“Poetry is a feeling, a feeling of healing.”

To those who say self-love is selfish, you are either hunted or haunted.

It’s unconditional; their chemistry is unconditional – forever.

Poetry is a pleasure to your pressure.

I never understood flowers until I met you.

Fall is the rise.

At times being oblivious keeps me more alive in this chaos.

You hit the soft spot of me making my heart skip a beat.

You are my tamed fire in the wind.

Poetry is a home, a home with joy.

No pain no worries only the beating of our hearts.

If I had wings and could fly I’d fly all seas to see your unseen beauty amid the whispers of love.

Everything seems to be a design – a mixture of prejudice and injustice – the limbo of silence.

Without you, my heart will be full of weeds.

We love to live with sweet lies until reality touches the edges, of those sweet lies.

Into you, like the sun embraces the moon – a beautiful eclipse.

Loneliness is an art shaped by self-love.

I’m not one of these people that needs to feel loved. I don’t need to see my picture everywhere.

I never felt like I had a mother.

We must never say, even in fun, that we are disheartened, because someone might take us at our word.

Whenever you feel unimportant, unloved, or insecure, remember to who you belong.

I like to know that when I’m 90 years old, I’m going to be able to look at a song or poem I wrote and say, “Wow! I remember I was so crazy about this person,” or “I remember what that day felt like.”

Feelings have the answer for words we don’t know how to speak.

It feels so good to know the insanity of our love is real.

I love fashion – I really feel it’s where I belong.