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someone wrote: there is a gathering in the forest. the leaves have refused to change. they say that they are tired of things never remaining the same, of dying to be reborn, of winter's dry withered hand. they are praying for an eternal spring. even i expected that the beautiful autumn must have been ecstasy for the leaves. but they admit that there is nothing more painful than changing from green to yellow to red to brown. they insist their beauty is a prolonged suffering. they say they will never change again. they have sent me to convey their green-leafed message. winter has left them brittle and they do not wish to continue their cyclical sacrament. they wish to remain a forest, unchanging.//....//....//....//....//come sept ember//we'll be whole//...//...//two autumns///and i have not///changed enough////////////////////////////////////////////////////// //////////////////////////////////me in a story: she walked into the room took a look to her right. locked eyes with fate and kissed her gently. yes the first time they met she cried. it was easier that way. easier then to find the waterfalls of words. real water can naturally. she kind of moves like this. walks like this. dreams like this. last night she sat before a blank sheet and put time to the test. she wrote about balance and strength and honesty. today she wraps that paper around the wounds inside and out. today she she walked into the room took a look and flew. dammit, same vocabulary every line. every day. every word. but this is how she defines her. trust in the sense of poetry and never. they go hand in hand. she wants to be seen from the inside out. so she takes every opportunity to push the pieces out from sunrise up. down. the sunrises and she sets into her body a peace that sedates her fears. for here is the safest place. she prays only to life like god is at her fingertips. she believes in the divine opportunity to create love at every moment. she fails. she succeeds. she often looks forward. tries not to look back except to relive the moments in her sleep that brought her tranquility. this is her. a story. a vocabulary. a line after line after line. she tears at the eye. that you maybe gentle with her fire. though it is powerful. it tends to lose direction sometimes.//born in: palo alto, california// raised in: newark, delaware and kingston, jamaica// a taurus// a student/activist/artist/writer/dreamer// no tatooes// simply ears pierced// in love with life, herself, and you//currently accomplishing: the conquering of fears, embarssament, and cowardice// currently reading: the eyes of others// currently listening: to goapele and her own silence//i am becoming who i have always beenshe dreamt it. therefore its true.//