~~
the moon is a whisper
on my bedroom wall,
she's ten times louder in my head

...

her name is a tide
it pulls,
it tugs,
it etches itself
on the inside of my eyelids

...

every blink is a memory i didn't ask for
her laugh-
uninvited
but welcome
always

...

the bed is too big
for one body and this much longing
some nights
sleep forgets me
other nights
she replaces it

your face,
infront of mine --
you look so heavenly
up close.
your breath grazes mine,
our noses
almost touch...
but i blink,
and you're gone. 
you're just a figment
of my imagination.

~~
grief doesn't knock-
it slips in
wearing her perfume,
that strong vanilla scent
it sits beside me in silence,
and stays longer than memory.

i always stare
at the stars
in the middle of nowhere,
because you liked constellations.
we used to find them together --
drawing silly lines in the sky
like the universe
made sense if we
connected the dots.

...

now i lie there,
in the middle of nowhere,
staring at the stars --
alone.
the sky holds them,
but it doesn't feel like it used to.
i can see orion
and i remeber
vividly
how your fingers traced it on my arm
like i was part of the sky too.

...

but you're not here anymore.
but i keep looking up,
at the constellations,
the bright stars..
just in case
you're still searching
but from somewhere
i can't see.

~~
talk to me.
stop staring from afar
i don't want stolen glances-
i want us.
i want your love.
i want your hand in mine.

...

i don't need to see you
across the room
laughing with another man
why couldn't it be me?
the girl you stare at
watch from afar-
making sure she's okay
quietly,
making sure she's not
seeing anyone else
you should talk to me
talk to me
instead of watching
instead of wondering
making sure
im not taken
im here
i just want
to be spoken to
by you.

~~
you call me petal,
suddenly im blushing
like a rose in the morning
before the sun knows to look away

...

your fingers brush against mine
and something blooms --
not loudly,
but like orchids
deciding its time.

...

you always smell like wild lavender
and stolen hours,
like the kind of spring
you never see coming
until it's already
wrapped around your ribs.

...

i used to hate snowdrops.
they're too open, too soft.
now i plant them into poems
because they remind me of you --
brave
enough
to bloom anyway.

...

this thing between us
isn't fireworks.
it's passion,
it's roots,
and patience
it feels like sunlight shared on a park bench
where your head finds my shoulder
and stays.

~~
you kissed me once --
you were drunk,
and it was once,
just once --
and then laughed like it was nothing
but your hand lingered
just half a second too long.
half a second.

...

you held my secrets
like folded contracts,
terms tucked
into your quiet,
and sneaky glances
like maybe
you were hoping,
and praying that i wouldn't read them.
or try to.

...

i should've known.
love was never in bold.
it was small,
curved quietly into the margin
of every almost we had pretended
didn't matter to us,
to me,
to anyone,
at all.

...

now you hold her hand
in public.
and i hold
all the things
you never said --
only highlighted,
neon yellow,
and in hindsight.

...

i should've read the terms,
the conditions,
the fine print.
should've known.

~~
sunlight spills
across her face,
the warm glow seeping
through the curtains
quietly,
while she sleeps --
like the morning
is in love with her too.

...

her lashes catch
the warm sun,
like she's dreaming
in golden.
i stay still,
quiet,
gentle --
not because i might wake her,
but because i don't want
to break
the moment.

~~
you only ever call --
when she doesn't answer
to your pleas.
i pick up anyway,
just to hear
a voice --
one that won't
choose me.

i forget, sometimes,
that everyone has their own world
just as full as mine.

...

that ******* the bus,
she always has blue glitter on her eyelids,
she has someone
she cries over
when it rains.

...

and that boy,
who laughs a little too loud in the hallways --
he has a grandmother
she calls him every sunday.
he has a playlist
that he never shares.

...

i forget
that lives unfold around me,
not just mine.
no one else's life
pauses
just because im not
in the same room as them.
they're full of joy,
grief,
midnight cravings,
and rom com dreams
that don't star me.

...

but tonight?
the warm city lights
look like conversations
ill never hear --
and i remeber.

you're in my life
everywhere i go.
it's like you've been
permanently placed --
as if someone
put you there
to stay
forever.

...

and i hate
that i can't escape you.
you hurt me.
so why are you
still everywhere
i go?..

i finally told them
and the silence --
it felt heavier
than any slur could.
i didn't mean to break them,
i just wanted
to be whole.

~~
it’s funny how people grow apart —
one day you’re laughing,
the next,
you’re not texting
or calling
or sending dumb memes

...

a girl i used to know
stopped calling one day
sent a birthday text —
like a ghost with good manners
i haven’t seen her in months,
she’s an old friend.

...

maybe it’s just the cycle of things.
maybe we’ll find our way back.
but that doesn’t make it hurt
any less.

~~
im thinking too much
again.
why won't you say anything?
all i said was --
"i miss you"
is that too much?
am i too much?
am i not enough?
should i love you?
it's only been a week..
i can make myself --
if it makes you happy.
am i texting too often?
did i send the wrong emojis?
was i not funny enough today?
not talkative enough?

...

****.
im thinking too much..
again.

your favourite colour
was blue.
maybe it still is,
i wouldn't know.
but whenever i see
that deep shade of blue,
that isn't too deep to be
navy and thoughts,
but also not
light enough to be
ashy and gentle,
i think of you.
this was your colour.
and i still
see you in it.

there are no sides in this --
im telling you.
im not on her side,
im not on yours,
im not even on mine.
things happen
you just have to find
an outlet --
a way to feel
without yelling
in eachothers faces.

~~
we still talk-
only in echoes now
you send memes
instead of midnight thoughts
or how your mum finally said
"im proud of you"

...

our laughter-
it used to fill rooms
theatres when we watched a comedy
but now-
it just barely stirs the surface
and i think
we both feel it

...

there's a silence between us
it hums
between messages
the long pauses
they don't even ask to be broken.
no fight,
no storm,
just the soft unraveling
of something
that was once knotted tightly.

...

maybe that's
how some tides go-
not crashing
just quietly
pulling back
pulling away softly
without a sound

i met you
on a quiet tuesday,
in the soft sunlight 
of a small beach café.
you looked bored --
so i walked over,
and we got to talking.

...

that same day,
two years later --
i walked back
into that café.
on a quiet tuesday.
in the same soft sunlight.
i ordered the same drink.

...

and i saw you,
from afar.
i didn't dare go over.
you were just bored.
and i was never
enough
to cure that alone.

i never lived there,
but i miss it
like it was home.
like i left something behind --
a version of me
still bundled up
in those hotel sheets,
in the merch line,
and in the way we laughed
way 
too loud
under those
neon blue signs.

...

it was just a weekend,
but the city held me
like it knew me.
like it didn't care
where i had flown from
as long as i sang
with everything
i had.

...

now im home.
but im not all here,
i left a version of myself
on that floor
of that arena,
still glowing.
still screaming.
still full
of everything
i want to feel again.

...

i left a piece of myself
in a city
i don't live in.
and some nights,
it feels like that version
of me
had it better --
louder laughter,
lighter shoulders,
less worry,
a heartbeat
in sync
with the music
she lives for.

...

and i wonder
if she's still
out there somewhere,
dancing along
to the beat.

there's a feeling
in my chest --
it's a chemical ache
that fizzles
like soda,
when you pop the can open,
it happens every time
i see
her.

my room --
it's away from the people,
the anxiety, 
the problems,
my grades,
my friends,
my co-workers --
it's just my room.
my sanctuary.

...

i can move things around
whenever i please,
shift the space
to make it more me.
it's mine.
and its peace.
it's my sanctuary.

~~
you know that feeling?
when your heartbeat
just quietly moves
into your ears
your throat
your ribs
your skull --
like it's trying to upset you
or escape,
but you're the one
trapping it.

...

i felt it
when she brushed my arm
it was an accident -
maybe not..
i don't know
but my chest went loud
my heart beat picked up --
not fast,
just loud
like every part of me
was pulse
like it was screaming
for everyone to know
i was alive.
it was loud.

...

i could feel it
in my teeth
in my fingertips
in my stomach
my organs jumped
like i swallowed lightning.

...

it wasn't love --
not yet.
but something in me
already knew
how loudly she could make me feel
all my emotions flooded me at once
and it was just
a light touch.

~~
i hated poetry
always dreaded it-
writing it
and reading it
i thought it was just word *****
but made pretty
with italics,
because it never made sense.

...

then i turned fourteen,
got a job,
lost friends,
lost family members,
grades dropped,
everything shifted.
i started listening to spoken word on spotify-
to quiet my brain
for a minute or two

...

but i understood them
maybe it was maturing...
or just... feeling more?
all i know is-
my brain flipped a switch
now i write
now i enjoy it.

...

i don't know why i ever hated
something this honest
something this messy
this beautiful.

i once had a dream.
about her, 
of course. 
who else would it have been?

...

and she was there --
in front of me
laughing, 
looking so
effortlessly
pretty,
like joy had learnt
how to refract
through her smile.
and she was
my girlfriend.
my
girlfriend.
and her lips --
they looked
like they were something...
between a promise
and a secret.
warm,
and soft.
i smiled
at her.
gosh.
she slowly leaned in,
and i had
plummeted
into waking.

...

it was just a dream.
not real.
not at all real.
but god --
it felt like solace.

~~
to be a teenager is to be in those social media group chats

to be a teenager is to know the hot goss, to know everyone's life

to be a teenager is to gush over boys and giggle when they look at you

to be a teenager is to be reckless, and funny, and happy

it's a social norm

it's known that if you don't do any of that, you're left out

...

so no, I'm not in the group chat with the funny name

no, i don't know the hot goss on jenny and tyler

no, I don't like any boys — i'm trying to figure out my sexuality

no, i don't like to be reckless, i'm not funny and...

i'm not happy

but maybe being a teenager isn't just that-

maybe it's the quiet, chaotic, messy in-betweens

maybe it's the questions with no answers yet

maybe it's the becoming, not the being

.....right?

~~
her absence is a hum
beneath the streetlight.
it slips through my curtains -
silver,
never soft enough
to hush my thoughts.
give me a break.

...

her name is a wind,
caught behind my ribs,
blowing through
the rooms i built for her
but never locked.

...

every breath feels borrowed,
taken -
like she left it behind
by accident.
like her smile,
still living in the quiet
between my heartbeats.

...

the bed forgets
how to hold me right,
how to put me to sleep.
some nights,
loneliness is a second pillow.
other nights,
it’s her voice -
curled up
where my dreams should be.
but they aren’t.

i always forget
that this globe 
spins,
even when i feel
like im stuck.
somewhere,
someone is falling in love
at the same time
that im falling apart.

...

i hold a snow globe --
the one from the family 
christmas, back in 2016.
i shake it --
watch it storm inside,
and i think,
maybe im still learning
how to settle
after everything
swirls.
after the mess.

...

the world is round,
but it never
feels like it comes back
to me.

~~
i don't miss her per se
not really-
not the way she stirred her coffee counter-clockwise
or how she spoke my name
ever so softly
like a secret
no one else could hold

...

i miss the feeling
of her-
that imagined life
woven in between shared glances
and almosts
the home i built
in her soft
gummy smile
before i saw the cracks

...

i miss what never even happened
the parallel version of us
the ones who stayed.
is that still missing her?
or just missing
being wanted
by someone
who never really could?

...

my ache has no address
no home
yet it answers
to her name
every time
like it's all i know
like she's all i know

make the art you search for
the kind of art
you never find
but always feel.

...

the kind that
holds your hurt
without asking a million times,
"why?"
the kind that feels
like being seen.

...

and maybe it's not out there
because it's waiting
for you
to create it.

~~
i think i was meant
to be a flower --
maybe a tulip.
soft,
sunlit,
open.
but i spent
way
too
long
wilting away
before i even got the chance
to bloom.

...

there were summers
i didn’t feel.
playgrounds i left
way too early.
and dresses i never wore
because i didn’t feel pretty --
or skinny enough
to.

...

i wanted to run
along the beach
with my group of friends,
laughing,
smiling.
but i was too shy.
too scared
they’d make fun
of the way i run.
so i didn’t go.

...

i’m only fifteen,
but some days
i feel like
my petals
already fell.
like i was just
too late.

...

and maybe one day,
i’ll grow again --
maybe as an orchid.
maybe softness
isn’t something you miss,
but something
you return to.

i left behind
a version of me
that night,
at the concert,
on that arena floor --
lighter,
louder,
happier,
and still dancing
in a city
i don't live in.

i think about her
way more than she knows --
shes like a song
stuck in my teeth,
or a dream
that won't leave my head.
it won't wash off.

...

she laughs
and i hear it for days.
she touches my shoulder
and my whole body,
instantly tries to memorize
the feeling.

...

this isn't love,
not yet atleast --
it's limerence.
the unbearable
maybe.
the ache that is shaped
like hope
with nowhere to land.

every morning, 
i stare at the mirror --
looking into my own eyes
like they belong
to someone else.

...

my smile feels forced,
stolen.
like i borrowed this body,
and forgot 
to give it back.

...

i don't deserve it.
i neglect this body,
my shattered heart
would survive better
in someone
more loving
and patient.

i think there's more
than what my small hands can hold --
something
beneath the name of things.
an unusual silence
inside sound,
a reason
behind my ache.

...

maybe love
isn't the smile
or the warmth --
maybe it's the thing
that lingers
once she's gone.
maybe its
the truth,
not the feeling.
the ghost,
not the soft kiss.

...

and maybe im not only
skin,
voice,
and wanting --
maybe i am
what watches
from behind 
my own two blue eyes,
trying to grasp
an understanding
of what any
of this
means.

...

ill never see the whole of it.
maybe im not meant to.
perhaps the knowing
isn't just in the visuals,
the seeing --
instead its in believing
that there's something
there.

~~
we never speak
just glance
across italian class
across the corridor
across everything we don't say

...

she sits beside.. him
laughing loudly as he kisses her cheek
but her eyes flick
they always do
to me.
the girl sitting alone
head in a book

...

we trade seconds
like stolen notes
neither is brave enough
to unfold
to admit
and maybe in some other version of today
those glances would have been hands

~~
happiness hums in the quiet light,
laughs that bloom without a why,
the warmth is caught
in passing glances-
bare tlfeet dancing through the sky
all these feelings,
tangled and small,
easily labelled as one;
happy.

~~
trying to sleep without you --
is like the depths of hell
the big fires,
the scary people.

...

i can't get comfy.
my body burns,
aches even,
it itches
without your warmth.
without your touch.
i feel like --
im burning alive

...

this is the worst it gets,
right?
unable to sleep alone,
unable to cope alone,
needing you with me,
just to quiet my brain
enough
to finally get
some shut eye.

~~
you were always
something oceanic --
pulling,
never touching,
loud
but somehow
without sound.

...

i had never learnt
how to swim,
but i waded into you
like i wouldn’t drown.
even though i couldn't swim.
i waded anyway,
like softness
could save me.

...

you had looked at me
like a wave
right before it breaks --
beautiful
confident
but too full
of something
it cannot hold.

...

i should’ve known.
even low tides leave salt.
even still,
quiet, gentle water
it pulls you under
if you stay too long.
especially if you stay too long.

...

but gosh,
you were just so --
blue.
and i was so incredibly
willing,
to just let you in
to let myself drown,
slowly losing myself.

~~
you said it was a joke,
about how you wanted to kiss me
you looked me
straight in my eyes
and told me,
"i could kiss you right now"
then pulled away after a moment.
your touch lingered,
i could still feel your hands there,
on my cheeks,
holding them.
i could still feel
your body heat --
you had gotten too close
close enough for me to still feel it
because even though you left
you were still there.

...

you said it was a joke,
but the look in your eyes
it was desperate,
like you needed a push
to kiss me
then
and there

~~
she laughs into her girlfriend's shoulder

but watches me like a secret

like she's holding her breath-

a sigh of relief

in the shape of something new

and i see it-

the way her smile trembles

when our eyes catch,

like she's just met a truth

she wasn't looking for,

as she turns back to her girlfriend

the girl

who isn't me.

~~
"we are not a phase"
they had told us
to whisper our pronouns
hide our true colours painted on flags
like shame folds easier
than truth.

...

they say,
"love has rules"
but only when it looks
a certain way,
and we never looked
they way they had wanted,
the way they expected us to be.

...

but we exist
in full colour --
in quiet,
soft,
gentle first kisses,
in second glances that were held
a little too long by most,
in the hands that tremble
but still reach.

...

we are not a debate.
we are certainly not a phase.
we are stories
that are still being written,
in chalk
on our skin,
in protest,
and in poems.

...

and when they try to erase us,
who we are,
we come back.
louder.
softer.
screaming for rights.
still here.