Dig into my chest like it’s bare soil—make it a grave, not for
mourning, but for planting. Let my heart be buried like a seed,
not as a casualty. **** out what once wrapped itself around
me like vines of bitterness, strangling my better nature. And if
love is to grow, let it bloom where my brokenness once lived.

To those who fall in love, only to fall harder out of it—do not
call yourselves foolish. Rising from that grave, petals torn but
still reaching for the sun, aren’t you the rose that dared the dirt?
Beautiful in defiance, bruised but not defeated.

Each morning, the sun rises like it’s trying to convince me it’s
worth beginning again. Beneath that light, my thoughts crash
like waves against the cliffs of a heart too mountainous to climb.
I keep counting stars like uncashed wishes, dreams I tuck into
the corners of silence. Love plays its hand close to the chest—
a secret it folds into itself, waiting to be revealed when the
moment is just right.

But I’ll never know enough. Maybe I wasn’t meant to. But I have
loved—truly, painfully, and almost beautifully. And that should
count for something, by the sum of this heart that still beats,
and still believes, but also still breaks.

So here I am, with these cards on the table. No bluff left in me.
Even a faithful lover would cry, 'God, are you listening; deal me
a better hand. Not one free of pain, but one I can hold with both
hands steady. One that doesn’t slip through the cracks I’ve tried
so hard to mend. But one I can grip with love, and not lose again.'

But oh, how you'll weep— not for what’s been lost,
but for what you're scared to lose.

I’ve got finger stitches — love handed me needles;
the attentions of spiraling vines; some bear grapes,
but not all are ripe with maturity, some just needless.
Burning every bridge while the sky stays divinely nested,
and I’ve tied these knots around my tired heart,
left admiring birds of a feather — but never flying
south together — all bested.

They press your buttons just for their luck to press —
dim suggestions also light up the road to regret
Lessons in subtle form and silent —whatever mistakes
you walk into and out of, never forget their steps.

Hiking with joy into the last light of sunset; yes, we can
fall in love like the sun falls behind a mountain crest —
rising bright by morning, but crying in the dark —
perhaps this isn’t love yet.

And that’s okay.

I am a silhouette that’s almost human —
a wishful thought, a half-formed tune.
A path that doesn't circle back,
no map, no rewind, no past to track.
I’m a gunfighter — my words are the bullets,
time the outlaw I’ve hunted in dullness and pullets.
As I’ve killed it slow in many hours lost,
paid my thrills in tears, but never knew their full cost.

I’ve held a love like a flood — wild, rushing, raw,
then dried out in its drought, begging heaven for more.
I chase new highs like I’m being chased —
while fear cracks at my heels, but I still keep pace.
I smile like bravery wrapped in so much doubt,
as each piece of laughter is a whisper trying to shout.
And see that my eyes have carried their tearful ache,
and never the cherry on top of cheerful cake.

But still —
I’ve done the hard things though trembling inside,
lived among broken people; the ones who’ve also cried.
And I may not be whole so often, but I’ve learned to feel,
in every fractured moment — to be something real.

Can’t hold onto anyone’s time—
 their life is out of your hands.
But still, we all take these
   steps of being so etched in
somebody’s memory—
     like footprints in the sand.

I keep counting all the time I
  tried to hold onto the past,
 without a watch in my hand.

Watch the moment pass—
 tense, sinister in tenacity.
  A voracious hour—
      feeding off  what I didn’t say,
    what I left behind.
      Art quietly buried in my mind.

And all those things I thought
were gone— they love to
  reappear as a new regret.

Still transparent. Still off-putting.
But put off those mistakes—
  and put on the lessons.
Be beautiful in your time.
Not perfect. Just worth building.

They’ll write it down— the inspiring
  story of how you rose,
 even when time kept slipping
      through your hands.

In my eyes—wide shut—
I rearrange the scattered pieces, trying
to build a better version of myself from
what once felt like a creature. I frame
my thoughts to get a clearer picture,
decorating the past in shades that turn
away from mistakes, and painting the
rest with the soft light of my achievements.

Time drifts like dust—
blown apart in fragments. And I wonder
if anyone has ever truly been put together
perfectly. Even the greatest successors were
once victims, parts of themselves quietly missing.

To be complete is to keep finding yourself
again—to return, again and again, to the
reason you began. I stay committed to the
foundation of a dream, building it day by
day from these few, fragile pieces.

I went looking for someone to blame for all the cracks
in my name, for the mess I made — but that mirror
didn’t tell a lie. The culprit wore my face.
I don’t want your love. I don’t want your shame.
Still, somehow, you found me — tongue bitter with
the taste of your mistakes; pressed against my teeth
like communion for the broken.

Tears rose — blooming smoke, clouds of falling flowers.
A storm of soft destruction, raining petals made of regret —
but it never rained just mine. It rained yours too.

Yet you learn to grow from the things that once cut
you down. Even the sharpest wounds can become
something softer when you let them go.
Edges trimmed; old roots shed — and still, I rise.
So now, when you see me, don’t mistake me for my
damage. I am not the bruise. I am not the blade.
I am far better than the sum of my mistakes.

i've got something,
a feeling of all sorts

if there's anything i have learned
through the entirety of my growth
it's to know and understand
and find the right moment
where i have to twist and wring and pull
such a tight knot in my chest,
just so none of my feelings
would sleep anywhere close
to those they are concerned for
or took birth 'cause of

barely tried for 407 hours,
simply gave up

always a mix and combination of almost
never the forever
always a something,
never the nothing's everything

i will wring out my heart
until every single drop
of this newly found heartbreak
breaks me from within
and does not seep
into anyone else's thought

but what if i meant
i wanted to disappear
only to be found
by the one who has enough time
and enough want
to actually search for me?

some days i despise
having this weak, old, ratty heart
that is attached to the tip of my finger,
not even the sleeves—
and slips itself
into the pocket of anyone
who so much as breathes

do not despise the love i feel
(even though doing the gulp of acceptance
is like drinking lemon
straight from the pet it's found in.)

Many times,
life denied me
what I longed for,
what I expected,
what I believed was mine.

Sadness,
uncertainty,
wrapped around me.
Why others?
Why not me?

Again and again,
I thought I understood:
It wasn’t mine,
I didn’t deserve it.

But today,
under the sun,
I ask myself:
Why not?

I am a worthy being.
I know how to love,
I strive every day.
I respect,
I believe,
I share,
I give.

And those who know how to give
also know how to receive.

I deserve everything in my life.
I deserve freedom.
I deserve health.
I deserve peace.
I deserve prosperity.
I deserve love.
I deserve happiness.

What are you depriving yourself of?