The Rose That Blooms in the Night

Self-worth is a funny thing
Most days it’s like trying to see myself
Through a funhouse mirror
And believing my warped reflection
Is the person standing here
I’m waiting for the day my perception becomes clear
But reality is a trick of the senses
That my mind tries to define
When reality is undefinable
And looks different through every eye

This is the one and only time the world will have a chance to know you

No one like you has ever existed or will ever exist again. I’ll say it again: no one like you has ever existed or will ever exist again

has ever existed or will ever exist again. I’ll say it again: no one like you has ever existed or will ever exist again

Unravel the Hurt Inside

I sat with an elder who handed me a string

And told me to tie a knot for every person I have hurt

The first knot I tied was for myself

If that knot did not exist

There would be none after it

what she was not.

“I am not my name.

I am not my body.

I am not my lover.

I am not my art.

I am not my bank account.

I am not my past.

I am not who you think I am.

I am not even who I think I am.”

The artist uses their madness

To fuel the flames of their imagination

Look to how we are treating our women

If you want to know how we are treating our world

I try but find myself disappointed again

By the shallow intentions of these men

They dream of nights spent skin to skin

But they do not dare touch the heart within