screaming,
all you do is scream,
i’m not good enough for you,
never enough.

i eat too much or not enough,
wrong clothes,
wrong hair,
wrong me,
all for you.

i can’t take this anymore,
please,
i’m crying,
breaking on the bathroom floor,
why can’t you see?

you told me you loved me
but love isn’t supposed to hurt,
not like this.

Sorry.
I’m not sorry
for being me.
Yet somehow,
I still find myself apologizing
…for merely existing.

After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.

The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.

There is no end,
Only a door swinging inward.
I become the question and the answer,
The seed, the flame, the sky undone.

I will not speak,
But you will feel me in stillness—
When time pauses,
And your heart remembers
That it too is part of the infinite.

Death is not loss,
But a returning to source.
A merging with the song
That sings through all.

So do not mourn—
I have not vanished.
I have returned to everything.

❝Isn’t the ending of a lovely story supposed to have all the bad guys die? For example, you, or me…❞
there won’t be anyone left to tell the story.

Writing's worse,
Music doesn't work,
Talking to you helped,

I guess I didn't want to hear,


What I knew you'd say



Eventually

i don’t write about you
as often as i used to.
i feel sorry about that.
you still make everything
feel like a love story.
even when my hands shake,
even when the days are heavy,
you hold me like the ending
could still be happy.

i love you in quieter ways now,
in glances, in waiting,
in letting myself stay.
and that matters more
than any poem ever could.
but still, i’ll try to write you one
anyway.

the internet ruined love

always the child
who never got appreciated
just an unwanted child
trying her hardest
to be the perfect one—
just once.
trying her hardest
to be appreciated,
dying to hear:
“you did a great job,”
“the dish you cooked was very nice,”
“i’m proud of you,”
“you scored 98% in maths,”
“i’m proud of my daughter.”
she just wanted
to be loved.
to be seen.
to be appreciated.