"I thought I was busy, so did he.
I was worried, so was he.
I loved men… so did he."

She is the life,
He is the death.
She was mistreated,
He held no breath.
She hoped to end,
He fought to stay.
She kissed him once—
He rose,
She slipped away.

I sat on a chair, my mind was bare,
No spark, no flame, just empty air.

A bird flew in with a cheerful tweet,
She danced a while, then made retreat.

She took my thought, my golden light,
And left me staring, blank and white.

Step 1: Smile.
Step 2: Forget why.
Step 3: Keep your voice steady
when your soul is not.
Step 4: Pretend it’s fine.
(Everyone else is.)

Step 5: Fold your feelings
into paper birds.
Set them loose.
Watch them burn mid-air.
Clap softly.
Repeat.

There is no final step.
You just keep going
until you don’t know
what breaking feels like anymore.

It is not you
Becoming
Tired of Life
It is life
Becoming tired
of You

They say sticks and stones may break my bones
But her words
They've cut me deeper than a belt or switch ever could
They've left their sting, their wounds, their mark
Not on flesh where any eye could see
But hidden, secretly
On my broken wounded heart
Strike by strike, their tone, their sound
I'm broken, beaten to the metaphorical ground

This 'strong-willed child'
'Stubborn' and 'determined'
Was a scared, lost little girl
In such a big, frightening world
Longing to be hugged and held
But the looming Tyrant only
Criticized and sometimes yelled

The once-bubbly child fell silent
Learned to bite her tongue
So the words don't come, that lead
To punishment and correction
The price she paid, the feeling
Of belonging and connection seemed
A worthwhile fee to find protection
Alone, isolated,
Wordless perfection