Viva La Revolution

These words are my retreat.
I live surrounded by
greyness,
uniformity,
bleakness,
and sameness.
These words...
These runny-ink compositions are my welcomed veil.
They are my warmth and my color.
They are my declaration to be pink instead of grey!
So I will go on sucking my inspiration through
a little blue straw,
because a small conduit of inspiration is better than none at all.
Because in the end, little blue straws are what make us alive.
The outlet of inspiration is what keeps us sane,
and allows for our resistance against the grey.
Make war with the bleak!
Pick up our pen and drink in life!

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Mag

Even in my dreams you blind me.
Not the kind of blind that takes away sight;
but the kind of blind that, taken breathless by a sight
attracts attention to that great sight in such a way
that nothing else can be seen.
For, your colors are the only true colors.
Your contrast stands out against the blackness
like a sunshine of bright eyes,
and waves of hair that inspired the ocean itself.
And now, what of me?
I stumble around unsatisfied;
for, having seen a sight so blinding,
my vision remains imprinted with you.
So now, neither in this world,
or the one made of dreams,
can I ever have an unclouded view.
For you pump through my veins
and haunt my skin's very pores,
and my vision is blinded by you.

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Atlas

You map out my world
on your shoulders.
From the curls on your neck
to the small of your back,
you carry my world.
Hurled by your hips
into the deepest seas of longing,
I thirst for you.
With the hue of your skin
as my motivation,
I will follow your compass's rose
to the fountain of youth,
and be made
newly yours.

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When my heartbeat became you.

I had my rythym perfect.
I had the beat and time written
for my life, with no inhibitions.
But then I met your eyes.
Winded by a soul
more beautiful than sound,
they pierce, and glow,
and stop the world
as if it were ordinariness.

Now, my heartbeat has stopped,
and to my alarm,
so has my "me-ness".
My organ's thump
became a lump unformed but beautiful,
and fired by a love more fiery than night
the unformed thing took shape
as your eyes.

You have become my heartbeat,
and it has become you.
You pump my veins with rythym
and soul.
Alas,
my broken song
is finally whole.

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Across this desert
Of muffled cries,
My beloved waits with Summer's eyes.
Her lips are the sweetest red wine,
And i am longing for drunkenness.

The only thing I know to say.

"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul...

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way..."

- Pablo Neruda

Love gives you a face.

The hustle and bustle
around me
hustles and bustles
endlessly.
A thousand somebodys surround me,
and I have become
another faceless somebody,
another taken parking space,
another mass of breathing matter.
A hundred eyes glance away from me,
a dozen smile hello,
but no one sees.
No one cares to see.
The world around me overlooks faces,
but love gives you a face.

The mall stores bustle
with girls in large sunglasses
and thick mascara;
masks for their insecurities.
Popularity tells them to mask themselves,
but love gives you a face.

Love sees eyes for what they are;
the truest mirrors of the soul.
Love smiles at the curve of your nose,
and your forgotten facial hair.
Love sees the little red blemishes
and dances with delight
for the simple pleasure of having seen them,
for they are what make you,
you.

Our souls cringe and hide
when a mirror reflects us
back to us.
Our lonely hearts tell us to
hide away.
But love gives you a face.