Life is growth. Growth is life. No matter what is ahead of us, we still grow. We grow in heat. We grow in cold. We grow with a beat. We grow when bold. We grow with wheat. We grow when told. We grow in feet. We grow when sold. Regardless of our road, be it an animal, plant, flower or being, we grow, never be un-told.
To my lover, my best friend, my future hubby ❤
He weeps at his own internal mess.
Internal dysfunction or plain pain of his life demis.
Paranoia cries with imaginary. He told it to leave, but it lingers.
Monsters eat at his brain, nibbling until his eyes rest.
Tears of pain burn his cheeks. His soul is on fire. No desires.
Eyes of worry, sights of flying clouds. When will it end?
Alone. Internally alone. Drugs. He wants drugs. Pain go away.
Branches. He wants them to take him. Puncture him.
Physical pain will settle his mind.
Paranoia. Flying gypsies. Crawling whispers flowing up to his nostrils.
His heart is full of love. His soul is full of fluttering butterflies.
Where is the laughter? Internal laughter.
Outer layers are fake.
One sip of his whiskey, one step out of the dark, the warm sun glitters his day.
8 hours is his only life. He is awake. He is aware.
Until he goes back into his dark cave.
Sounds of life, social laughs, grunts of disappointment, annoying remarks.
There he is succumbed by his own eye flickering. Sounds of life swirl into his ears drums as they puncture his senses. Overload.
He ignores the pain as yellow discharge swooshes out of his ears in an attempt to deal with the laughter.
Sights of life, kids dancing, couples kissing, family talking.
Beauty. He embraces it. He loves it yet the pumping blood in his body freezes his movement. He is frozen in time wanting to dance with laughter yet he is glued down.
He speaks in tongues, he has on his mask of delight.
Neighbors will never know the anxiety displayed in every cell of his body.
Love is raw, deep and full of
Love at the bottom of the barrel is raw
It is beauty and the beast mixed into one
It is heaven and hell at the same time
Love is not butterflies in your stomach
it is not googly eyes on your mate
it is not apple and spice and everything nice!
Love at the bottom of the barrel is deep
it is a mix of good with the bad
it is calm with a touch of intense
Love is not an act of neediness
it is not jealousy and fear
it is not neediness or helplessness
Love at the bottom of the barrel are aspirations
it is a pen to paper of goals
it is a cloud full of dreams
Love is not what you think of love
Love is a 24-hour job you hate to love
Love is raw, deep and full of
He is the apple to my sauce
the chocolate to my milk
the cheese to the crackers
He is the cracks from the quake
the flood from the rainfall
the lightning from the storm
He is the crazy in my sanity
The sanity to my crazy
the sanity in our craze
My plate would be
bare without my
My cup would be
empty without my
wine and dine
We would be obsolete
without honey and bee’s
will you please…
One of the best books I’ve ever read in my entire life!
If you like reading deep, personal, passionate, history based books, then try this one out!
I felt as if I was truly amongst my people in what was Mexica in the 1500s. Yes, “Mexica”, which is now coined as “Mexico”.
This story will take you back to the year 1583 in the city of Coyoacan, the outskirts of Tenochtitlan, Mexico. This was the period when the famous (infamous on my terms) Don Hernan Cortes visited the Aztecas when the Aztec King Moctezuma awaited his arrival.
There is an Indigenous women who actually lived through the fall of of what was once a beautiful Azteca world called Mexica.
This story explains in detail what happened when Cortes arrived and she reports to a Catholic Spaniard Pope of her personal experiences.
Without going into detail, the protagonist is “Father Benito Lara” and the the telling author is “Huitzitzilin”, which is a name that comes from her native language of Nahuatl. The teller is fully aware that Spaniards cannot pronounce her name, so she tells them to call her “hummingbird”.
Try it out! This story will take you to new heights or glorious dreams, unbelievable stories and hypnotic vibes.
“When Cortes left the chamber, three of his captains remained. One of them was Baltazar Obando. They had their ordera, and those of us who had remained in the room knew what was going to happen. Moctezuma’s wife tried to shield her husband, but one of the Spaniards hit her on the head and she died”
A snippet of the best book ever.