You gave me just enough to keep me hoping,
hoping that one day, all the allegations my mind has made about you wouldn't turn out to be true.
And so I waited,
I waited just enough to know that this is something I feel like I can't deal with anymore.
But I still stayed.
I stayed because no matter how many times I felt like my heart was broken into tiny pieces
I knew that you had the glue that would stick them back together.
And so I begged
I begged for the kind of love that should've come standard,
I begged for being someone's first choice
I begged..
just to feel loved.
But you held that glue in your hand high enough to make sure I could see it, but I couldn't reach it.
That hurt..
Because that's when I realized that maybe you didn't want me to have it
Maybe it was supposed to be a bait all along...
How you'd show me the slightest amount of love known to human kind and I would go head over heels for it,
How'd you'd make me believe that this time it's really a change, and this is actually getting better just for it to go back to how it was in less than a second..
I saw it all.. and I still decided it was enough to keep me hoping,
But now..?
Now I feel like I don't know what's morally right to do..
Like I have to choose between forgiving or just walking away
But instead, I'm sitting here questioning my inner self like I never wanted to hear an answer this badly before,
Do I keep hoping or do I choose myself and decide that what you showed me wasn't enough to make me stay..?

The purpose of living has always been up for debate.
It’s always been humans making use of their lives
to ponder the reasons why we’re alive at all.
It’s always about knowing
the “why” and the “how,”
in the process failing to
see the “should” and the “will.”
It’s easy for us to agree that
the world is a canvas;
malleable and flexible,
blank and waiting—yet
we’re so desperate to find an answer to our reality
that we forget that
there’s more to existing than clawing at
infertile soil and dormant seeds, more than
painting our own rain and sunshine, more than sobbing
on our knees to marble and gold.
It’s ironic when you think about it,
there’s not much more to life
than going through the motions
and yet
there’s so much more to life
than just existing. They always say
that there’s a difference between living
and existing,
but when was the last time anyone actually stopped to realise it?

Pretend I'm taller
Grabbing god by the collar
Odds never matter

Not everything is as it seems
You need to look closer
Ask that burning question
Listen to that gut feeling
The meaning is there
Hidden in the cracks
Look closer
Closer
Closer...

Have you ever said,
Even internally,
"I AM FUUCKING DYING!"
Wanting it to be true but it never comes
So you find that you're innocently lying
What it this?
Deaths missed kiss?
Life mocking my last wish?
Am I not allowed some kind of bliss?
Common questions
That have passed through many a mind and uncountable lips
But ask for the answer
And find emotion rear an ugly head creating an eclipse

©2025

How does one break free of the cage that they themselves are?
When do you become something other than the accumulation of yet another scar?
I am me, but who am I,
Not to the world but simply to myself?
Why is everyone else's
Description of who I am just a laundry list
Of obvious and subconscious
Cracks in my mental health?
What could I tell a younger me
That would change the reality of his destiny?
He would have to see all I had to see
But without tragedy would I even recognize me?

©2025

A white feather bird,
Sitting on my grill,
Under the quiet moon,
As the world stands still.

It tilts its head,
Eyes dark yet bright,
Speaking in silence,
In the hush of the night.

"Why are you sad?"
It asks with a sigh,
"Are you afraid?"
As stars fill the sky.

"What do you want?"
Its voice lingers near,
"Is it difficult?"
Soft, yet so clear.

I stare at the bird,
Yet words do not flow,
For how do I answer,
What I barely know?