I Am An Indigo ChildI was told that I was special at a young age.
Before I could remember, I was taken to a metaphysical show by my family. One of the people read my horoscope, I had my first numerology reading, my family was told I was an "old soul". My grandmother smiled and nodded. She knew. They said I was calling for a brother. That brother would be my worst enemy and my closest friend.
Years after that fateful day, I began to signs of how special I was. I had many "friends" and no one but me knew about them. I could see monsters. They scared me and they wouldn't go away, even when dad bought me a nightlight. I would scar my mother. I use to tell my mother who would call or come over with amazing accuracy minutes before they would. My best friend was my faithful dog, the closest thing to a wolf I would ever get to see.
I was an artist. I could mold words into poems and stories, my crayons and coloring books changed into sketchbooks and various mediums. I am a borderline genius! So are my brothers, bu
What Makes a Man a Man?What makes a man a man?
Is it his origin?
His will to carry on?
Is it his faith,
his path to the divine?
Is it he can show his heart,
and shed a proud tear?
Is it the ability to look at the starry heavens,
and wonder about his place in the universe?
What makes a man a man?
Is it his place of power,
His strength to endure?
Truth is, no one can tell.
So a man is a man.
Who can define what or who a man is?
Who can say what a man is worth?
Favorite Color...Blue is my favorite color!
It's the color of the sky and ocean.
It's the color of sadness,
also the color of royalty.
It's hues vary but it still holds beauty.
It's my color, along with so many others.
My color that empowers me.
The color that slowly melts your worries,
like the winters snow into spring.
Blue is my favorite color...
Is it yours?
16. QuestioningWhy do I even try to please you? Why do I even bother talking to you? Why do I even try to tell the truth? Why do I even wish for your happiness? Why do I do it? Is it because you're my father? Is it because I love you? Is it because I know you want your princess back? Why am I crying? Why am I mad? Why am I doing this to you? To me? Why can't I answer these questions? Why am I on the front porch, trying to tell you how I feel? Why didn't you get me help? I asked for it, didn't I? Was the lying not enough? Was the blunt," I need help" not enough? Was it? Wasn't it? Why? What if? Is it because?