All I ever wanted was to be heard—
not understood, not pitied—just heard,
as one hears a clock ticking in a locked room,
as one hears their own breathing in a dream that won’t end.

I am an ocean not of water,
but of thoughts that never learned to swim—
they drown me daily.
I am a sea of unwritten words,
each one begging for a voice,
but my throat is a sealed coffin.

I want to scream—
God, I want to scream,
but even my silence echoes louder than my voice.

I’ve buried everything so far beneath my ribs
that even I can’t find it anymore.
I am not a body—
I am a mausoleum of emotions never mourned.
I am the undertaker and the corpse,
digging my own grave with quiet nights.

Will the microphone ever arrive?
Or will I write these thoughts
on a letter no one reads,
stamp it with blood,
and mail it to a future I’ll never meet?

Love…
Love is a strange creature—
It does not knock; it breaks in.
And when it enters, it leaves ruin behind.
It terrifies me like beauty terrifies a mirror—
I cannot hold it
because I do not trust it.
How can I believe in something
so delicate, when I break everything I touch?

Sometimes I fear myself—
No—
I fear myself more than I fear death.
Because death is certain.
But I…
I am still becoming.