“The child within; raised voice; fast heart; flinches. Flight response, with an attitude and broken hinges. The child within; tiptoes; eggshells. Heaven; hell. Still, she finds a quiet place, safe and tranquil; dwell.”

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?

My bloody hands that hold on to faith. Learned that we grow with pain and not age.

The only way I’ll ever choose to taste sweet love again, Is if he tells me, he loves my mind, and the way I use my pen.

All my trauma grown to thorns, he overlooked it all. Perhaps they caused him to bleed in ways I can’t recall.

After the flood, the colors were brightened demand tears of pain to feel so enlightened. Lassoed hope from the clouds that caused it to rain, divine intervention to feel love again.

Perception is the paintbrush. The reality, the canvas. You are the artist. Create purposefully.

On my worst days, I give the devil hell. On my best day, I hold a light for God to dwell.

I hold a trembling fire in my heart, to burn the ghosts of broken regrets.

With the right attitude, self imposed limitations vanish.

Don’t think I’m going off to find myself though. I already know who I am.

I am not a person you will find twice.

Just remember that, ultimately, dressing is always about attitude, feeling comfortable and confidence.

Attitudes are the Reflection of thoughts.

Whatever energy you bring imma to match it.

That damn fire she was so proud of, burnt her own bones.