I never ask for anything
that I don’t need,
I never beg,
I never shout,
I never pout.

I’m like a bird
with no wings
or no rout.

Giving money,
giving clothes,
giving everything that’s around you
and the closest to you,
but far nowhere near
the thought of giving support.

The money,
the nickels,
the dimes,
all of what can’t replace time
is the opposite of believing
in a single soul.

My mindset and motivation
doesn’t always run on money,
it runs on belief
and that is what keeps my engine going
during the hard times
of the storms and the clouds.

When I’m finally ready,
I will be shinny
more than the sun
has ever shinned
in front of the crowds.

I never do ask for what I need
because God already gave me
all of what I needed
deep down in my soul,
my heart,
and all of what’s around me—

the roof over my head
and a beautiful women
to motivate me,
to keep my engine going,
and to fight for what will be
forever ours in the future
and for what all we have left
on this earth.

Some people feel like wildflowers.
Not because they're alone—
but because they always have to grow
where no one thought to plant them.

They’re the ones who hold it together
when no one’s checking if they’re okay.
The ones who carry their own weight,
and everyone else’s too—
because it’s easier than asking for help
and being met with silence.

They’re the “strong ones,”
so no one sees their softness.
No one asks about the tears
they wipe in bathroom stalls
between being “fine” and being “functional.”

They show up.
Even when it hurts.
Even when their chest is tight
and the noise of the world
feels like sandpaper on their soul.

They don’t want pity. They just want someone
to notice how tired they are of blooming in the dark.
Of being beautiful in ways no one stops to admire.
Of offering warmth when they haven’t felt it in weeks.

They want
—not the spotlight— but a soft place to land.
A voice that says:
“It’s OK. You don’t have to be strong today.”

And maybe you’re one of them.

Maybe you're tired, too.

So let this be a hand on your shoulder,
a whisper in your storm:
You matter.
You are not invisible.
And you don’t have to bloom alone.

to those who are struggling out loud or in silence, this is for you.

whether you have a broken heart, life is falling apart, you might've failed art, or you're simply looking for a restart--carry on and don't allow yourself to fall apart.

azure skies scintillating above us all when our facades intertwine but nighttime is when the authentic sentiment starts to really shine. and it turns out, you're really not fine. you've been doing this dance of disguise for quite some time now like a second nature routine and falling in between, but you were never really seen. you feel like it'll never get better and ****, i know exactly what you mean.

summer dream ripped at the seam, and now you're stifling a frustrated scream as you begin to once again rediscover your self-esteem. i'm here to tell you it's always been there; you just have to scrutinize otherwise this self-deprecation will really result in your demise.

foci laced with confusion as you wonder why you're enduring this circumstance, it's because you stand a fighting chance.

you are a person that struggle will never be able to define. you are so amazing and doing all that you can to overcome your troubles so just like those emotions--you can shine. maybe you aren't now, but you will be fine and i will be cheering you on from the frontline in every given timeline.

life may be hard for all of us, but you are never alone. the weight of life and stress that comes with it is no longer yours to bear. grab a chair so you can sit and stare while i take care of this nightmare since we have no ******* clue how it got there.

it takes a while to repair a wounded heart, so prepare for the long journey ahead and take care.

life is difficult, but none of us have to endure alone. remember to breathe, reach out to your loved ones, and let them take the burden off your shoulders so you can rest awhile.

love always,
katrina

See the world
with different eyes,
take you hands
"It'll be alright".

You seem so lost,
in this dark room.
Let me be your light,
I'll guide you outside.

I know your view,
how you think about you.
In a world full of hate,
let me tell you
you are great.

Will you let me?

you saw the empty glass
just before i left.
the way you came down on me
still rattles in my chest.

you were way too harsh.
your words lodged in me
for years.
because you were
a drinking buddy.
i didn’t need you
to hold a mirror up to me.

“i know by heart,” you said,
“that glass will be followed
by another.
isn’t that right?

so can you promise me
when you get home
you won’t drink?
because tomorrow,
i will know.
you know i will.
and i’ll never trust you again.
if you lie to me.”

i didn’t drink that night.
not because i didn’t want to.
but out of anger.
because you were right.

sometimes, years later,
your voice still follows me.
you’re part of the past,
and it still haunts me.

i could do
with a round of tough love.
another of your harsh truths.
because i keep fighting these battles,
and all i do is lose.

I wake—
and the train fires up.
The first thought goes into the furnace.
Then another.
And another.

The fire swells.
The wheels bite.
The carriage shudders.
We’re moving.

I’m stoking without trying—
every thought is fuel.
Good, bad, doesn’t matter—
the fire eats it all.

Smoke pours in—thick, black,
like a pit on a winter’s night.
The thoughts are starting to choke,
curling and crowding,
filling the air until I can hardly breathe.
I cough. I choke.
Still, the train hurtles on.

No signal. No brakes.
It doesn’t even need a track.
The faster it goes, the heavier the smoke.
I’m as still
as the hands of an unwound clock.

I want to jump.
I want to make it stop.
But the thoughts keep coming.
The furnace roars.
The wheels scream.

And then—
through the haze—
a figure.

She sits beside me.
Takes my hand.
Her voice—soft, but certain—
“It will be all right.”

The fire falters.
The smoke thins.

She leans close,
reminding me of the first time I saw her—
she was the only one I could see,
the only noise I could hear,
the only thing I wanted to breathe.

The train slows.
I can see her face—
just as beautiful as that first night.

I breathe deep,
clearing the air from my lungs,
feeling the wheels ease beneath me.

She stands, still holding my hand.
“Let’s get off this train,” she says.
“You’ve stopped it.
And if the fire starts again—
remember the things that made the world stop:
the first time we met,
the first breath of our son,
a golden sunset,
the monsoon rain.”

The train is always there,
its furnace door open.
But now—
I know how to walk away.
Where the air is clear.
Where her hand is in mine.

In your light, I unlearn the dark,
its stiffened tongue, its cold resolve.
And I find instead a language made,
of warmth, of wind, of soft dissolves.

Love arrives not like thunder shouts,
but like a candle's trembling vow.
I feel it flickering against my ribs,
teaching my silence how.

In your beauty, verses form,
not sculpted, not conceived by mind.
But breathed, like morning on the rose,
a hush that petals leave behind.

Your grace makes metaphors collapse;
No simile can ever hold your flame.
Instead, I ink the hush between
your heartbeat and my name.

You dance inside my chest, unseen,
no witness, save this thrum I know.
A pulse of presence so profound,
it makes the blood inside me slow.

I do not speak to you, still you move,
a swirl behind my every sigh.
And when I glimpse you, rare and true,
a sacred star falls through my sky.

That sight becomes this trembling art,
not mine, but merely channelled breath.
A prayer-shaped hush, a flame-writ line,
that dares to love beyond all death.

You are the muse, the moon, the sea,
the silence in the shell I chart.
And in the unseen, you shape my song,
where deep in your being, I become art.

I only feel normal when I’m by myself, adding 1 person and out comes the stress.

I don’t feel it’s right or fair to be this way for the ones I love and care.

I replay our recent times in the front of my mind only to feel like I let them down.

I try to plan ahead pretending I can turn these self-defense mechanisms off.

My wife deserves me at my best, my love deserves to experience the same man that exists alone.

My children deserve to witness and receive an unconditional love without past grief.

My family is my rock and stone, my family that reside within our home.

My wife so strong she fills voids before they can become cracks….

Poetry, brain music, exercise, outdoors, notebooks, research, studying and good routines… a few remedies taken the most!!!

Lights low. A figure sits on the edge of a bed, voice soft, breaking, like glass under pressure.

Support.
It’s just a seven-letter word, right?
But to me… it feels like a hundred.
Each letter soaked in the weight of all the times I needed comfort
and got correction instead.

You say you support me.
But scolding came first.
Nagging came first.
The yap-yap-yap before I could even breathe.

Sometimes… I don’t feel it at all.
Because your actions—
they don’t match your words.

You said, “I’m here.”
But you weren’t.
Not really.
You were there to judge.
There to lecture.
There to remind me of everything I wasn’t.

And maybe that’s the truth people don’t like to say out loud—
Parents don’t really know their children.
Not the real version.
Not the bleeding, breaking, buried parts.

You think you know me?
You think I just use my phone for nothing?
To waste time?
Because I’m lazy?
You said I have no dreams…
no goals to chase.

But did you know I applied for work—
and got rejected?
No.
You didn’t know.
Because you never asked.
You just assumed.

You just told me I’m picky with jobs I want.
You didn’t know the struggles I went through.
Didn’t see the nights I stayed up rewriting resumes.
Didn’t hear the silence after every “we regret to inform you.”
You blamed me for your suggestions when they failed.
Like it was my fault they didn’t work.
You blamed the outcome without seeing the effort.
You saw the tears—
but you didn’t ask why they were falling.

You think you know everything.
Well, you’re wrong.

Did you know I got bullied in school?
Yes, I told you—once.
And you said, “Just let them be.”
Let them bully me?
Really?
Is that what support looks like to you?

Did you know I cried myself to sleep most nights?
No.
Because I made sure to cry quietly.
Because every time I showed weakness,
I got blamed for it.

And now…
I have a heart that’s enlarged.
A real condition.
A heart that’s sick,
because I cried in silence for so long,
my body started breaking
before you even noticed I was hurting.

Support?
You say it’s love.
But love that hurts like this—
isn’t love.

So I’m asking—
no, begging:

Can you love your child without yapping, please?
Can you hug her…
just hug her…
without a sigh,
without complaints?

Because she’s tired.
Not just her body—
her soul is tired, too.

Seven letters.
But for me…
it still feels like a hundred.

Support is... doing it without hesitations. not with lots of words to say.