“Be careful, her hell is lovely, dark, and deep until she weeps.”

There are parts of me that beg him to devour all of me.

The art of harvesting pain – poetry.

Poetry is not a cure for sadness but it makes the pain bearable.

I’m laying bare still untouched by the hands I crave completely taken by words.

You didn’t need to make her cuts this deep.

She dances barefoot through the smoke upon ashes from a broken world  – she is hope.

A loving reminder at least we are lonely together.

Steal back your heart – self-love.

And then I understood you were never my rescue yet always my escape.

He may never slay a dragon but he will grow old with you begging for death to leave you alone.

And they wrapped her in darkness until she became it – Lilith.

Are you aware of the wilderness you awoke when you broke me?

Her poetry  – a sweet symphony of madness.

I just want to lay in your arms dressed in nothing but love and moonlight.

She tried building walls but a heart of fire and air breath and spirit cannot be confined.

They saw her beaten and broken I saw the birth of a warrior.

My head screamed. I want to make them burn the way they did to me. My heart cried that’s not who you are.

For years I could not cry. And I thought there was something wrong with me. Turns out I was crying after all – just not in tears.

Long ago, there was something in me, but now that thing is gone. Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more.

My pain is from craving to feel your skin locked in mine while you cry out for more.

It is always much easier, I have discovered, to make people cry or gasp than to make them think.

Sometimes we need the salt of tears to remind us how to savor the sweetness of life.

Stop crying, keep hustling.

Nobody deserves your tears, but whoever deserves them will not make you cry.