guilt of a shared secret.
The sickeningly sweet taste,
of fruit
too overripe
like
passion
drunk on stale wine

Parches your throat
and its tartness stranger to the tongue,

which- please
may never let
those dear
secrets see light

Filling my buckets of red—
I promise you,
I don’t have enough yet.

I don’t have enough anger
to paint the hands
of every man
who ever dared
to be a traitor.

Wearing a
white gown,
decorated with
Lotuses,
you dance
in the midst of
the distant meadows
like a new-born
petal.
But, in the depths,
where bones uncover,
etched to my black heart,
a red handprint,
you left.—
Will you
ever leave me
in peace?

I woke up early today.
I woke up close to the sun.
There's an abyss of thoughts in my head,
Those that can't be there. None.

I try not to think. I try to sleep back.
But it's no use! They press for no why.
They press in my temples! They press pack my chest!
Thoughts of those, who scarifies.

I don't know where to run me whole?
Where can I find my peace?
It's my hopelessness... It's my end...
I guess they are my guilt and penance.

Guilt, guilt, guilt
As far as I can see

Weight, weight, wait!
Its crashing down on me

Shame upon my name
Rehabilitate with blame

Change, change, strange
Things still stay the same

You love the boy I let you find,
But he is made, not born, in mind
A crafted mask, a practiced art,
A ghost of self, a split apart

He smiles on cue, he speaks with grace,
But he is only in my place
An echo dressed in borrowed light,
A shadow playing at being right

Yet still you love this polished shell,
The tale I spin, the dream I sell
But if you saw what lies beneath,
Would kindness turn to ash and grief?

If truth uncoiled from under skin,
Would love collapse from where it’s been?
Would you still look me in the eye,
If I told you this “me” was a lie?

You’ve hurt me more than you may know,
But still, I’d never strike a blow
I took your pain, I wore your shame,
Yet dream of flames I cannot name

For what I dream to do, to say,
Would wash your peace like stars away
A wave no surfer’s strength could bear,
You’d drown in tears, stripped raw and bare

You cry at oceans—I at stars,
At nebulae and bleeding scars
Your grief is deep, but not like mine,
I’ve swallowed time, and called it fine

I am not Earth, nor built for ease,
Not shaped by gardens, sun, or trees
I am a moon of Saturn’s brood,
Born of ash and solitude

Among her moons, I spin and burn,
While others freeze and never yearn
They orbit close with silent pride,
I flare with longing none can hide

I am the ember in her ice,
A misfit fire in rings precise
I circle like the rest must do,
But always dream of something new

My gaze is fixed beyond her light,
To Earth’s pale moon in endless night
That single sphere in velvet black,
Whose face reflects the love I lack

I ache to break this orbit’s bind,
To find a home more like my mind
I gaze toward Earth, where one moon glows,
Faint and familiar, through the cosmos it shows

For if I left this frigid ring,
What would my solemn Saturn think?
If I, the ember in her shade,
Defied the path tradition made?

Would Saturn weep, or would she rage?
Would guilt confine me to this cage?
Or would she sigh, and let me fly—
To chase the moon that caught my eye?

This week, I remembered how to hold things gently-
how to sit in a sunlit room with laughter
and not flinch at the brightness.

I made time.
Not borrowed, not stolen, not carved from guilt,
but real time-
offered with open hands
to people who make me feel like more than a body on a schedule.

There were hours that didn’t apologize for passing,
moments that asked nothing from me but presence.
I gave what I had, and still had something left.
Even joy. Even peace.

This week didn’t ask me to survive it.
It let me belong to it.

And now,
at the edge of it all,
I’m quietly afraid-
that I will look back on these days
from some far-off place
where time slips like water,
and wonder if this was just
a rare breath
before the drowning begins again.