“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say – Do I see, what is me? Or did his eyes lead me astray?”

Abstruse spite bleeds from their mouth. I hear the venom, It’s screaming so loud, And yet so benign Reaction, not roused Their “nasty”, so nice The beast lost its shroud.

Clutching a burning match, he said “look, and she’ll explode”. Ignored the gas he poured; his match caused my implode.

We shined a light through our flaws to our internalistic plea. Emphasized the healing that shall set our lost souls free. We were a brief reflection of what we should not be.

You, a God I worshipped Your word was music to my ears Rose-tinted glasses: verdict You confirmed all my worst fears.

The highest love. Highest power. I will let you in. Devour this anguish, I’m harboring, all to you, surrendering.

Endless consumption will not make you feel whole suffer, stained items are not good for the soul.

She’ll find peace in the solitude, in the depths of the well. The darkness alludes to how far she fell. And perhaps, the view is better from way down afar, It keeps the water still In her reservoir.

Move from reactionary; seek neutrality. It’s the only way to truly be free.

My mother used to say “Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today” I say What can you do today to make the world a better place?

I survived the darkness. Crawled. Clawed. Endured. Untangled lies from truth. This wisdom is my sword.

I am worthy and steely. I will conquer again. Truth as my armor; My sword is my pen. Tell me I can’t and I’ll show you I will surviving and thriving is my refined skill.

He always preferred the way my eyes looked after they had cried. I wish he knew how fine they looked once he had said goodbye.

Cultural identity; warped and changed. Each of you thinks the other is to blame, It’s created this way, yet we all play a role. We could stop it today if we felt the truth in our souls.

Contemplation; intrinsic. I am aligned perception. A, perfected plan. I am ferocious and tranquil. Rising. Pain to power. Alchemic. Energising

How many wounds can you convert to wisdom? How much pain to power can you permute and fathom? This is your story; rewrite how it’s written.

Why do I see in a world gone blind? I always longed to find the answers, took chances. Asked for the veil to thin. Fault? Mine. Left questioning; my eyes, blessings or curses?

I trust my instincts. I don’t distrust them. They haven’t led me astray. It’s when I’ve made up my mind to be efficient that is when I have gone wrong.

Hanifs (Muslims) are stumbling, Christians all astray Jews wildered, Magians far on error’s way.

Mortals have made up their minds to name two forms, one of which they should not name, and that is where they go astray from the truth.

No matter how astray the becoming might be, I’ll never search for the old in me.

The need to understand everything can lead us far astray.