Mon, 02/10/2020 - 22:53 -- helenes

i am no stranger to controversy and autumn.

i find peace in changing colors and falling into the arms of

women still learning to hold newborns correctly.

i am the result of that kiss.


the moment butterflies make love faintly beneath concrete and find a rose grew from those cracks.

you and i both, are the caterpillars.

in transition, i came to this conclusion that heaven is a thing of the mind, my friends.

we are beings of vibrations and resistance;

moderation is our new home.

choice is exactly what it is-

just another place to choose from,

and instincts often correspond better when parallel to new introductions.

one must first understand option in order to make choice,

otherwise, blind picks.


but let me help you by saying this;

nothing is final until it is,

and even then; growing pains become defiant and we begin to doubt ourselves.

we grow tired and go wrong,

but we learn.

we lose, we cry, we lose again,


we come home and find shape into being.

this is how people are made.

this is metamorphosis; the birthright in the ability we all have to spring back into shape.


i know growth divulges pain and reality misuses breath,

but slow it down.

become familiar with infinity, and see completely open in acceptance for the mind.


as usual, time unveils precision and you may find beliefs being closer than your truth.

i am not anything more than what you think your fingers can touch,

i am not anything more than what you think your eyes can see,

yet i hold everything you have led your mind to believe i am.

therefore, i am.


i have seen mothers bare children in backseats with hallow prayer for every push.

babies cry their first war but they live.

they breathe

for they too understand struggle and secrets buried underneath the village of a mother’s tongue

and a wise man saying, you should listen more.

i am the child-state of ears in adolescent molding into understanding

but i cannot be grabbed.


today, what i cherish most is knowing that i can share last names with the wind

and cradle honor of mothers natal by the same sun.

i have learned to become a sponge and absorb where i can with whatever life gives,

so i try not downplay how distant we all are.


there approaches a time in life when appetite becomes more than just an acquired taste of the tongue

and hunger is no longer a cry for the body to be filled with substance,

but a search for a drive, an intimacy with your soul and spiritual connection.


and this, this is where you are.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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