“Beneath every scar there lies a tragedy, that we try to heal through writing poetry.”

If she lets you be a part of her life, you have to understand that she thinks you know how to deal with hurricanes.

In the nights when our souls melt together into one, even the moon blushes.

Pain shapes us into writers, it cuts our veins open like a sharp knife. But while we are about to bleed dry, we turn our blood into ink.

She cannot Conquer your demons. But she can be the guiding light, which shines through the cracks of the darkest corners of your heart to blind them.

My soul is too deep for those who do not dare to dive their head under the waters surface.

Destiny broke her, but poetry saved her.

When I write poems about my feelings for you, it seems that even my words blush.

True love should give you the taste of sugar on your lips, and not the salty aftertaste of tears.

Some people don’t even know, how precious they are. That they carry heart of gold inside their chest, and enchant us every day with their shining light.

Through writing we try to give sense to the thoughts in our heads and the chaos in our souls and the scars in our hearts.

Tonight skin on skin is not close enough. I want to feel you deep within.

Write your lustful words with the invisible ink of your tongue upon every part of my body, until my mouth begins to moan every single letter in poetry.

The most beautiful gift that a writer can receive is to know that the reader can feel the emotions in every word.

We all deserve to find that one special person, who sees and feels the rarity of our souls.

Let the moon teach you the art of scars. How beautiful you can shine, even with craters in your heart.

She plucked a feather from her magnificent wings and dipped it in ink. She wrote poems bled from her scars guided straight from the depths of her heart.

When I planted my pain in the field of patience it bore fruit of happiness.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep.

Never get bored or cynical. Yesterday is a thing of the past.

We are not victims of our situation. We are the architects of it.

You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.

I was the owner of my own darkness.

We humans have lost the wisdom of genuinely resting and relaxing. We worry too much. We don’t allow our bodies to heal, and we don’t allow our minds and hearts to heal.

Thinking is my fighting.