“Poetry runs through tired veins reviving once sleeping souls.”

When I met my darkness clouds | swirled the night sky | refracted light danced in the wild eyes | freedom came for me.

I don’t want the world but I want you in mine.

I will remain soft in a world marked by hardness.

You were waiting for the sunset while I was longing for the moonrise.

If hearts are our homes, why do we let others break windows and throw stones?

Whole, loved and worthy just as you are.

From each scar today bloom the flowers of a kinder tomorrow.

You are already more than enough.

Don’t reorient yourself to fit in to an upside down world.

Let’s get perfectly lost recklessly joyful, let’s rest a while in this sweet reverie.

Love me as a storm would rage full force or not at all.

You keep planting sympathy in rows meant for empathy and I’m here picking weeds with tears in my eyes.

Tend to your own garden and watch the beauty you begin to see in others.

Less rushing, more lingering. Less distraction, more noticing. Less comparison, more gratitude.

Stars fell in our eyes the night sky our canvas, we painted the moon red.

I was always looking at you.

Solitude produces originality, bold and astonishing beauty, poetry. But solitude also produces perverseness, the disproportianate, the absurd and the forbidden.

Our love lives forever In the land of lost poetry.

Whatever else anyone says he was, he may have been. But Tupac really was a great American artist. The passage of time allows us to see things as they really are: We see the poetry; we see the personality; we see different sides.

Poetry was my gateway drug to you.

Poetry is only born after painful journeys into the vast regions of thought.

Love is the poetry of the senses.

Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous – to poetry. But also, it gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.

Wit, like poetry, is insusceptible of being constructed upon rules founded merely in reason. Like faith, it exists independent of reason, and sometimes in hostility to it.