Vulnerable

I know that no one really cares

If those people that they stare at

Really live it die or roam the streets

Wondering if there lives are nothing

Like the ones that “normal” people

live, but I am one who cares for those

Ego less souls who feel more than

Those who think they are more

Do not make me make you see

Those who you think are less

Because you w...

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The way I write…
I brainstorm twenty titles
words or phrases
that sound good to me
that subconsciously
already feel like parts of me
then I refine them
and refine them
pile them up around my feet

And when I’m in the mood to write
I’ll either start writing
(with aim or aimlessly)
until I get stuck
then I grab a title
work it in the lock
release whatever’s hidden
(and it feels good...

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 Our thoughts are squat frogs sploshing around in the foggy marsh of our minds. A croak here, a croak there, then they disappear into murkiness plopping up later, random and undetermined to splosh and croak some more.

Oh! that they were leaping salmon heading up through swirls and rocky torrents, progressing against currents and foam; the fish and river sparkling in the sun. Achieving at last ...

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Thought ought to be,

Pure, precise and princely.

Sadly, mostly,

It's a battered ball, but, bit, batted about,

Deformed - to conform - to today's haze.

Thus, inevitably, it's always somewhat crazed.

But still, thought ought to be.

So let me leave you with this one:

Where do yours come from?

A Definition

To think is

To sink into,

To link into,

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I wish the abyss would stop looking back at me.
I look in the mirror and I swear that's all I see.
Not a monster but a void I cant escape.
I was born with a heart but it seems mishaped.

Someday I swear I'm going to leave this place.
Find my way to the light that people praise.
But for now I think it's better if I hang my head.
Bite my tongue and drink until I just forget.

I don't know ...

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Hold me while I fall apart

the little things I say as we sit by the waterside 

my memories start to slip away like the waves up on the bay 

 what is he who comes to my side?

all the bad things start to fade away 

take it away I say as he holds my hands

broken dreams, making plans 

hold me I’m falling apart

this feeling surely cannot last by the waterside  

JC

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Translation of my Arabic Poem (“The Choice”) 

Who, in the World, chooses his birth? 
Who chooses his family and children? 
Who chooses his fate and country? 
Who chooses the time to go to heaven? 

But it is possible to choose our day 
To sincerely care about family and work 
This will be the first right step to our future 
To achieve our goals while we're alive 

Your name and countr...

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Happiness, in hands for you.

If you decided, not to be sad.

As a cup of water, to drink.

To clean your thoughts, to be glad.

Sadness, does not need to broach.

It always knocks, worried heart.

But Happiness, with a golden coach.

Asks, to ride happiness cart.

The Brain is yours, “to make use”.

Positively, think of your own.

Feel your value, never abuse.

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Part of my disorder

is that consistancy isn't real

every day is a wave that I am forced to ride

I want to grab each day by the horns

I don't want to be on a ride anymore

I want to be the driver

I want to set the pace of my days 

I will see a time where this is my present

and not just a fantasy

I will have control over my life

one day

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As I rush to the future the past hangs on

 like a long day on a summer day. The need for self endulgenment urges to keep going. Dont look back it say as a rush of memories go by . Times up it says.

 The outside is not connected with the

 inside and they are separated by decades of urgency . So much to change so much to do. so much to make up for with no energy to move ... 

rush rush! t...

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