A thought is just a thought.
A dream is just a dream.

Because at nighttime dreams are thoughts in action.

in the silence of my room… I
dance the loudest,
pray the longest
cry the ugliest,
laugh the modest,
dream the youngest,
stare at empty walls for promise,
break down the strongest,
overthink within a guilty conscience,
play out my scenarios worthy of their flowers
planting fields of doubt for all my anxieties
to have a fruitful harvest

in the silence of my room… I
am truly at my honest.

the dew of my tears feels wet on tight sleeves
the sweat from my brow jumps like water in springtime
and if I could use words to describe my heart – it would
only seal away my lips

my tears are like scattering flowers
blown away by the winds – my lungs are a leafless branch
veiled in such a dry cough; choking away at my pride

nights I’ve dreamt of suicide, to live on
and tell of it lies; it was an empty void that wouldn’t fill
the belly of some hungry wild dog – and if I could speak
a fruitful prophecy for my life, my lips would be the scent of plums.

What is true surrender?

How to stop fighting?
I only know the why.
My heart is aching
Because I try and try and try ...

Constantly starving myself
From love
Permanently thinking
That I am not enough

"Oh my poor self"
This is self-pity
"Why can't I be as
Beautiful or pretty?"

"This is so selfish
You're superficial"
This is the judging voice
Sounds like an official

"Making yourself dependent
On looks. On other's opinions,
On not your own truths"

"Of course, you know best"
-that's the submissive one.
Digging deeper a knife
Into one's own throat.

"Whatever it takes
I will express myself"
-this is the fighter,
Not giving up.

"We need to stop,
This is too much"
The fearful voice
Afraid of touch,

"Uh you're so pathetic"
That's the *******,
Self-hurt multiplies
When it arrives.

"Let's do this again!"
The optimistic tone,
And there's the naive one
"I'm in, yes, yes, yes!"

"You can't be serious"
The everlasting anger
Trying to diminish
Whatever one thinks

And disappointment
Arises and lingers
In the air,
One is thrown into mist.

"I am so lost. I cannot see"
That's overwhelm
Coming over me.

This is where all the voices at once
Scream at me, talk to me,
Not one by one.

And overbearing with the emotion
One starts to drown in the dark and deep ocean,
Foggy the vision, nasty the mind,
One deeply lost, blurry and blind.

"Now are we satisfied?"
That's the expectation,
To make something outstanding
Out of every creation.

"Nah, could be better"
The perfectionist,
Trying to please...
Forgetting ease.

"My chest is burning"
Hypochondria churning,
Maybe the pressure is
Simply too much.

"You're so incapable!"
The inner critic,
Makes one feel hateful
Towards oneself.

"Wow, that's a lot"
Finally self-compassion,
Emerging slowly,
Comes into action.

"Burning" - exhaustion,
The energy released
And the heat in the body-
Increased.

"Is this awareness? What's my next step?"
Carefully wondering,
Still full of regret,
This is distrust,
Losing patience fast...

Helplessness howls,
Fear kicks in deeper,
"I think I can't breath,"
Anxiety croaks.

"When will it end?"
I ask and reply:
"It will not end,
Until I die."

Neon moments in life,
Flickering like amber shades.
Like dancing shadows on beige walls.
Transient memories of life,
Slipping like sand from fingers.
When you exit the movie hall after watching an exhilarating movie,
Feeling that your life has changed.
Your last day of school.
You were crying,
screaming and throwing up.
Or watching the stars glow from an urban rooftop,
the cars and people below moving like ants,
Citylights that  outshine the skies.
Walking home alone late at night through the suburbs, rethinking your life choices.
The first time your mother held your hand and cried.
The first time you smoked with your friends
secretly in the woods, feeling guilty later on.
Getting ready for the  farewell party of your  high school,
Your sister was doing your makeup.
The first time they painted your lips
With beautiful brush strokes, you were covered in sin.
I know while reading these words,
you all feel breathless.
As if the images are moving too fast
On a projector screen.
But that's life.
Nostalgia that lingers on,
It's fingers choking with a sweet melody.

they say, 'it's all in your head...'

i ask, 'where else is it supposed to be...?'

i was love
in his midnight
storm in his
daylight

- an enigma

Lay me to rest with my pen in hand, for the heavens shall serve
as my canvas, where with each stroke of ink, I will inscribe my
aspirations upon their billowing clouds - visible to all who gaze
skyward.

And as the rain descends, may it cleanse not only the tangible
world but also the abstract doubts that linger in the minds of my observers.

Through the permanence of my written legacy in the sky, let the
wisdom I have gathered extend beyond time and space. May it act
as a guiding beacon for the inexperienced, illuminating the path
forward amidst their uncertainty and ambiguity

                 ...my hand shall hold this immortal pen.