You told me you were trying.
I told you about the time
I threw up so hard I started praying.
I saw stars in my hair
and thought they might be angels.
But it was just the acid.
Just the light.
Just me, alone again
in a bathroom that never loved me back.

You didn’t say anything,
and that said everything.
You texted “sorry”
like a magician pulling shame from his sleeve,
then disappeared
like a good lie.
I stopped asking you
to prove yourself after that.
I just started watching
to see if you ever would.

Maybe I made the whole thing up.
Maybe you did say something.
Maybe it was kind.
Maybe it was cruel.

Maybe the light flickered
because of bad wiring,
not heaven.
Maybe I was just sick.
Maybe you were just tired.
Maybe none of it meant anything.

But then why
do I still dream in that fluorescent color?
Why does the silence still have your shape?
I built a chapel from our last conversation.
Tried to make the ache holy.
But I was the only one kneeling.
And no one wants a martyr
who won’t shut up.

You said I was unwell.
I said, Amen.
You said I was always bleeding.
I said, Isn’t that what makes it a miracle?
Because if this isn’t a resurrection,
then I’ve been dying for nothing.

I gave you the ugliest parts-
even the bathroom prayers,
even the version of me
that asked God to make you gentler.
You said, “I didn’t ask for that.”
I said, “Exactly.”

You weren’t the end of the world.
You were just the earthquake
I canonized.
The tremor I learned to waltz with.
The reason my mouth still tastes like salt
and I call it grace.

So if God ever comes back,
I’ll know how to greet him:
on my knees,
already emptied.

I gave too much and now you're gone
slowly and slowly I'm more withdrawn
trying to pickup what was once me
love you still you tore me to pieces
but I am trapped and I have no choice
in a crowd of people the noise is silent
you're a tyrant when I'm not around
telling your friends that I'm a clown
you torn down my confidence, my self-esteem
and yet when I sleep I still see you in my dreams

What is love,
if not the silence you hold
when your own name is on fire—
but you still speak theirs
with softness?

Is it not
a thousand quiet offerings
stacked in ordinary hours?
The choosing, again
and again
and again—
someone else’s peace
over your pride.

Love.

It doesn’t always wear white.
It doesn’t come
with violins,
vows,
or roses.

Sometimes,
it hides in the quietest corners of the day—
in the unspoken apology,
in the coffee made before sunrise,
in the way you fold their laundry
without expecting thanks.

It is the staying,
when leaving
would be easier.

It is not the grand gestures,
not the screaming from mountaintops—
it is the whisper
in a quiet room:
I’ll stay.

What is love,
if not the willingness
to become smaller
so someone else
can stand taller?

So tell me—
what is love,
if not
sacrifice?

Where is the dream that once reached for the sky?
Where is the dream that soared like a bird, fearless and high?
Where is the dream that dove deep like a fish, exploring the ocean with wonder and wish?

Where is the dream that drifted like clouds,far from the noise, away from the crowds?
Where is the dream that smelled like a flower, spreading joy with its quiet power?


Where is the dream that closed its eyes,in a mother’s lap, beneath bedtime tunes?
Where is the dream that looked to the stars,hoping to reach where the heavens are?
Where is the dream that painted the sky in colors of hope, rising so high?


These dreams were born and grew with the years, nurtured by laughter, watered by tears.
But somewhere along the winding road,
They fell shattered in silence, carrying the load.

Was it growing up that made them fade?
Or the heavy weight of promises made?
Was it the burden of duty, quiet and unnamed?
Or the flood of emotions, too wild to be tamed?


Now I ask in the hush of the night,
Did these dreams ever truly take flight?
Or were they only a part of me
A beautiful illusion, longing to be free?

Yet deep inside, a soft voice says,
"The dream is not gone, it’s just lost in the haze."
Maybe it waits for a kinder day,
To rise again and find its way.

So I will search with an open heart,
To find that dream and make a new start.
Because dreams don’t die they simply sleep,
In the corners of our soul, buried deep.

What can I say the thoughts are thawed away
lingering mistakes.  

burns my heart  
falling apart  
okay  
blame me  misfortunes  

Hold my weight
Steal my back  
Waiting for everything

"If I offer myself as token, I stay comfortably broken"
I thought it make it more direct while adding some imagery to self reflect

She was busy counting wolves
conversing with crows
soft and white as a widow's linen.
They scoffed at her,
called her delicate,
only good for stew.
So she dug herself into stories,
buried beneath the noise
let them hunt after the myth of her,
never finding it.  
The forest swallowed her,
dried leaves and damp earth
scented with cinnamon
embracing her bones
in the hush of the underbrush.
She multiplied in silence
beneath the roots,
growing wild
through branches of wildflowers.
The thicket whispers a warning.
The hunters have gone missing,
and the doe-eyed jejune "varmint"
awakens whole, green with breath,
wild,
and never soft again.