You're a ''GOOD PERSON''

How can one be measured a good person? Is it by the good one does or simply by the good one thinks they’re doing. And if its the latter, whats the difference?
if there’s always good intentions behind one’s actions, who are you to decipher if that person should be measured up to actually possess goodness?
On the same token, if one’s actions result in a negative effect, regardless of the simple intent, does that “good” action lose all meaning? leaving that person never able to measure up to said ”goodness”?

I cook. I read, a lot. Kerouac and Whitman are my favs. I drink coffee in

 the mornings, English tea in the evenings. I'm a diehard Chargers & Padres fan.

 I drink champagne often just for the sheer hell of it. I'm a dashboard drummer. 

I Irish jig when I'm drunk on St.Patty's Day or when someone plays Flogging 

Molly, or when someone asks me to. I talk to myself; and at times, i answer. 

I journal. I do not know the exact color of my eyes. I have an insatiable curiosity 

to learn. My drink is an ''Old Fashion". 

I'm in the middle of writing a novel. I love sports. I attempt a ''scream-o" voice 

while listening to hardcore rock. It never works out well. I am addicted to the 

sunshine. i don't like A-1 sauce on steak. It makes me gag. I want to re-build a dirt

 bike. I could spend all day in a book store or library. I love Jameson whiskey.

I car-dance and hold concerts in my car daily. I meet my friends for coffee, brunch

 or happy hour. My faith means more to me then religion. I put Siracha on most 

things I eat and consider a cheese/bread/fruit plate to be a completely adequate dinner. 

I have a terrible poker face. I find sleeves insanely sexy...in fact I prefer my men 

covered in tattoos. I value family. I value friends that are like family. I love deeply. 

I trust easily. I kiss deliberately.

I used to think that love was something only in the fairy tales. Something that was so far out of reach for me that I might as well have been trying to grasp the stars. How could everyone else find love so easily; jump from one romance to the next without even a blink of an eye. I didn't understand that and I didn't understand why I had to wait ever so patiently, and alone.

I didn't understand until I met him.

Everything from that point on made me realize why it was never right before. Why it had never worked before him. I understood that the universe was simply waiting for the right time to align the stars in such a way that our paths would cross. In such a way that our eyes and hearts would not only be awakened but brought to life.

I didn't understand until that night when he told me he loved me; beneath the stars, that I was perfectly fine waiting for a love…a love like ours. 

"the deeper your scars, the more room there is to fill them up with love. Don’t hate your scars, appreciate their depth....."

Poetry...

      
It is the blood, sweat, hopes and dreams of the writer. It’s exactly how that person is feeling at that exact moment. The fear, anger, disappointment and anguish one keeps locked away pour out onto the paper. The ink becomes the soul. You cannot justify it nor attempt to understand the thoughts racing through one’s mind at that very moment when the pen hits the paper. It’s pointless to try. It’s in the unrestrained and un-premeditated moments that one can truly release emotion. It’s laughing and weeping all together molded as one. Imaginary walls collapse and the soul is free; if only for a brief moment.

It’s the broken-ness in one’s soul that draws the greatness to the words. I believe broken-ness is beauty. Those who live life with perfect, scarless porcelain skin don’t truly live. The scars prove that you have lived and have taken risks. Dont be ashamed of the scars and band-aids on your heart; they are proof that you exist and that you were…

 

 

Like trying to read braile handlessly,

i'm searching your words for meaning

reaching only the conclusion

of carelessness wrapped in a

pretty little box.

And as picture perfect as it seemed,

the ends were frayed,

the walls had holes

forever leaving an escape route

at my disposal.

Her thoughts became clear. She knew, deep down to her core, just exactly what she wanted and eventually she'd have it. It was just that patience was the key, but unfortunately that was one thing that she lacked. Like a lonely missing piece to a hundred piece jig-saw puzzle that was mistakenly tossed out with the trash. Patience was simply not a virtue she possessed nor saw the value in. She lived for the now, the here, the present. Sitting around hoping and waiting for something to happened seemed cowardly. Just go out and get it! Reach both hands out and take what you want! Why wait?