How strange the rules of energy —
Machines demand, pull, grind
But my world,
My soul,
Gave without friction.

I gave light
Unknowingly
A pure glow I never knew I held
Not for me—
But for those I chose to love.

I never knew
My light would also clear my path
But I burned—
Greedy, aching for return
Hoping to bask in the same warmth
I freely gave.

Instead—
Scorched.
Flames kissed my spirit
Tethered my shine to fear
And I think
I closed the switch.

Not because I want to
But because I must.
The world isn’t ready
For a gem like this.
And yet I grieve
That my path-lighting
Is not met
By fireflies.

Still—
It stings.
Still—
It aches.

I’ve backed out.
I’m maxed out.
And for once,
This light—
Must rest.

It’s hard to mute the sun inside
To unlearn the giving
To silence the shine.
But I’m not giving it away.

I just want to stop.
No—
I need to stop.

Let the dark be dark for a while.
Let me breathe
Without burning.

And to those who lit my way—
were light
Or did their best
in their quiet, quiet glow—
I hold you in my heart like dawn.
May warmth find you,
gentle and true,
May the light you gave
return to you
in a thousand soft flames.

A dead tree plank—
I guess I was sad it went away,
But at the same time,
It offered firewood,
A source of energy,
Of light,
Of campfire warmth.

What will my absence bring?
Will the weight of my leaving shift the earth?
Will my presence,
Removed,
Mean anything at all?

I notice things, I guess.
I motived the evasion—
The silent evasion,
The less-than-gentle encounters.
Ask me why I let things pass?
Because when I leave,
I have no regrets,
No reason to turn back
And think I didn’t give my best.
This is my goodbye.

The tangle of my words, my head—
Let me answer that:
It won’t.
It won’t change a thing.

Another tree will grow there,
Fresher, finer,
Casting the same shade I once gave.

And though I cannot stop myself,
The shade I offered,
The loud, the silent comfort—
Is easily replaced
By a shrub.

Look.
Observe.
Then choose:
Be the prey,
Or be the predator—
Whichever fits your skin today.

Smile, frown, laugh—
Only as deserved.
I don’t serve emotion
Where it hasn't been earned.

It's wise not to repeat history’s errs,
But it’s rare—
A soul bold enough
To seal itself
Or throw the dice
And feel anyway.

To be open—
Truly open—
Is a right well-earned.
To be open
Without deservation
Is a choice I sometimes make.

I juggle it all.
Dip my heart in waters,
Test each temperature,
To see which part of me fits this set.

When I’m open without a guard,
Consider it sacred—
A privilege.
Because understanding me?
That’s no basic math.

And when I take offense,
It means I see your redemption still.
Indifference?
Now that’s the true ****.

But the worst of it?
My zero.
The plastic smile,
The Barbie act,
Given graciously,
While I rot inside the wrap.

When I’m too agreeable,
When I grin too wide—
Trust,
It might just be
Distrust in disguise.

Because sometimes,
I gift you only
My poker face grace.

It’s a tradition all over,
They did it—now I’m meant to fold,
To drink the same bitter brew they swallowed,
As if pain were heirloom gold.

It tasted like bitter leaf,
When they could have picked spinach instead.
Why choose the thorned path of grief,
When sweetness blooms just ahead?

They called it fate,
They called it duty,
But I call it what it truly is—
The burial of beauty.

I won’t conform to the old design,
Not every story ends in tears.
Nothing is impossible to redefine,
Not when courage outshines fears.

Their ideas creep like poison ivy,
Climbing fast, choking breath.
But I, I step aside—
I won’t go blind into that depth.

I deserve a candy cane,
Not another link in a chain.
I deserve love that doesn’t drain,
Not masked as honour, not soaked in pain.

So if they say I must kneel
In unions void of care and grace,
I will rise, steel in my heel,
With fire in my place.

Even if I must fight the skies,
The earth, the storm, the sea—
Let it be known—I won’t accept
What steals the soul of me.

I will not take any lees.
Only wholeness.
Only peace.

People should learn
how to speak like the sun—
direct, warm, no shade unless asked.
Age doesn’t buy you the right
to sharpen your tongue
on someone else’s silence.

Tone cuts deeper than words,
sarcasm isn't seasoning—
it’s a slow poison
unless served in laughter between equals.
Otherwise, it’s a leash
meant to drag dignity through dust.

I’m no saint in this mess.
But even wolves remember
the sting of a snare.

At 6 o’clock,
life circles back
to feed us everything we dished—
sweet or sour.

So if someone’s good enough
to breathe the same air,
don’t hand them thorns
for picking flowers.

Cutesy isn’t weakness.
It’s grace.
And grace bites back
when least expected.

I've always wondered—
If baby carriers worn at six o’clock,
Or slings drawn close to the chest—
Which is better?
One cradles a mother’s aching spine,
The other calms a child’s frantic breath.

Does one weigh less,
Or simply feel lighter
Because love shifts the gravity?
Is it comfort or convenience,
A whisper to the world
Or a hush to the soul?

It’s like life—
One posture pleases the crowd,
The other holds you closer to yourself.

So tell me—
Which one would you be?
The back that bears with quiet strength,
Or the chest that beats with knowing warmth?
Would you give ease to others,
Or peace to your own aching pulse?

I wonder still—
But maybe,
Maybe I’d be both.

You imagine hands cradling you,
Lulling you into soft oblivion—
If you had that,
The real would seem useless,
An echo,
An extra limb.

But if you lacked it,
You’d claw at the real,
Cling to bone and breath,
Hoping the world
Would mirror your mind.

And guess what?
I’ve always had those arms—
In my head.
They held me when no one did.
Made me brave.
Made me distant.
Standoffish.
Steel-willed.

Still...
I wonder
What the real thing feels like.
Would it anchor me,
Or make me unravel?

Does that longing make me greedy—
Or just human?