintain.
No matter the lengths I got to eliminate him, he always comes back.
The minute I doubt the truth is his favorite attack.
He continuously tells me story’s to convince me of the worst.
My stupidity on handling the situation is the feedback he thirsts.
The worst of feelings come as I realize he’s won again.
But the situation has gone to far for it to mend.
So I let him do it, let him eat away at my trust.
Ruining any potential relationship with just a fragile touch.
I let him stay, told him make himself at home.
Because as insane as it may sound, it’s better than being alone.