Your friends
Won't read your poetry
Foolish to think they would
Unfair too
To expect em to
This aversion
Is understood
For you won't
Get a true reaction
It'll be tempered
With kindness
And tact
But there's
Always one
Who bucks that trend
As a matter of fact.

If paper and pen
understand me to my core,
then it is my voice that betrays me evermore.
I know better, yet opening up
stays my biggest fear.
I am surface-leveled,
neither there, nor here.
And so comfortably, with no fuss,
I stay a projection,
nothing more than dust.
I am your imagination,
no depth,
no width.
I am only but a shell.
An empty figure,
stripped of will and vigor.

Just one;
and the crowd disappears.  
Not the noise,  
but the ache beneath it.  

Your robe sweeps  
like the edge of a memory  
too sacred to name,  
too silent to forget.  

I didn’t ask.  
Didn’t shout.  
Just reached,  
as if the gravity of healing  
could be borrowed  
in a breath.  

Blood listens.  
Shame stills.  
Every fracture sings  
beneath skin mended  
by mercy  
I dared not deserve.

You turned.  
Not to scold,  
but to see me,
the me behind the reaching.  

And that touch?  
It was not mine.  
It was yours,  
returning everything  
I didn’t know I’d lost.

It's mental  indigestion-
knowing too much
that which is little
bears the best touch

so easy to handle
so light- it's enough
just like simple joys-
nothing is like such!

Help me through, magic blue.
Help me through.
The day.
The day.
Oceans’ blue.
Oceans’ grey.
Help me.
Save me.
Let me be swimming.
In you.
To you.
A new beginning.
Start new.
Don’t let me hear a single noise.
Just your waves, a mermaids’ voice.
But no more banging sound.
Let me whirl and swirl, let me go.
Round and round.
To places I don’t know.
But seen only in dreams and heard only in whispers and voices of the sea.
Let me be that creature, let me be sparkly. ✨