2 A.M. drives

2 AM drives

they were always my favourite. 

i don’t know;

i guess it’s just something about the way the city looks at night,

the way everything seems to be full of life

yet it still is sleeping,

silent, 

still.
i guess it just seems peaceful.
and i remember that drive,

in those times,

it felt like peace was hard to find;

and so a city that looked peaceful 

brought me hope!

the lamps on the streets

illuminating the darkness whispered hope!

and when we got to the top and saw the city with all its wonder lights i understood

 that the darkness was beautiful because there was light!

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What people are looking for, have been looking for since forever, is a way to cope with everyday life. The books, the music, the films, creativity and deeper thought- it’s just a bunch of people trying to make sense of the simplest of things: the moments. The minutes within the hour, within the day that’s good or bad, within the week that’s either amazing or awful, within the month that’s buried deep or on a constant rewind, within the year that you wish you could change, re-live or never have experienced. Because, at the end, whether you believe you’ve had it good or bad it doesn’t t really matter, when you are in this moment, right here,and you don’t really know what to do with yourself.

Blooming 

Slowly but suddenly, I felt a part of me breaking away, breaking free of the tendons that held it in place, and separating itself from my body. Not completely; it was still attached but, in a beautiful way, it was also free.

A part of me-a single, brave part of me-was blooming. My first petal unfolding.

I panicked.

“What are you doing?” I cried out. “Can’t you see where we are? Can’t you feel the dryness of the desert? The hopelessness of this unending wilderness?”

But it kept blooming.

This little piece of faith untangled itself from my doubt and started growing, becoming. 

Sure, I was afraid…but I had to learn that there is no fear in Love; I had to learn that the blooming takes place in the desert, not after it.

Vulnerability-a poem 


Skin.

I’m showing skin 

That can be wounded,

Veins that can be drained 

Of blood.
Tears.

I’m shedding tears 

That can be seen,

Insecurities that can be 

Misunderstood.
Bruises.

I’m barring bruises 

That are still hurting,

Wounds that can be 

Opened.

Thoughts.

I’m sharing thoughts 

That can be frightening,

Dreams that can be

Crushed. 
Hopes.

I’m sharing hopes

I don’t believe in,

 Sometimes Faith I do not 

Have.
Fears.

I speak of fears

That have invaded

Anxieties that make me

Drown.

Trust.

This is what I give you

When I bare all that I am.

I’m vulnerable,

Not fragile! 

But through his grace

By faith 

I stand.