Dig out my chest a grave,  
Bury my heart a garden,  
**** out my wickedness,  
In the hopes of love to grow.  
To those falling in love;  
Falling out of it more,  
Rising out of that grave,    
    — Aren’t you a beautiful rose?

Trying to understand my identity’s subtle ideology,
hoping I could foresee my own wealth as a prophecy
—as a mind tells me I’m a prodigy.
But around certain people;
      [it’s an Anomaly.]

I pray more so to be a better leader to all
my successes, so they all can follow me,
While playing out life on time’s court; waiting
on all of my choices that judge me so much.
One day they’ll honour me,—
like raising wine glasses, after my tears cried
their red, of a harsh found maturity;
After times of losing the sense of common sense,
       [often times, known uncommonly.]

I used to live for laughs; making disrespectful jokes;
I stopped to listen to what the world had to say; —
just more disrespectful jokes in turn,
in this life of sickening comedy.
Probably why I won’t let the world force
me to be, what it wants me to be
Living as the glitch to a broken system,
for when you choose to live out of the world
      [we’re all its Anomaly.]

Surely I’d ask; that do the stars not play witness to a love’s beauty:
the belief in  the power of love that runs deep, like the air
we rely on to survive.

It feels like a faith in the unseen forces that sustain us; we have faith in our connections— a testament to the unwavering trust we have, even when faced with the unknown.

Oh, how each passing day can either divide or bring us much closer; seemingly creating a somewhat perfect balance between us—  two halves of a whole, each complementing the other in the ways no else can.

Seems to be a task; navigating through the seasons of every new found relationship; the weight of both parties’ mistakes, all serves as a reminder of the lessons we’ve learnt. Or rather the reminder of our human side. For our present self in thought, faces the future with sometimes a renewed sense of hope, and a determination to cherish and protect that we’ve now built.  

Brick by brick; I lay the depth of my soul, as I yearn for that deeper understanding of the purpose behind any love. — Searching for meaning and clarity, so too, seeking for guidance from a higher power.

Still, I must quarrel with myself.

For the seconds you’d spend with a lover, are as fleeting as a shooting star across the night sky; effortlessly slipping away— quietly turning into the short minutes we try to weave together in the hopes of making it the story of our lives.

Sigh, another love lived, serves as another love that will eventually leave, — and so, another chapter in the story of one’s life.

You’d say it’s the last of your lust,
“Still would we stay strong, and not bust when I bust”
Even when the feeling of wanting to party,
comes around partly,
Hardly though, according to a recent thought, —
I’m a little box-shaped heart; of my love’s accordion.

And as soon as someone finds a nut in a nutshell;
it would be coming from a hard external covering,
before busting another nut.
A cruel notion that what usually ***** the most,
is the most you’re forced to swallow.

Just as *** sells; ***** intentions sort of smells,
—making sense of any humor, chasing after a laugh.
Though I’m quite convinced that the woman wants one
extra arrival, while the man is the first one to come.
    “You hear it as an awkward after laugh”

The feeling was premature; a broken timing for a
jack in the box—a story of premature *******.

Mother earth, oh mother earth; may I cherish
these precious moments of such an outstanding woman
— in these delicate grains of sand slipping through an eye’s hourglass.
For all will pass by as quickly as the gentle whisper, but the love of a
mother is undying, in all its outspoken words in these countless days.

Even as time dances forward, I fervently hope
that through it all, my dearest mother, shall I always
remember your love, joy, and peace, withstanding the test
of these countless days.

Carelessly putting your smile on display, as the portrait
of constantly looking towards brighter days.
A mother’s radiant happiness, becomes the focal point,
brightening up even the darkest corners of these countless days.

For if I could express all the thankfulness, I have of you
each day, it would all be countless in these countless days.
Happy Mother’s Day.

As I steal a glimpse of the clock's dance,
A yearning swells within, a fleeting chance.
Moments slip through my grasp, like sand they flow,
Tick-tock, they whisper, time won't slow.

The hands move ceaselessly, a gentle plea,
To remind me that time won't wait for me.
No pause, no respite, it marches on,
Ignoring my plea for serenity's song.

She had dried my eyes with a strand of hair. Stranded.
Searching for a reply of care, her calmly gaze had
made my face so fragile— as hers was made up a vase,
Smiles that came from clay, shaped in all manners of display;
dependent on those who seen her wilted flowers on display.