Humans have the ability to rewrite history. Within a few decades it is not even questioned. Stories of the past become as real as the world you walk through today. Wars are waged over false history. Sins are denied. All for mankind to move forward and feel comfortable about its past. Your true history is written in the stars. Look up, breathe in, and be humbled by the ones who came before you. The ones who have suffered, who have endured, who have overcome. Their blood is alive in you. Their spirits roam freely in the heavens above.

Lies are served like a fine delicacy. But beware, the truth of it all will sour, lodge in your throat, and choke your very existence if you continue to believe them.

Never be an artist that starts worshiping yourself or believe your little group is better than anyone outside of it. For, you are nothing more than a grain of sand on a hillside in this world of ours. Even Da Vinci’s work is only glanced at then scrolled past on a phone or computer these days. Climb down off your throne and become humble once more.

As a writer, a poet, you’re not alone in wanting to be alone. Your work is a friendship that never leaves you.

I was a poet. I had no expectations other than creating a world of art with words that would live on long after I was gone.

They say, poetry is dead. I say, was there ever a time they had a clue of what the state of poetry is?

Poets, with no sponsors, no agenda, are the truest form of freedom today, bleeding out every drop of themselves for the world to either hate or devour.

Each morning the winds of the city moan and weep with lost souls clinging to hope of reliving the memories of yesterday.

Some want to be writers when life permits it. There is no part-time in being a writer. It’s an all-in way of living your life through words and feelings scratched out with a pen.

The same things that make you unique in this world, make you a target for the archers consumed by fear and jealousy.

Digging deep inside you as a writer will damn near kill you at times. But in the end, your words will be true and undeniable for the reader, and that is all that ever really matters in writing.

Becoming a writer does not mean words will suddenly flow with perfection from your pen. It takes hard work, rejection, and the willingness to lay everything inside you out for the world to see.

For the writer, madness should seep slowly out of them from the world they endure each day.

Your dreams don’t stop being dreams because of circumstances.

There is no value in your promises. They are as hollow as fangs and poisonous as the venom within them once I allowed them into my heart.

A poet’s words are like mortar to the bricks of society.

Destroying the planet is like stepping from a moving train and thinking it will all work out.

Despair is a night without lights. Dreams are the sunrise that leads you out of the darkness.

History is the roadmap to a better tomorrow. Destroying it is getting rid of any chance of what not to do for future generations.