thanks for stopping by.

i promise

—Serendipity is a bitch

—be fearless

—don’t go setting yourself on fire, unless you’re running through the rain, balance is everything

It’s the truth, ain’t it.

there’s a warmth that follows in your wake. a silence that is inexcusable. you wake up and follow the sun, you wake up and trust the moon to carry the sounds of goodnight and farewell into a sweeter existence. if music didn’t exist, i probably wouldn’t be a thing that exists, that smiles, that breathes, that writes, that talks about, that exudes personality and confidence, that cries when i want to, that laughs loudly because i fucking can. there’s a warmth that follows in your dreams-- a hectic love torn down by the pages, you once asked the sleep to be sweeter than actually having to wake up. so when you woke up chasing a dream, of course you were pissed. there’s a warmth that follows in your wake, strange people napping in your car, strange music blasting through your speakers, strange people texting you just because they want something from you. but who are you really? what’s behind the glamour? does your smile bend when no one is around? do your tears fill up your palms enough times for you to trick river fish back into your palms? are you happiest when you’re alone with your tiny little florals? crafted from blood, sweat. and tears, my mama hates it when i tear at my beautiful skin. i’ve left the ink so damp and dry, i’ve let the sacred geometry bleed into my skin, i’ve been intoxicated by something more than myself. drenched in something more than what i can see with my two dark brown eyes-- drenched in a want, a need, a desperation to want to feel something more. so i laid down my words, i put my heart into the best impression of what it would feel like if the sun could say goodbyes, i’d ask the moon to write me poetry until i’m old and grey, fill up all of your craters with my laughters and let the shooting stars come down to play. there’s a warmth to your beating heart, i’ve heard your stories, you laid down your smile and asked the night to take care of everything you’ve given up on. to breathe, to just exist in a single moment-- if you existed anymore than that single moment of time, your chest would no longer produce heart beats, just silence, thumps here, thumps there. a silent that is inexcusable, i would never ask you to hush. you ask me why i’m still awake, there’s a good reason for it i promise-- the sun has always chased me back to bed, back into dreams, back to where things made sense. if today was all that it was and i’m not here by tomorrow to reap what i sowed... just know that my words will be eternal like black star-lit skies filled with wander and wonder-- if i am just this thing trying to be warm, keep my heart with you. for no matter where you keep me, i’ll most certainly know warmth to be love. and if that’s what love is, you can have that too.

—“the importance of something so insignificant to our daily lives, something as small as how many times over we count the same red petals and if it had any scars, imagining stories as to how they came to be, making shit up just because we can— the very identity of life is to create. you don’t need to be an artist, to create. you’ve always been creativity, your breaths, your hand movements, your smile is art waiting for approval and your heart is poetry waiting to be read. tread lightly, you will always find love when you least expect it my friend.”