In this tale, I can only speak for myself.

For everyone else has their own story lost on the shelf.

Here, in a land fairly normal, I tend get lost in glorious raptures,

Swirling along the currents of life so elegantly it captures

You in its sweet hallucinations, and takes you far far away.

Where to? I can’t really say,

But all I know is that this place is somewhere I long to be

When I’m bound by gravity and standards. This place here, I can be free.

I say that a lot… free… as if I am bound by chains.

And spending my days and nights picking grains.

My life is simple, yet not so pretty. But my wounds will heal soon,

They won’t  stay long enough to stain this pure spirit and deepen its tune,

It remains light as I pick up what was left of me and carry on.

It remained ever so ravishing while I’ve gone

And built myself the armor to withstand life’s shooting knives.

This music that plays from my heart can save lives.

But it only chose to save one. And I am grateful.

I am happier... even though I ignored these shackles on my tender core turning me hateful.

Blackening something that was once so divine,

Now its hard to even tell that it was once mine.

I have changed, and not for the better. I hurt without any reasons

My moods changes ever so often like the seasons.

And the light of innocents fled from my bright eyes,

Turning them as black as the night skies.

So when I say I’m free. I’m free from the monster within.

This place takes me out of my body and to a place without sin.

I close my eyes and I see a person I wished to be, but was too afraid to become.

I shut my lids and can’t see the hurt I’ve done to some.

But the joy that I’ll soon bring.

Along with the triumphant songs we’ll sing.

In this place we’ll celebrate the beauty of rebirth,

And the magnificent adventures on this earth.

But First; I have to open my eyes, and get my head out of the clouds.

Because this fairly normal land is loud

When it shouts the truth. Its blunt when it shows me all my flaws

And laughs hysterically when I think I can run from them all.

This land, this mythical paradise can’t exist in a heart tarnished with hate.

No, stained with the assumption I’ll suffer from the same fate

Of the ones whom didn’t make it this far. Paradise is just a dream

To a girl with a heart ripped at the seams.

Paradise is just a lie

Created by the girl who watched her mother die,

Way before she even took her last breath,

Paradise, at least the one for me does not exist for me.

Because this is not a tale for he, or she.

They’ve found it. They conquered it.

This is a tale from a girl that took life’s hit,

And lost herself along the tides of illusions of her broken dreams.

And the millions of treasured memories it seems.

No this isn’t a tale for you.

For my heart leaks when I say all that’s true.

This tale isn’t for you…it isn’t for you.

It’s for me…

~Imani

The sun glistens off the snow and peers into the living room window. Not too bright,just enough to set the mood. Easygoing, relaxing.

My books lie boldly in the light of the windowsill. They are calling me to run my fingers along their spines. Soak in all there plots and character and worlds, breathe in every word, every syllable.

They lay untouched, but wanted. The sun’s spotlight shines on the top book; “Wake.” It was a gift, but I didn’t start it because I was reading something else. But now, in this lighting, in this mood. It seems so appealing.

My eyes craves its words like a man craves a woman’s curves.

Though besides my books was my journal. My pencil bookmarking the last page I worked on. I took a glimpse outside. My neighbor is making figure-eights with his bike in the parking lot. Kids I have class with walk the back road laughing not particularly dressed for winter. And the woman across the street was ordering her husband to shovel the snow “correctly.”

Books call my name. Yet I seldom answer because the words I have locked away in my mind tries to claw their way out. It would be inhumane to keep them trapped up there. I grabbed my journal, letting a finger linger in the cover of Wake before heading to the table where I can drink up all that goes on around me, and release them on my pages.

This feels about right, a perfect way to spend the day according to the mood that’s set.

In the end

all that we’ve done won’t matter anymore.

The hell we’ve fell to,

and the mountains we’ve climbed

are far behind us.

We’re here now.

Living and breathing.

And that’s all that matters.

I find it funny how you think you can just shut me out like that. Think that ignoring I exist is somehow going to get rid of me.

In your little brain the thought of you turning your life around would somehow erase your past. Erase me.

Boy aren’t you just the dumbest fool I’ve ever met! Have you forgotten that there is no you with out me? That your life cease to exist without me? That regardless of whether you want to be good or bad you’ll still come crawling back to me.

Because when the sun sets in the West, I still created you.

You wouldn’t be where you stand without me, and you think repaying me for getting you this far in life is to lock me out of it?

Corrupted or not, what we did shaped you. I gave you a spine and you better respect that.

Just a heads up, next time I won’t be so nice.

It seems like I've gotten myself lost again.

This time I couldn't give you the slightest hint as to where I am.

I constantly wander around in the dark trying to get acquainted with my surroundings.

Have my other senses take control while my eyes are absent.

But still, I am lost without a single narrow trail back home.

Now, standing all alone in this foreign land.

Home is a distant memory in the back of my mind

With only enough light to make out its silhouette.

Though I don't think I want to go home.

At least not yet. 

For this world is empty, dark, and daunting...

And it shouts those characteristic loudly in my ears.

But it's only a child,

With much care and patience.

It will blossom.

I won't leave this land alone to be wasted away.

To be forgotten, and damaged.

Before I return home, I will turn this world into something beautiful.

I won't neglect it.

It is mine to take care of, mine to love and cherish.

Before I say my goodbyes to this land, I will make it my home.

Who knows; maybe I won't leave after all.

Imani; in the outside world this is the name I go by. Or Mani for short, or Manti if you want to spice it up a little. The name by itself is simple, but when you think of the face behind the name; colors start to cloud your mind. My name is simple, But I am anything but.

Ayanna; No one knows my middle name really. I usually just put A. to save time. People tend to get the wrong idea, thinking that I don't like my Middle name because I rarely talk about it. But I have a birthmark on my backside and you don't see me bragging about that. Whether or not I like it or not.

Patterson; This name is common, one of my favorite authors have this name. But even though it is common, I don't care for it very much. Mainly because when I was in Elementary school people called me Fatterson... children can be cruel.

Imani Ayanna Patterson; That's me, narrowed down. However the chances that someone having the exact name as me is slimmer. But its not impossible. This maybe my name, and I do wear it proudly, but that isn't me.

I.A.P; the person writing this right now. The girl with the panda bear as a profile picture. The girl who takes to writing like its her only friend. That's who I am. Here, where who I am as a person, what I like or what my name is, is a place I can truly be myself. 

I am a person of many words... But just don't know how to say those many words.

It's strange how when I'm alone, I can say anything I want and not feel ridiculous. Within my mind, there is a place where I feel safe from all the ridicule. Maybe that's why I rather have conversations in my head instead of going up to a person and saying "Hi." 

Though, it's not just about being timid. 

Why is it that when I have a theory I want to discuss or something that I just need to get off my chest, I can't say all that I want? It's there in my mind, but it'll rather be stubborn than to let me get my point across. Sometimes it annoys me, and sometimes I feel like a mute resorting to writing out my feelings so you can better understand them.

Yet in the end, the latter isn't all that bad.