His words twisted the corners
so right curved into left,
and truth bent sideways,
making me believe
I was going the wrong way.
Hedgerows grew tall,
and thick with argument,
until they swallowed the gas lampposts,
turning pathways into shadows.
I walked blind and barefoot
through the thick of it,
earth damp, worn thin as my breath.
Was I supposed to find the center?
Was there ever an exit?
There was no map,
just whispers in the leaves,
and his voice,
ringing in my ears,
a compass spinning
from asking too many questions,
and doubt,
folded into my own pocket.
My soul became blistered
from chasing after ghosts of
wanted apologies,
so I kissed the ivy,
hoping the walls would soften.
but they spiraled,
a boa constrictor handcuffing my legs.
I took a sharp turn,
desperate,
crawling on my belly,
a soldier avoiding fire,
fingertips clawing into the red clay,
and found the center,
where a red lip-sticked mirror stood,
half cracked, words still whole:
"you're not the one who's lost"

always feelin’
overwhelmed,
stressed—

heart’s gonna
break,

brain won’t
shut off,

so you can’t
fall asleep
and forget.

is this a test?

why does the
world
treat you this way?

you’ve come
so far, but
you find yourself

lying awake
at night—

convincing yourself
that everything’s
gonna be alright.

you’ve gone so
numb, you need
just one reason

to keep going.

because you’re
one step closer
to breaking

than making it
through another day.

let this haunt you—
this rough
journey

isn’t what
you make it
out to be.

the path’s only
less traveled

when you go
alone.

but with time,
the sun will
rise—

light will
touch the road,
and show you

where to go.

so let this haunt you—
and carry on.

I write stories in my mind—
illusions spun to keep the darkness
in my head at bay.
Stories of victory,
of rising,
of finally seeing.

I write poems that shred my soul,
words spilling raw from the wound.
Each line a whisper
to quiet the screaming child
that still lives in me.

I write songs that bloom with joy,
for others to sing,
to make me feel whole
if only for a moment.
Songs to hold the depression
just outside the door.

I write the words my heart exhales—
laced with pain
and bitter delight.
Each one a scream
disguised as verse,
so I can cry
without making a sound.

Once,
they handed her a map—
blank,
except for the words:
“You are here.”

But here kept shifting.
One day, it was sorrow
shaped like a fox
with silver fur and eyes like unspoken apologies.
The next, it was joy—
a balloon beast that floated just out of reach,
tied to a string knotted around her ribcage.

She wandered.

Through the Forest of Almosts,
past the Swamp of Not-Yets,
into the valley where shame
whispered her name backward
so she wouldn’t recognize herself.

She wore her fears like jewelry.
Polished it.
Let it glint in the dark.

She met Anger
It didn’t scream.
It built towers from her old voices
and dared her to climb
without a rope.

She met Silence, too—
it moved like fog
and tasted like metal.
It offered her tea
and made her weep into her own hands
without asking why.

And still, she walked.

One night,
the moon opened a door in the ground.
She fell into a forest
with no sky,
where trees grew upside-down
and every path looked like a wound.

At the center,
she found a mirror
half-buried in the belly of a tree.

It didn’t show her face.
It showed her story—
stitched from shadows and second chances,
frayed,
but still holding.

And for the first time,
she didn’t want to erase anything.

She folded the blank map
into a boat.
Set it in the river.
And walked home—
not knowing the way,
but knowing she was the compass.

If one day you break, too tired to cope,
And search the dark for hands of hope
Don’t reach for theirs, they come and go,
With fleeting warmth and faces you don’t know.

Just lift your left and find your right,
The one that’s stayed through every fight.
Your other hand, scarred, quiet, true
Has carried all that life gave you.

It wiped your tears when no one cared,
It held your chest when pain was bared.
No vow, no oath, no distant friend
Can match the grip it dares to lend.

So fold your fingers, let them bind,
And trust the touch you always find.
For storms may rage and trials descend
But none defeat the hand you lend.

The world breaks many, but never the one
Who learns to stand with hands of one.

every word i ever wrote is for you,
every breath i ever took is for you.
you're the version of me that lives on in my head,
kept alive by the lives that i haven't lived.
you're the reason why i'm still here.
i'm afraid,
i'm afraid of the stillness that captures the thoughts
and refuses to give them back.
there you are.
all these years between us, but there you are.
there i am, all alone, cold and terrified
of the day that will come, but i'm still here,
locked up in a room inside my mind.
you're alive, so alive despite everything,
and i owe you a second chance at life.
you're the reason why both of us aren't dead.
every breath i ever took is for you,
every word i ever wrote is for you.