The depth Within

Moves so gracefully,
Soft as the touch,
Mind filled with the rainbow,
Smile sweet like strawberries,
Heart sweet as plums.

A rose has no smell,
But looks so beautiful to the sight.

Like fire to the flame,
Ice to the water,
Fishes’ mouths move but no words,
Leaves with no branch,
Winter with no cold,
Heart to no mind,
House to no frame.

Shifting your thoughts to making it all about you.

Beautiful to the eyes, but what lies beneath?

Words dressed in sweetness, yet intentions unseen.

An ocean of thoughts, with no room for another.

Listening to respond, but never to understand.

Eyes that see but never notice.
Ears that hear but never listen.
Hands that reach but never hold.
A heart that speaks but never shows.

Giving the appearance of warmth, yet leaving others in the cold.

Standing among many, yet seeing only one.

Always finding the mirror, even when the reflection belongs to someone else.

Who are you, beneath all that I see?

Getting called pretty,
means nothing if you can’t feel it,
see it, be it to the maximum potential.

Try to change your randomly generated face given to you, 
through years of arranged marriage.
True love had nothing to do with it.

You’ll get called mop-head till curls are back in style,
and too dark till summer comes around.
You’ll have to tick “other” on documents,
you’re obviously not an option.
You'll never fully understand what you truly look like but you try.

You get called pretty,
yet you let it in one ear and slip out the other.
You get called ugly,
and it sticks till you’ve earned their approval.

Getting called pretty means nothing, you’re just pretty for the people.

some days,  
it feels cruel,  
heavy,  
almost impossible to understand.

you wake up  
and everything feels a little too much.  
the world keeps moving,  
but you do not know how to move with it.

and then, somehow,  
there is one day.

just one.

and everything feels different.

the same sky looks softer.  
the same streets feel warmer.  
you laugh without forcing it.  
you breathe without thinking about it.

you do not even know why.

maybe someone said something kind.  
maybe someone stayed.  
maybe someone looked at you  
and made you feel like  
you were worth listening to.

and sometimes,  
you find the courage to tell someone  
what you have been carrying inside.

it is scary.

because feelings are strange things.  
they become real  
the moment you give them a name.

but when that person listens,  
when they care,  
when they do not make you feel foolish  
for feeling too much—

it feels almost like being understood  
for the first time.

you think,

maybe this is what life is supposed to feel like.

being heard.  
being cared for.  
being loved  
without having to earn it.

but life is strange.

because even beautiful things  
can change.

a person can become distant.  
a moment can become a memory.  
a place that once felt safe  
can suddenly feel unfamiliar.

and the same heart  
that once felt so full  
can become quiet again.

i think that is the hardest part.

not that good things end,

but that while they are happening,  
we never know  
they are becoming memories.

so maybe life is both.

cruel and beautiful.  
heavy and gentle.  
lonely and full of love.

maybe we are not meant  
to understand every day.

maybe some days are simply meant  
to be felt.

and maybe,  
when the good ones come,

we should let ourselves love them  
while they are still here.

You've had a day,
and bad day it was. 
But can you compensate
for another's day's loss?

You may have felt
that you lost the opportunity
but another may have
felt complete disunity.

You may have cried
over something you couldn't keep,
while another hid their tears
over something buried deep.

You may have cursed
the cards that you were dealt,
while another wished
they could feel what you felt.

You call it a disaster,
a world that's turned unkind,
but someone else's battlefield
may be harder to find.

So tell me, how bad is bad?
Is it the pain that you can see?
Or the silent weight
that someone carries secretly?

For what breaks one person
may barely leave a scar,
and what seems small to you
may be another's hardest war.

And perhaps that's the point:
Don't measure pain by what is shown.
You never know how much
another soul has borne.

See 
It talks to me night and day 
And I promise  
I’m not crazy 
At least not like people might say 

Or maybe I am 
But who knows 

I know one thing that I have decided 
I will stay  
Until my dying day 

So let me talk 
Even if I may seem crazy 
Because I'm a human being 

And sometimes where It’s at 
Gets a little hazy

In the Future,
What will I do?
Who will I be?
Who will be by my side?
Will I even make it there?

Trees surround us 
but what if they are gone 
The steams and rivers hydrated us 
but what if they're poisoned 
Nature heals us
But what if it's dead

What will we do when there's nothing left
When we can't go back
When our children ask what is a polar bear
Because there aren't any left

Nature is dying and the world is looking away
The world looks to Artificial intelligence 
The world looks to money
The world looks to robots
When will they look at the door they shut

The door of creativity
The door of Nature 
The door of love
The door of community
The door of the animals
The door of the streams
The door of freedom
The door of humanity's continued existence 

Written By Nyx Rodriguez