I remember a day—
still and silver as morning light,
when my loneliness felt almost sweet,
a quiet refuge where I could lose myself in you.

At our parting you swore,
“This time, I will keep my word.”
You bound that vow by the wings of birds,
as if the open sky itself would bear witness
to the truth of your promise.

But I know—
you have spoken such words before:
to flowers, to birds,
to the old banyan that has stood a hundred years,
to the half-read novel gathering dust on your shelf.
And now I understand—
you are one who can promise anyone,
perhaps even love itself.

Tell me then,
in the end, whose promise did you truly keep?
Did you hold to it, or let it slip away,
just another small thing, too light to matter?
Does the breaking of words never trouble your mind?
If not, how can a person walk so freely through the days,
while the world grows heavy beneath the weight
of what you left unkept?

And still—
I remember the day you promised the flowers,
you promised the birds.
I wonder—did you find the road of no return,
or did you simply forget?
For you gave so many promises,
but not a single one was ever kept.

Chandelier tears—pretty faces, pretty tears, pretty much falling,
crashing. Clear the room—this empty space sobers me; I’ve
been drunk on emotion again. The heavier ones don’t bring
me peace anymore, they only hit as hard as another strong
drink.

Should I speak? And in the same breath admit defeat—
these dark thoughts are so creative they become destructive,
crafting a beautiful kind of ruin I can barely reason with.

Hey—just speaking truth for those interested in it. Truth is...
I’m not always okay. I pretend to be, just to survive the weight
of another day.

It’s a dark space, and I clear the room to break down quietly,
to feel like I’ve repented something, to write myself into a better
place—hopping over the pen, jumping the fence of a mind that
sometimes cages me in. I’m not so pent-up anymore— not when
I let the ink do the talking.

And yes, I try to wear a brave face—but every face sheds a heavy
tear, every person caves eventually. Pitted against themselves.
As even the strongest people, the loudest, or the proudest—
they cry too. Just…not in front of you.

Stopped writing in diaries...
Fearing someone might read them.
Gave up typing on Word documents...
Afraid her privacy might be shattered.

She let people walk away —
Without sharing a word,
Not because she didn't want to,
But because she was done with sympathy...
Something she had seen too much of in life.

And so, she grew silent.
Tired.
She let it be...

Until her heart whispered:
"You're safe with me."
Privacy restored.
But the heart grew heavier than ever.

They say family is everything—
A haven when the world turns cold,
A soft place where weary souls fall,
Where calming hands soothe worried heads,
And love is supposed to wrap us whole.

But love here is a double-edged lullaby,
Sung sweetly with a bitter tongue.
Dramas bloom like wildfires,
And the walls remember every fight,
Even when the silence pretends to forget.

Can peace live where tension breathes?
Where hugs feel rehearsed,
And kindness comes with rules?
When a sigh can spark an argument,
Is it home or a house of thorns?

We say parents love, and children too
But when truth is seen as rebellion,
And emotion is met with "don’t talk back,"
How do we call that understanding?
What does respect really mean?

Comparison is the family heirloom
Polished and passed around at dinner.
Why can't you be like her? Be more like him?
Praise is rationed, affection delayed,
While bonding visits like a distant cousin.

Secrets are tucked beneath trembling tongues,
Because honesty has consequences here.
What you say today might betray you tomorrow,
So fear builds a fortress around the heart,
And vulnerability dies in its sleep.

So tell me... what is family really?
Is it love wrapped in tradition's chains?
Is it fear dressed as structure?
Is it warmth? Is it war? Or just…
A name we carry, heavy and unsure?

They said,
“Enjoy your childhood.”
But forgot to mention
how the world
starts weighing more
the moment
you understand it.