Only good

I wanted to so hard,

And a part of me

Has died inside.

I listened to my mother,

Decided

Left, 

with the pack,

And regret every moment.

I turned away

From true love.

And before 

I only knew

Myself.

A long time ago,

Someone very close,

Did the same to me.

So now I know,

What it was like

To be in her shoes.

Except

I could never 

Be as brave

To drive 100 miles

To say 

I don't love you anymore. 

Because even though I did

I still want to

Go back.

But I meant to.

Look

At

Only good.

No end

I can't turn back time
just like my word
too much pride.
never going back
where I came from.

No words

Can describe

The sorrow 

Of something 

That has no end.

the lines we draw

I fell off the face of the Earth
and like all life,
1% rises again.

rebirth
of a new age
every cell is completely new
from seven years ago
drawing the future
from silent thoughts
burning the bridges
thinking of things to do
on the way home.
At least they are my decisions
and I can't make the same mistakes.

9/7/2015 6:06pm

The misconception of being an artist isn't being famous or clean but restless and messy. I got that idea from my brother when he said the most well respected artists were not artists first, but had jobs and lives that gave the experiences and hardships that were later expressed in their art. Where were we when we spent so long "finding ourselves" is like the feeling of creating a masterpiece that nobody understands and that is fulfilling to me. I can no longer follow anyone else's journey for I am holding my sanity by a thread, like a kite behind me and I can hide it really well. I believe I can control the wind, the sea is my consciousness, and the wind makes every little ripple in the water. Every ripple makes another ripple and a bigger one which becomes uncontrollable. Calm ocean almost like a marble slate I can walk onto the horizon with my hands in my pockets looking down at my reflection.

paintings are never finished, only abandoned

I have paintings that are not yet finished,
with thoughts and dreams and memories in every stroke
in a timeless moment which can tell a different story to a bystander
and I shed the most tears
like a crocodile like a beast like a man
like a tree cut down with no one to listen to
behind the scenes are the best memories
the secret is to do it for yourself
which makes art the ripest fruit
that sits highest from the tree.

quiet one

The one who does nothing
sits like a seed
waiting to grow
still like the stars
standing pseudo
under the inglewood night sky
guiding the planes
safely to their little lives
awaiting for their turn
to be something.
like the tracks
off a dusty fence.
like the pain
of the act of starting
a dream.

Not Me

In some of the most negative moments,
are just inevitable circumstances,
to know thyself, even if you are
what you never wished to be.
the sky tears and none knows
it grows a forrest
I'm walking into.
and grown old
out of my bed
forgetting anyone to love
sit on the rooftops
and look at the stars
falling in love with the wrong people.