Love is real because I exist and I’m full of it.

Fear is what makes you human, admitting weakness means that you are strong enough to be vulnerable. To be kind in a world where everyone is desensitize is an act of bravery. Having innocence has never been a crime. It’s ok to cry and feel joy and to change. It’s ok to just exist. It’s ok to be human.

Let me stay tender hearted, despite despite despite

Mr. Puppington and his flower cart 💐

Will I ever run out of time or will I outran time?

but it’s okay… it’s a (human thing)

You sit in your throne, high and mighty. But you’re not the king, you’re just a disciple, thinking money could buy everyone. How can you expect people to love you genuinely if you hide yourself behind your ego and fame? Fame is empty, it’s nothing but a sword meant to cut you apart until you’re broken and stripped down with nothing left around you. Empty vessels running around pretending they control everything yet society only mirrors each other. Public controls progress and hierarchy makes public satisfied for money. Nothing will happen if there is division. Bitcoins will never amount to anything if it isn’t for public consumption. Advancement won’t happen if it’s only meant for the top. Nothing won’t change in the future because people are too selfish and greedy.

We are all interconnected. One small action can be a part of a bigger movement. The future is you! The future is now!

I want to love. I want to be loved and experience love. And yet I’m scared of it. Love is like a dagger. My parents once love one another and I saw them fall out of love throughout the years. What if I become like them? What if I fell in love and hurt the one I care for? How can I expect to love a person when I don’t even know what it is. Am I not deserving of it? I become so emotionally numb trying to survive in a burning house and now love feels foreign to me. I’m afraid that my love may become a violence. I refuse to hurt the people I care for. And yet I crave it, so bad sometimes my desire suffocates me.

If it’s too late for Satan, then is it too late for me?

cutie monke

I wanna sculpt, I wanna do pottery, I wanna play the piano again, I want to play the guitar, learn the chords for the nth time, I wanna learn violin, I wanna make art again. I wanna do so many things yet my body stays still. My roots are in the ground so deep, I don’t know how to get out. I’m becoming a withering tree, watching how my leaves are falling out. But I know… I know once the season pass, once I hear the birds chirp and my leaves turn to green once again, I’ll be able to breathe again. A reminder that there is comfort in the temporariness.

I am an empty vehicle with no person willing to drive;

An empty passenger seat

And a loaded tank with no set direction is meaningless

Where do I pour all this fuel inside me?

Shall I bathe myself on diesel and put myself on fire?

There I will watch as people scream as I am being reborn

As I forge myself in fire and sets my wings ablaze

A phoenix rises, a purpose set on stone;

A goal in mind with a burning passion roaring