“Your darkness does not scare me, nor will I run from you; like a star, I’m falling for the phases of your moon.”

“Ashes”, we once thought, but the embers in our eyes might have bought us time.

How do you sleep soundly, knowing you traded roses for weeds?

I am a phoenix living in a culture of vultures.

You’re preserved inside of me; cadaversque. I both acquiesce and atrophy because of it.

As if flesh and skin and hands are any match for bullets. As if bones won’t crack in hails of powder and lead. As if rivers of blood are not the direct result of trigger fingers that bend but do not break on “bad days”.

Love me until oblivion paints your portraits on my eyelids, sinking by eons into distance that never separates us.

I don’t know how to put my love down, or to keep holding too much of it.

We usually seek the divine in the sky, But religion is best found on the ground. Nature is our true creator.

When I was a child, I used to fear monsters under the bed. I have since learned that most monsters are found within. And they are always worth fighting.

I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.

To the oppressed with no seat on the table; dreaming of change and better days, I will pull up a chair, and light fires in your name.

I was looking for you in all the places our love used to be. When all along I should have been looking for me.

Some days, my mind will still be in prison, but I will live in spite of it. I unlearn how to swim; I trade my gills for lungs and wings.

I would throw down roots with you if I ever had the chance. We’d grow strong in tender shoots, and bloom in burning hands.

Creatives are neither born nor created. They are activated.

The glint of mischief in your eyes is the flint in my matchstick. Striking; always this close to igniting.

Just as darkness is sometimes defined as the absence of light, so age is defined as the absence of youth.

I adore dark chocolate.

Liberty is not less a blessing, because oppression has so long darkened the mind that it can not appreciate it.

If you enter the dark side of life, and come through it, you emerge with more strength and passion.

For me black is not dark, it’s poetic. I don’t think of gothic I think of classic – it’s a big difference.

Let no one despair, even though in the darkest night the last star of hope may disappear.

Darling, do not teach your stars to shine. Teach them how to embrace the darkness.

Remember that you have a choice in what you see. If you choose to see a person’s darkness, you strengthen your darkness within. If you choose to see their light, you shine from the inside out.