"you don't know how to enjoy life anymore"

you are not wrong.

you are not wrong.

i don't remember what happy feels like

and if i did

i'd feel like it didn't belong.

"you're not helping yourself"

you are wrong.

i am doing everything i can,

schoolhomeworkjobtherapychorestalkingwriting

plus breathing.

you just don't understand.

"i'm fucking sick of you being sad"

"i'm so damn tired of dealing with you"

"you aren't even trying to get better"

"i can't live like this"

"if you die, i die with you"

so am i.

i know.

i am.

me either.

i'm sorry.

i could tell you

how she moved her fingers

across my skin

beneath the covers

and turned touches

into rolling waves.

still in slumber

she smears her lips

on mine-

i feel the sea

in my bones.

she tells me

i am more than

god,

that if he is real,

i am better.

that our love

is religion,

and she is dying to be

the martyr.

earth, sins, and fire

i am a part of everything

i have ever touched-

the leather beneath

my thighs,

the palms i never held high.

we thread the needle

slowly,

in and out

and over again.

can i be with you forever?

one day.

for now

we wait.

In the absence of love

There is a void left

In the middle of the chest

And its filled with bitter tears

I hear my grandma say

Drink chamomile tea

Sniff some mint

And rub alcohol infused with marijuana

I can still feel the lively red

Of pulsing flesh

That this sentiment

Scratched upon my back and chest

I hear the nahual say

Dance under a full moon

Drink the blood of a goat

Burn peyote and let the fumes purify you

I can still sense the burn

On my heart

This love doesn't talk anymore

Only stares at me growling and hissing

I hear the witch say

Bring me graveyard soil

Bring me black wax

Bring me raindrops

And lit the candle I'll make from those

The bright flames only make its shadow bigger

The fire makes it boil with wrath

I'm almost only bone

And he's about to drink my last drop of blood

And there I am laying down on the ground

Hopeless and irritated while blood leaves my body

Injured and almost dead with my open vivid flesh

I'm about to go to slumber when I hear the last person say...

Get up...

Let me stitch those wounds of yours up

Let me oint those scars with caresses

Let me soothe such sore heart with requited love

Get up...

Let me revive you with your first kiss...

DA 2015

"Be thankful you woke up today, for God let you live another day."

Fuck this.

FUCK. THIS.

Fuck God.

FUCK GOD FOR TAKING CREDIT OF EVERY ACCOMPLISHMENT I EVER MAKE. HE WASNT THE ONE WHO LET ME LIVE- I WAS. I AM THE ONE WHO SAYS IF I GET TO LIVE OR NOT. I WAS THE ONE WHO DIDNT GUZZLE DOWN PILLS LAST NIGHT- NOT HIM.

IM SICK AND TIRED OF GOD BEING SEEN AS THE CONTROLLER OF ME. I AM MY OWN PERSON. I AM NOT RULED BY A HYPOCRITICAL BASTARD WHO LET'S HIS CHILDREN SUFFER. I AM TRULY RULED BY THE SHADOWS IN MY THOUGHTS AND THE DEMONS IN MY BRAIN THAT GOD COULD NEVER SAVE ME FROM.

FUCK OFF, 'GOD', BECAUSE YOU ARENT AS POWERFUL AS YOU LET PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE. YOURE TERRIFIED OF LETTING PEOPLE KNOW THAT THEY ARE THEIR OWN GODS AND THAT THE POWER TO SURVIVE AND TO CHANGE AND DESTROY LIES WITHIN THEM. BUT YOURE JUST A TYRANT RULING OVER A KINGDOM OF A WEAKENED SPECIES.

BUT GUESS WHAT, GOD? EVERY KINGDOM HAS A LIFECYCLE AND THIS ONE IS ABOUT OVER. WHY DONT YOU LET US LIVE IN PEACE FOR THE TIME THATS LEFT AND GO FUCK UP SOMEWHERE ELSE.

They teach us

"Don't do drugs"

In school.

But why don't they ever teach you

Not to need them in the first place?

I'm only fifteen

And already I crave

The carelessness that comes with alcohol and the

Buzz of mary jane

No, I've never tried them

But that doesn't mean a kid can't dream

Of a better tomorrow,

A better today,

A better yesterday.

I needed this yesterday.

I needed an escape from this hideous hell of a life.

I won't-

Scratch that,

I can't…

Make it to the end.

It's not worth my time, effort

Or the pain.

Get ready to take some notes, people.

If you’re an indie author, and you’re going it alone, writing your book is only 20% of becoming a household name. As Brenda Perlin stated in her blog piece “So, you’ve written a book. What now?,” our job is to go out and find the people interested in our stories.

But, how the hell do you do that? Where do you even begin?

I have had plenty of authors come to me within my career asking me to help them further their book sales. The first question I always ask them is, “What have you done in terms of marketing?”

Cue the blank expression and the shrug effect that follows.

If you don’t have a publishing deal, which includes marketing, then I have news for you: your book should sell itself, but it won’t. You have to spend quality time getting to know your audience. The goal is to become more than just an e-book. You represent that body of work which, in turn, serves as your individual brand.

I have three steps for marketing yourself and your book(s), which will make your lives a bit easier and your pockets that much fuller.

Step One: Social Media

Yes, I know, it’s the dreaded social media. While we may love to hate it it is an incredibly useful marketing tool.

Some marketers will tell you to pay for advertisements or followers. DO NOT DO THIS. I have many years of research behind me, and I know that paying your way to the top doesn’t work in the long term.

Unfortunately for you, unless you already have deep pockets to pay someone like me, you are going to have to work hard in this arena to get noticed. Pay no mind to the amount of followers you have. Quality of your followers is much more practical and beneficial to you. The impression rate (on Twitter) and your reach and engagement (on Facebook) is your gold.

Watch these stats wisely because they will give you much needed insight into what your followers like to see from you.

Social media is very much trial-and-error but, with the nature of the speed at which social media runs, it’s also forgiving. You make an error, no big deal. In less than 20 minutes, on Twitter at least, it’s old news and no one pays attention to old news.

...

Visit The Official Prose. Blog for the full article by marketing professional, writer, and social media manager, Sammie Thomas (@sammielee46) later today: blog.theprose.com/blog.

A person is just

An intricate concoction

Of flower petals and scars

Mixed with wildfires and stars

They have radiance in their eyes

With darkness in their minds

And ice in their hearts

They're endless space

And ocean trenches

The tallest mountains

And the lowest valleys

They're cool lemonade on a warm summers day

And hot cocoa in a cold winters morning

They're waterfalls and deserts

But sandstorms and hurricanes

Ivy on a brick wall

And fleshy ground-cover

They're nothing more

Than fruit in the jungle

And nothing less

Than cacti in the desert

A person is just

An intricate concoction

Of nature