A dandelion is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for conforming to neat rows. They are frail; but beautiful. Lonely; yet ubiquitous.

They are so delicate; yet dandelions are a symbol of hope.

Dancers are strong, balanced, flexible and, like the dandelions, beautiful. Graceful and elegant, poised. They use their bodies to tell stories and convey every emotion.

I like to imagine a combination of these qualities in my writing.

I want my poems to be delicate but their words to ring strong.

I want my stories to be balanced and have a graceful air about them.

I want my writing to convey emotions, to be lonely and everywhere at once.

I want to be a Dandeliondancer.

I do not know the real reason why I write

Is this even right?

All I know is that what's inside my sane mind should be expressed 

In a way some would be somehow be impressed. 

I need to write down whatever is in my mind 

To sort whatever the things to be left inside and things should be outside. 

I write to remain sane person who has no tendency to be insane. 

In Greek mythology and in pop culture, people always portray medusa as a monster. If you actually read into her story however, you find that she is really just a victim of circumstances, Poseidon thought she was pretty so he took her to Athena's temple and raped her, then Athena was mad that her holy site had been desecrated, so she turned medusa and her sisters into gorgons.

The gorgons don't even try to kill people! They live in a desolate place that almost no one goes to and it is not their fault that people turn into stone upon viewing them.

This is my pen name because it makes people think, it is not just edgy for the sake of being edgy. The Z is to make it even more unique, since when I hand write my poetry, I do it in a font that has a really neat looking Z.

There's something wonderful

And horrible about

Standing out

You're often noticed

But not entirely sure if it's for the right reasons

You wonder if you are a gift

Or a curse

You long to belong

But you're designed,

destined to be different

A self fulfilling prophecy

The harder you try to blend in

The more you realize

You don't

My life has held good and sad times 

Things I will never forget 

I remember the vicious crimes 

That have left me with much regret. 

Two years ago, it was awful 

This memory I can't erase 

It definitely wasn't lawful 

My happiness was displaced

I lost my parents tragically

On a warm summer's day

Their lives ended in tragedy

In a most disturbing way. 

My mother was sick and frail

My father by her side 

He thought their life had failed 

So, He shot his beautiful bride. 

In turn he committed suicide.... 

Diplomacy

My brand is Peace 

Prophet

Pursuing the lone and narrow way

Poet 

Everything is in static Flux. 

Whisper into my ear, my darling,

I will look beyond,

Ancient mountains wearing down,

To fertile plains and moonstone lakes,

Shining in a dark-light sky,

Until the peaks come again,

Jagged knives slice the sky apart,

Into the desert, sleepy with life,

And then the coast!

Beautiful land, let me tell your future,

Of the day it all comes crumbling down,

Your chrome-glass towers, your restful hills,

Underneath the glaring bomb,

Shining bright and like the sun,

Taking everything for its own,

And leaving us- nothing.

But maybe it will not be so,

And mothers will hold children, knowing,

They may close their eyes tonight. 

(Heed my words; your ears decide your fate)