echo island
invites me to dine on its shore.
the wild orchid, hidden and torn,
begs me to linger,
weaves gold in my hair —
and claims me,
its trophy,
unaware.

(on the ten-year anniversary of leaving home)

without looking back,
she boarded a flight,
concealing that piercing anxiety.
to soothe the ache,
packed her language as a guide,
weeping quietly for her country.

recognition came in tears,
stretched paper-thin—
that her home couldn’t yet grasp
that love begins within.

the early years, under flickering lights,
were spent seeking solace.
with inner voices softly humming—
inhaling cheap wine,
books as her compass—
enough to outweigh not belonging.

some nights,
she danced until her heels
worn the skin away,
bleeding her truth into tile,
whilst friends, thick as thieves,
melted into laughter, and gin.

she loved badly,
lit candles to soften the silence
that screamed louder at 3 a.m.,
scribbled poetry
on the walls of her soul—
long forgotten, left forsaken.

her twenties were a strange gift,
she never thought to ask for,
memories scattered down the hallway,
like spilled drinks, laced with honesty.
sometimes the weight is still sore,
and yet she’s walking,
barefoot,
unfolding.

It still hurts.
Your memory’s radioactive.
It’s no use thinking about
how much I lost
as the script of my life kept rolling.

You caught me as I fell,
I was searching for a way out,
and found you instead.
But reaching for you
only pulled me deeper down.

Looking back is hard.
Toxic dust I breathed in,
a chemical romance
that burned through my lungs,
your atmosphere seeping into everything.

Maybe fate turned kinder
the moment I left.
what I might have become
is folded quiet, neatly kept.

But it still stings.
Not the loss—the time I can’t reclaim.
You weren’t a lesson.
You were a delay.

So take the version of me
you once believed.
I won’t ask fate for mercy,
nor beg time to rewind.
I’m done with your ghosts
that never tried.

Velvet-soft touch,
a rainbow sunrise,
naïve smiles
reflected in your eyes.

Caribbean lightning,
words written in sand,
goosebumps rising
up my arm, down my hands.

Tropical jungle,
a caressing breeze,
sun-kissed freckles
spilling over me.

Sweat-drenched longing,
a turquoise bay,
your quiet glance
burning like fate.

Scorching sunlight,
hunger in flames,
a mariachi chorus
dancing 'round the blaze.

Spanish murmurs —
'Vamos al bar',
your family waits
with mezcal in a jar.

Bare feet wandering,
a crimson sky,
the sea kisses shells
the tide leaves behind.

Seductive darkness,
a star-scattered dome,
the high-risen moon
spins legends of home.

A gentle touch,
chestnut-brown eyes,
beneath the palms,
desire comes alive.

Laughing gulls,
a tide that won’t part —
and in this sand
I bury my heart.

Say something.
I’d love to hear
how your voice might break
the ice, that’s formed between.

Say something.
Say it out loud.
Let it quiet the war
raging beneath my doubt.

Say something.
Say you carry my scent home,
etched into your skin,
weathering the rain and storm.

Say something.
Say you see the hurt—
that this wandering heart of mine
is heavier than any witch-cast curse.

Say something.
Say nothing will change,
and I can follow you blindly
to where love is a leap of faith.

Say something.
Say this is enough for you.
That my pure-hearted longing
was only borrowed, not owed.

Say something.
Say that when the years have passed,
you’ll be no more than a forgotten weight,
and I won’t ache for you again.

it rests in a box — unworn, untouched.
a pink medallion on a thread,
carefully guarded, like a best-kept secret.
the tale of a flame sparks a sudden wonder—
pillows, scents, a shy, sweet blunder.
I’m haunted again by a senseless memory
of wine-soaked evenings—pleasant, temporary.
we were never anything at all.
no debts to pay, no love to call.
and still, your trace remains in my mind.
a bond of secrets, the silent kind.
I could throw it into the river, set it free,
so I no longer feel its weight on me.
but part of me still leans into the ache.

there’s a necklace in my pocket.

I said your name last night,
to no one—just my shadow on the wall,
softly, a suggestion of a whisper,
pretending it didn't hurt at all.

I carry you like bruises,
and although I swore I wouldn't beg,
here I am, on my knees,
inside every text that I don't send.

It's not the act I fear,
but the breath before the yes—
as our worlds begin to unravel
like silk, shredded by violence.

If I break, please, break with me,
let's fall apart together now,
let's cry, as we burn to pieces.
I expect you to break me right.