We were young,
no accident,
brittle are branches
snapping
of fragility.
They say,
there's blood
in a tree's bark...
And the pain comes,
with chopping
of the wood.
We can't be blamed
for loss of innocence
to the grey swirly
of constant clouds,
watching us
since we were
knee hide,
delivering
fore-boding
nightmares.....

There’s a spark between your lips, and it lights mine
when we kiss— we’re a match: fighting against all
the ways we’ve tried to smother what we feel.
As the sun cuts through me, kissing my skin in
gold— but my tears taste like wine, and my hopes
lounge in the soft armchairs of dreams.

Now, I hate the silence when I’m left with myself—
scrolling through ghosts in my phone, each message
once charging me like a battery cell.

Now it’s just me, trapped in a cold heart's prison cell,
echoing for company, thinking of the days I was once
drowning  in a well. But all there’s left to say is a bitter,
shrugged,

                “Oh well.”

Dear IS,

Is it fair you hold the key to my drive— to make something, yet
make it too frightening to try? Your breath pretends to drift slow
in my ear, but beneath it, you’re clearing the field, planting seeds
of every fear you know will take root.

Is it the power lines I see wired from me to you— feeding your
hands as you siphon my strength, splitting my will from the things
I keep tucked deep in the vault of myself? As you arrange them like
weapons, calling each by name to remind me of the parts I’ve tried
to love but sometimes can’t.

Is it the way I urge, wish, and will to act— only for you to spool film
from my past, running old scenes like warnings until my courage
caves to your script? Your message is seen: as nothing moves unless
you approve.

Is that you, who rests on my chest like a stone, chastising, shrinking
me to the size of my doubts— small flaws made giant, slippery
floors of thought that tilt more than they ever should? Well… not
anymore. You don’t get to rule me, or write my rules.

Goodbye, Insecurity—as if I could ever feel secure in you.

Yours,
faithfully unfaithful,

Ex-companion.

When the rain falls, our troubles fall with it.
We glance to the left, to the right—
everything is spinning,
like a carnival cup twirling endlessly under painted lights.

Our prayers weave themselves
into the fabric of our existence,
leading us toward a wide, green field.
Even if the path bends away from us,
it will circle back.
Whether close or distant,
we are always drawn to the same center,
melting into what we know.

And when the waters finally recede,
your happiness will rise like a hidden sun.
The current will carry you
beyond the waves of your own memories.

May our journey be a long one,
gentle enough to bear the shadows of the past.

I believe we are still sailing
with the river’s true direction.
And when distance comes between us,
I hope all the good in me
is kept alive in your mind—
my name etched softly,
sweetly,
into the quiet chambers of your heart and soul.

Sometimes I think my verses are bare and raw.
The same way I believe I have a way with words,
I feel I don’t.

Sometimes I wish I could shape them,
so they wouldn’t be so direct—
that I could mold them
like water atoms between my fingers.

I don’t know.
Strange.

I just don’t want to be
so dry,
sometimes.

Thoughts on dotted lines – this is my right to write; stepping
into deep conversations just to say I had a shoe in. Maybe in
a thousand days draped in gold & silver, I’ll praise God again –
but do it a third time even when life feels like bronze, because
hubris slips in easy. So humour me this: as humility’s hands
still smudged in ***** pictures, like the past we pretend was
never framed.

To picture life outside the struggles that have stained your
heart, aiming for the middle of it all like a game of darts;
darting away from the past but also seeing red sometimes,
taking each hit with the sight of a bull’s eye: just another
reminder of the battles I’ve already fought.

And for the worth I am – more grand than the grand I would
have earned – the days still erupted like volcanoes, molten
interruptions to the places I didn’t belong. I bottled myself up
until I popped like soda, spilling lava into empty sentiments,
too deep to throw away, and too raw to leave behind.

Some moments do feel like *******, but life isn’t a game
with extra cute lives in a litter – but only pieces of ourselves
we shed like skin, littering the ground we walk on. And maybe
that’s how we breathe to live – by moving forward even with
bruised feet, never quite ready to admit defeat.

(One, 2)
(1, Two, 3!)
I can tell I'm underwater
'cause my lungs are full of water
And I'm breathing lots of water
and there's Water in my Ears!
Well they told me 'Grow some Gills,
or at least some sorry Frills'
So I tried to grow some gills, but I ended up with tears!
Well my friends all breathe just fine
even those with lungs like mine
I don't know why I'm not fine,
but there s water in my ears!
And I'm swimming through the galaxy
repeating sunk cost fallacy
I'm wand'ring through the galaxy
confronting all my fears
And I just wish that my fears were something,
I don't know, like, worth confronting?
Not a stupid, silly, something, like,
idk, talking to people?

****!

although i kinda wish it were that simple because really i'm just scared that how i'm phrasing things and saying things... and just my general tone makes people think different of me? like it makes everyone hate me. and it doesn't help that...
I'm Not Wrong.

All the fish breathe underwater
and the whales live underwater
even though they don't breathe water
how do I do things like that?

Because Every One I Know Can Still ******* Breathe Just Fine.

But i'm not really drowning?
But I feel the water pressing
In my lungs i'm not quite drowning
But my breathing's just not happening?

And...