I used to hold truth
like a weapon —
sharp, clean, final.

But now it moves.

Not like a lie,
not like denial —
but like a tide
that’s been waiting for me
to grow strong enough
to swim deeper.

What I swore was solid,
now trembles in my hands.
Not because it was false —
but because I’ve changed.

And now I fear
not the truth itself,
but the way
it keeps becoming.

Giving myself odd looks, while trying to even the score—
pointing out my faults like counting sins on abacuses.
Too many to tally, and every action I take I just hope
adds up to something. But I’m outnumbered by myself.

Feels like an inverted midnight— too heavy to be noon.
Doing the most, while barely praying at all— maybe
because doubt multiplies faster than faith settles.

Failures pile up like fractions with no common
denominator— just me, subtracting reasons to believe,
dividing purpose by disbelief, and hoping somehow
I’ll solve it all to find some peace.

Trying to count what I can still hold, not out-of-hand
habits or dust-covered promises. My Bible feels more
antique than answers— pages heavy with silence
until I wiped it off and saw… another layer still
hiding underneath. Like dusk, again. But this time,
I opened it— and let it open me.

Everything is so terrifying for the introvert going outside—
the overthinker rehearses all of their prestored sentences,
Sitting on impeccable lines with no trace of uncertainty,
but ever so certain that it’s what the ear wants to hear.
The hopeless romantic knows the picture of a good love
story, but can’t seem to paint that picture for themselves—
Because imagination never quite imitates real emotion.
                                                        ­         And it’s irritating.

But haven’t I been them all? A single character playing
too many roles— the pencil in my story, trying to sketch
out the scenery of a better life. The pen, trying to write
out a good script that fits in the ink folds of my cerebellum.
My skin wears the wrinkles of time, bruises like an overcoat—
a weathered face, but it’s body has no spring in its step.

I’ve been depressed. But when you’re made to grow up too
fast, to keep pace with the world, what else do you expect?

Still, don’t expect me to be anything less than my level best.
Elevated fears go up, while my hope quietly goes down.
Yet on the upside? I stopped pretending to flip my frown
upside down. Some days I’m up. Most days I’m so down.
But I’m not always down— just holding onto the little hope
I find in creation; beauty painted out from my frustrations.
Like the weather, my mood keeps shifting. And whether
you’re caught in a long winter after a short summer,
Don’t worry— it’s all just a passing season.

Just how glass cracks
after a lapse,
one should make a gaffe
to smash the mirror of arrogance.

Don’t let a day to come in your life when you grieve on your past days for not using them wisely.

In her presence,
a quiet dawn breaks,
soft and steady,
like the first light of day.

Her heart speaks in whispers,
a language I’ve always known,
no words needed,
just a feeling,
like the earth calling me home.

Her smile is the calm
that stills the storm inside,
a gentle breeze on a restless sea,
where I can find peace,
where I can finally breathe.

She holds the weight of the world
with a grace that never falters,
turning every moment
into something warm,
something true.

I don’t need to understand it all—
I just need to feel it,
this quiet, tender magic
that wraps itself around me,
whispering that it’s okay
to simply be.

And in her gaze,
there’s a garden,
where every part of me can grow,
where every shadow finds its light,
and I can rest
in the softness of her soul.

I met a version of myself,
A past that lived in quiet hell,
His shoulders weighed with untold truths,
In his eyes, the ghosts of youth.

He stood, proud but lost inside,
A prisoner of dreams denied,
I knelt in shame, a ghost of me,
Torn between what was and could be.

"You know," I said, "you've been this way,
Caught in a cage where shadows play,
But let me tell you, now I see,
You're still inside of me, and free."

He smiled with pain, the truth untold,
"I never wanted this, you know—
This life of striving to please the blind,
The masks we wore, the thoughts we mined."

But in his eyes, I saw the change,
A flicker in the dark, so strange,
And I realized, as time flew past,
We'd both been caught, both built to last.

Now here I stand, no more a slave,
No longer bound to past’s dark wave,
I freed myself, and freed him too,
The shackles gone, the world anew.

And though the road remains unclear,
I hold his voice, I hold it near,
For in his steps, I see my own—
The strength I’ve sought, now fully grown.

The shame, the guilt, they start to fade,
Replaced by light, by love’s cascade,
And in that moment, I finally see,
That all I sought was always me.

Well, I've become who

I didn't want to be, and she --


is okay with it.