In kisses showered,
through cupped hands,
you cross
from beryl eyes,
and rest in me!

Your tender face,
in mine
embodied!

An impression forms,
of no other,
none,
no boundary,
where neither I
begins,
nor ends!

I gasp,
as both the outer,
and the inner
a single eye
betwixt
engenders.

love is not a scarcity
it is a renewable resource
if you've found it once
you will find it again

nothing is truly static
you will outgrow people,
places, relationships
and that's okay to do

remember when times are tough
the only person you should trust
whom you can always rely on
is yourself

we all age, we all die
so make sure the people
you love know how you feel
because they will not always be there

it's okay to leave a situation
that makes you unhappy
that's not selfish
it's self-preservation

i’m used to rainy days.
and it’s okay,
because i’ve always loved the rain,
loved the smell of it
and feel of it
and taste of it, as an earthy drop
lands on my lips.
i know that there are
unexplained rainy days,
where nobody could predict it
but the storm hit so
hard & heavy
that it couldn’t help but drown the one,
unlucky girl standing under the rain cloud.
but i also know that
these days are supposed to be
few & far between, at least
where i’m from.
but lately,
(does the last two years still count as “lately?”)
the rain clouds keep showing up,
pounding me again & again
before i get the chance to breathe
like an unrelenting ocean.
i honestly can’t remember
what the sun feels like,
and that scares me
because the girl once filled with it
is now soaked,
waterlogged—
rain streaming out of every pore.
too much of anything can
make you hate it—
i can now confidently say that
i hate the rain.
-a.c.b

I wish...
I wish I could appreciate myself the way you do.

There are things
That I could maybe consider
That would make me believe
That I am the slightest bit interesting,
Or different.

But I feel like those things don’t compare,
When I cannot be competent enough to succeed in everything else.

I still fail to see
What you hold so dearly in me.

When I look to myself,
I do not feel like I am to be mixed up in the crowd,
Or to be like everyone else.

I see myself as standing out in that crowd.
But not to perform or exude confidence,
But rather to overtake the dazzling show someone else is putting on
Just by being themselves.

I jump in front of this amazing person,
Unable to control my actions.
I humiliate myself,
With every eye turned on me.

Maybe
I’m not jumping in front of this person.
Maybe
I’m just being myself.
But being myself is exactly what I hate.

I am once again the Reaper of Happiness.
Not from myself,
But from others.

I am not unfortunate enough to have nothing.
In fact, I have everything.
I have someone who loves me
And who I love back.
I have people who love me,
Even though I don’t say it back.
I have friends who care about me,
And always have my back.
And I have parents
Who feel the joy of raising me.

I have everything


Except myself.

I have stepped out of my eyes

And I’ve seen what it’s like to be an observer.

It is a strange feeling of weightlessness that only occurs when I’m tired.

And it is then,
Then when I realize,
That I am able to live from afar,
Live off calculations.

Smile when she smiles,
Laugh when he laughs.

I am the shrewd observer of myself,
Watching my every move.

I am the eye searching through my window,
Unable to see the full picture of me
Through the thin slits in the blinds.

I am the reflection in my mirror,
Looking away when I remove my clothes.

I am the persona I see of myself online,
Taking ten pictures
Until it looks just right.

Sometimes,
I am the fake facade
That actually likes what she sees.

I am the fake facade,
Who’s smile comes and leaves.

I will never be able to see
What you hold so dearly in me.

Appreciation I give myself comes in small fragments
Like light shining in through a glass pane on a ceiling.

So close, and so intimate
That I can feel the rays warming my skin,
Feel their energy.

But so far,
when I try to reach for the glass pane
In hope
It is far out of reach.
But from my perspective,
It is something so easy to achieve.
And thus,
Happiness becomes something I must  conceive.

I will never reach the point
In which I understand
why you want our hands to be joined.

I am below you,
And you are above me.
A twisted hierarchy
That I will never be unable to see.

So therefore you’d be better off




If you don’t pour all of your valuable self

Into me.