The beauty of being broken comes from within.
It fights, it punches, it won’t let go.
The beauty of being broken.
This man, guitar in hand.
He takes on the world, knowing what he wants.
This man, guitar in hand.
Has much to fear, falls more than once
The beauty of being broken comes from within.
It fights, it punches, it won’t let go
The beauty of being broken.
So this man, guitar in hand,
Attacks life with haste and determination.
Crossing lines and testing limits.
Using the lessons learned; gaining lessons earned.
The beauty of being broken comes from within.
It fights, it punches, it won’t let go.
The beauty of being broken.
Call it depth perception, call it hindsight
Look at this man, guitar in hand.
Brought back from the dead
A new person with a stronger force.
He fills me with joy,
This man, guitar in hand.
Puts that smile on my face because he has made it.
Proven his ability, his will, and his dreams.
So open your eyes, world.
See this man, guitar in hand.
Witness his success, witness his strength.
Witness the greatness of his destiny.
The beauty of being broken comes from within.
It fights, it punches, it won’t let go.
Until this man, guitar in hand,
Grew up to be healed;
No longer broken, but whole.
-- a gift for my brother
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Strength of a Woman
The strength of a woman
Is tested by her mistakes and down falls.
Then by her ability to correct them,
Guided by humility and grace.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is proven by her decisions.
Those times she says no when she wants to say yes,
Reprimands instead of comforts,
Remains steadfast though it is easier to give in.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is measured by her joy.
A smile for independence and accomplishment,
A hug for vulnerability and love,
A complete person filled with peace.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is challenged by her risks.
Traveling the world without fear.
Raising her children and trusting them.
Loving her spouse through all the difficulties.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is visible in her daughter.
A mother looks into her daughter’s eyes; her own blue eyes,
Fearing she may have failed,
Wondering if she said no too many times
Hoping peace follows her daughter,
Wanting her to take her own risks.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is learned from her mother.
Seeing the beauty that comes from self-worth.
Realizing happiness is built on confidence.
Discovering that respect is earned by our actions.
This woman is me.
-- a gift for my mother
Is tested by her mistakes and down falls.
Then by her ability to correct them,
Guided by humility and grace.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is proven by her decisions.
Those times she says no when she wants to say yes,
Reprimands instead of comforts,
Remains steadfast though it is easier to give in.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is measured by her joy.
A smile for independence and accomplishment,
A hug for vulnerability and love,
A complete person filled with peace.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is challenged by her risks.
Traveling the world without fear.
Raising her children and trusting them.
Loving her spouse through all the difficulties.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is visible in her daughter.
A mother looks into her daughter’s eyes; her own blue eyes,
Fearing she may have failed,
Wondering if she said no too many times
Hoping peace follows her daughter,
Wanting her to take her own risks.
This woman is you.
The strength of a woman
Is learned from her mother.
Seeing the beauty that comes from self-worth.
Realizing happiness is built on confidence.
Discovering that respect is earned by our actions.
This woman is me.
-- a gift for my mother
Coffee Shop Conversations
We take our seats,
The drinks are poured;
An exchange of glances,
And then it begins.
You speak first,
Offering your opening statements.
Sometimes I listen, sometimes I don’t.
Still you say your words.
Then it is my turn.
I offer my voice, my opinions, my ideas.
Sometimes you listen, sometimes you don’t.
Nonetheless I say my words.
These coffee shop conversations.
We fought our sides, held our ground, walked away in anger,
But this is where we were built.
We discussed soccer plays, travel plans, college goals.
These coffee shop conversations.
This is where I found my best friend.
He taught me to be a good person, fight the good fight.
His words gave me strength, courage, hope.
His lessons led my way and did not falter.
Here is where I found my father.
A man of mistakes, but not many.
In his eyes, his pride for his family glows.
And I love him more than he will ever know.
These coffee shop conversations.
You speak first,
So that I can listen.
These coffee shop conversations.
You speak first,
So that I do not forget.
These coffee shop conversations.
You speak first,
So that, one day, your words will become my words.
-- a gift for my father
The drinks are poured;
An exchange of glances,
And then it begins.
You speak first,
Offering your opening statements.
Sometimes I listen, sometimes I don’t.
Still you say your words.
Then it is my turn.
I offer my voice, my opinions, my ideas.
Sometimes you listen, sometimes you don’t.
Nonetheless I say my words.
These coffee shop conversations.
We fought our sides, held our ground, walked away in anger,
But this is where we were built.
We discussed soccer plays, travel plans, college goals.
These coffee shop conversations.
This is where I found my best friend.
He taught me to be a good person, fight the good fight.
His words gave me strength, courage, hope.
His lessons led my way and did not falter.
Here is where I found my father.
A man of mistakes, but not many.
In his eyes, his pride for his family glows.
And I love him more than he will ever know.
These coffee shop conversations.
You speak first,
So that I can listen.
These coffee shop conversations.
You speak first,
So that I do not forget.
These coffee shop conversations.
You speak first,
So that, one day, your words will become my words.
-- a gift for my father
Half Smile
This doesn’t feel right
There is some part that is missing
Like half of my smile
Being here hurts
Because I don’t know where it’s going to lead
And I feel stuck
It is attached to my ankle
The hindrance that is this
And I want to break free
Yet I don’t
And I keep looking over my shoulder
Because I know I’m going the wrong way
So I silence these thoughts
Decide to be complacent and wait it out
Keep wearing that half smile
There is some part that is missing
Like half of my smile
Being here hurts
Because I don’t know where it’s going to lead
And I feel stuck
It is attached to my ankle
The hindrance that is this
And I want to break free
Yet I don’t
And I keep looking over my shoulder
Because I know I’m going the wrong way
So I silence these thoughts
Decide to be complacent and wait it out
Keep wearing that half smile
Sunday, August 26, 2007
My Brother
This morning my brother drove to Davis to have lunch with me. My brother and I have an unique relationship. He is my other half, and I am his. I do not mean that we complete each other, but we have what the other lacks and we completely know each other. We look at each other and read what the other is thinking or feeling by the merest twitch of the face.
Anyway, my brother became my beat friend when I was ten and he was sixteen. He went to France for the summer to work for the first time. When my family and I met up with him in Europe three weeks later, he had become a man. He was so mature and confident. His personality glowed and he was thriving in this new enviornment. Suddenly, we were able to talk and we loved spending time together. We would walk through the streets of Paris until two in the morning; talking about life and hopes and everything else we could think of. He was there for me for everything; playing guitar and talking when our parents thought we had gone to bed, picking me up from school and blasting 80's rock with the car windows down (and I continue the habit), in high school when our parents were fighting and threatening divorce, after Brazil. He was my strength and my favorite person.
Then, I was sixteen and had just gotten back from Brazil two months before. Suddenly, without explanantion, everything crumbled. We became each others worst enemmies. We lost all respect for each other and were in constant competition. We fought so much and said hurtful things just to seem like the "better child" to our parents. It was horrible. I felt that I had been there for him when he had had troubles growing up, but he chose not to be there for me when I was struggling.
Once I moved away to college, things slowly became better. We started our own lives and figuring things out for ourselves. This past school year, he has started calling me and taken a real interest in everything that is going on in my world. Once again I know that I am a priority. We listen to each other, but in a different way. I used to be exactly like him; mimiced his words, his tastes, his ideas. Now we are compleltely different from each other. It is ironic, but so beautiful at the same time. We talk for hours now, and about stuff that we really care about. We support each other while letting the other have his or her space. This person, the man, the brother that he is today has become one of my new favorite people.
My brother is an amazing writer, and here is a poem that he wrote me for Valentine's Day:
February 14, 2007
Teenage Maiden
So strong against the world
So fierce against her fears
Heralded as a champion in her mind
Yet tough enough to privately shed tears.
A candidate for the throne
Of the land of humbleness
Steeped in all that is precious
Surrounded by success she has etched.
A teenage maiden of fair.
A young champion of are.
A go-getting acrobat of flair.
A trembling strength climbing all stairs.
Afraid she is not before your eyes.
Candid she is so as to bring mystery and surprise.
A moment of wealth in the mind
In the heart
In the soul
In the essence
In the glow
She is my best half, she is her own pride
Walk forward on your two feet
In these arms of your brother.
Know there is safety
Recognition
Power
Joyousness
Clarity
Your best friend
One who has seen you grow
Let this respect and sincerity
I can offer you at my most
Be painted on that smile you own.
Anyway, my brother became my beat friend when I was ten and he was sixteen. He went to France for the summer to work for the first time. When my family and I met up with him in Europe three weeks later, he had become a man. He was so mature and confident. His personality glowed and he was thriving in this new enviornment. Suddenly, we were able to talk and we loved spending time together. We would walk through the streets of Paris until two in the morning; talking about life and hopes and everything else we could think of. He was there for me for everything; playing guitar and talking when our parents thought we had gone to bed, picking me up from school and blasting 80's rock with the car windows down (and I continue the habit), in high school when our parents were fighting and threatening divorce, after Brazil. He was my strength and my favorite person.
Then, I was sixteen and had just gotten back from Brazil two months before. Suddenly, without explanantion, everything crumbled. We became each others worst enemmies. We lost all respect for each other and were in constant competition. We fought so much and said hurtful things just to seem like the "better child" to our parents. It was horrible. I felt that I had been there for him when he had had troubles growing up, but he chose not to be there for me when I was struggling.
Once I moved away to college, things slowly became better. We started our own lives and figuring things out for ourselves. This past school year, he has started calling me and taken a real interest in everything that is going on in my world. Once again I know that I am a priority. We listen to each other, but in a different way. I used to be exactly like him; mimiced his words, his tastes, his ideas. Now we are compleltely different from each other. It is ironic, but so beautiful at the same time. We talk for hours now, and about stuff that we really care about. We support each other while letting the other have his or her space. This person, the man, the brother that he is today has become one of my new favorite people.
My brother is an amazing writer, and here is a poem that he wrote me for Valentine's Day:
February 14, 2007
Teenage Maiden
So strong against the world
So fierce against her fears
Heralded as a champion in her mind
Yet tough enough to privately shed tears.
A candidate for the throne
Of the land of humbleness
Steeped in all that is precious
Surrounded by success she has etched.
A teenage maiden of fair.
A young champion of are.
A go-getting acrobat of flair.
A trembling strength climbing all stairs.
Afraid she is not before your eyes.
Candid she is so as to bring mystery and surprise.
A moment of wealth in the mind
In the heart
In the soul
In the essence
In the glow
She is my best half, she is her own pride
Walk forward on your two feet
In these arms of your brother.
Know there is safety
Recognition
Power
Joyousness
Clarity
Your best friend
One who has seen you grow
Let this respect and sincerity
I can offer you at my most
Be painted on that smile you own.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Questions
When you look at me, what do you see?
Do you see my beauty?
The smile on my face?
Do you hear my laugh?
And crave to hear more?
I catch you staring.
What is the purpose of this glimpse?
I want to be on your mind.
Do you see me for me?
Enjoy the time spent together?
Will you ever be truthful with me?
Will I ever know?
Do you see my beauty?
The smile on my face?
Do you hear my laugh?
And crave to hear more?
I catch you staring.
What is the purpose of this glimpse?
I want to be on your mind.
Do you see me for me?
Enjoy the time spent together?
Will you ever be truthful with me?
Will I ever know?
Insomnia
Laying awake, I cannot sleep.
My head is full of thoughts of you.
They pulse within my skull.
I feel restless, dreamless.
The pulse continues.
I crave your hands on my body;
Exhausted next to you;
Our naked bodies sprawled from climax.
Slowly your arms find me again.
Inch by inch, our limbs snake together.
Intertwining; curving into one form.
Shifting, sighing, satisfied.
Drowsiness prickles at my brain.
Content when we lay skin touching skin.
Becoming submissive to sleep.
Knowing now the cure for my insomnia.
My head is full of thoughts of you.
They pulse within my skull.
I feel restless, dreamless.
The pulse continues.
I crave your hands on my body;
Exhausted next to you;
Our naked bodies sprawled from climax.
Slowly your arms find me again.
Inch by inch, our limbs snake together.
Intertwining; curving into one form.
Shifting, sighing, satisfied.
Drowsiness prickles at my brain.
Content when we lay skin touching skin.
Becoming submissive to sleep.
Knowing now the cure for my insomnia.
Draining Myself
And so I pour you out today.
Release you from my mind.
Drain you from my pores.
Be gone, leave me here.
Nothing owed, little gained.
Memories are fading and will soon disappear.
Now you look at her that way,
With the same stare you shared with me.
I thought it was only me.
Blind is an understatement.
Oblivious, gulible, foolish;
The surface is being scraped.
But no more, no more, no more.
I am done with you; you are done with me.
And all I feel is empty.
Release you from my mind.
Drain you from my pores.
Be gone, leave me here.
Nothing owed, little gained.
Memories are fading and will soon disappear.
Now you look at her that way,
With the same stare you shared with me.
I thought it was only me.
Blind is an understatement.
Oblivious, gulible, foolish;
The surface is being scraped.
But no more, no more, no more.
I am done with you; you are done with me.
And all I feel is empty.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Inspired Words
You inspire words within me
The way no one else has.
Is that becasue of you?
Maybe I am the one changing...
But the words come
They flow, course from my pen,
In my head all day.
The only release is to write them
Yet I find no satisfaction in them.
My hand still hungers to move
Itching to let the words out
Get them out even when my fingers pain.
You cause me to do this.
I cannot find the beauty that I crave
In your arms or your eyes or your bed
So I look for them in black and white.
Why do you do this?
What does it mean?
If you stop the games, do my words cease as well?
What happenes then?
The way no one else has.
Is that becasue of you?
Maybe I am the one changing...
But the words come
They flow, course from my pen,
In my head all day.
The only release is to write them
Yet I find no satisfaction in them.
My hand still hungers to move
Itching to let the words out
Get them out even when my fingers pain.
You cause me to do this.
I cannot find the beauty that I crave
In your arms or your eyes or your bed
So I look for them in black and white.
Why do you do this?
What does it mean?
If you stop the games, do my words cease as well?
What happenes then?
My Little Black List
The little black list of names in my mind.
Reads loud and clear.
Marked up, scratched out, checked, circled;
Names, dates, memories
I scroll down this list, my list
Smile, frown, cry a tear or few
And I rememeber.
I promise, I rememeber
The end nears, the final name
It has been erased, starred, blacked out, re-written.
But my mind takes over and forces me to choose
Make a choice, decide.
This name, it leads to stuff.
A face, a memory, a touch, a fight, a boy.
This boy; the boy, a man maybe,
With the power to break my heart
And so my pen shakes with indecision
Above this name
I rememeber the words, the looks, the laughs, the hurt
And my pen continues to shake...
Reads loud and clear.
Marked up, scratched out, checked, circled;
Names, dates, memories
I scroll down this list, my list
Smile, frown, cry a tear or few
And I rememeber.
I promise, I rememeber
The end nears, the final name
It has been erased, starred, blacked out, re-written.
But my mind takes over and forces me to choose
Make a choice, decide.
This name, it leads to stuff.
A face, a memory, a touch, a fight, a boy.
This boy; the boy, a man maybe,
With the power to break my heart
And so my pen shakes with indecision
Above this name
I rememeber the words, the looks, the laughs, the hurt
And my pen continues to shake...
Monday, May 29, 2006
A Letter
Dear Sir,
I never meant to hurt you, and it is difficult for us to go on.
We want to be together, but I cannot.
How do you ignore your heart to follow your mind?
Society romances the power of love and the heart.
Yet, love is not enough.
If it was, your life would be different,
And my life would be different.
And we would be happy, together.
Soon your heart will heal,
And hopefully mine will too.
We never cheated, never lied to each other, did not end in anger.
Still, we burn and chafe in our situation.
I cannot blame you.
Never will I be able to look back and regret you.
Not like before.
You were not mistake; we were not a mistake.
So, Sir, I know you did not want to hear this.
You are stronger than I because you do not speak them.
These words will not stay within me,
And I wish I could hold them back.
Love,
Madame
I never meant to hurt you, and it is difficult for us to go on.
We want to be together, but I cannot.
How do you ignore your heart to follow your mind?
Society romances the power of love and the heart.
Yet, love is not enough.
If it was, your life would be different,
And my life would be different.
And we would be happy, together.
Soon your heart will heal,
And hopefully mine will too.
We never cheated, never lied to each other, did not end in anger.
Still, we burn and chafe in our situation.
I cannot blame you.
Never will I be able to look back and regret you.
Not like before.
You were not mistake; we were not a mistake.
So, Sir, I know you did not want to hear this.
You are stronger than I because you do not speak them.
These words will not stay within me,
And I wish I could hold them back.
Love,
Madame
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Anymore, I Feel Guilty
Do not want to fight for this anymore.
I do not know what to do anymore.
I hate this uncertainty.
Everytime I smile, I feel guilty.
When I talk about you, I feel guitly.
Keep being torn between my two worlds.
Nothing is changing anymore.
I do not want to fight for this anymore.
What do I do now?
Time is running out, I feel guilty.
Sick of making the decisions, I feel guilty.
The invitable is about to hit.
I do not know what to do anymore.
I hate this uncertainty.
Everytime I smile, I feel guilty.
When I talk about you, I feel guitly.
Keep being torn between my two worlds.
Nothing is changing anymore.
I do not want to fight for this anymore.
What do I do now?
Time is running out, I feel guilty.
Sick of making the decisions, I feel guilty.
The invitable is about to hit.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Change is Not a Good Enough Reason
Why do things have to change? I mean, I understand that people change, but I hate it. It seems as if life is going so well and I am surrounded by people that I love and trust, and then the dynamics change. Suddenly I am blind-sided and I am not as important to those I was close with. My novelty has worn off. It is true that it takes work to find those few people who are worth the time that you spend on them. It hurts, though. I used to think that one of my best friends thought that I was special and they saw something in me that only a few had seen. Cut to us a year and a half later, they have given up on me. We are losing contact and cannot talk like we used to, and they are not even willing to fight for me, for our friendship. So for those of you who are reading this, fight for those that you love the most. Make the phone calls, write the letter, e-mails, and messages, think of the surprises, keep them a priority, listen to them and make the changes. Do not leave everything up to fate. Yes, we change, but changing without someone is completely different than using it as an excuse to not try to fix things.
These Nights
I want to run so fast and feel everything around me. You know how you hear music and you feel as if you could do anything. Ideas start pumping through your head about how you will improve your life and become a better person because nothing seems impossible. It seems as if I have never loved harder and never felt such pure emotions. These are the nights that I want to be with my boyfriend. I want to be driving at night with the windows down and our favorite music turned up LOUD and us laughing because we are together. I want to be out with a huge group of friends at a club and dancing all night because we can and we are inhibited with each other. We know each other and we never judge. I want it to be raining outside so that I can play in it and feel free and childlike. These are the nights that I want movies to be reality and all my favorite people in the world to be gathered around me. I never want to lose the feeling that I now have. These are the nights that I smile without hesitation. My life is imperfect, and so am I, but, on these nights, it is okay. For once, everything is enough, and I love it.
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