She sells flowers in little bunches,
Sweet fragrances that please,
Delicate sepals of life,
That softly speak.

Bouquets of living colours,
Petals of inspiration,
Roses, chrysanthemums,
Daisies, carnations.
Accent blossoms, gerberas,
Lilies smiling in myriad hues,
Sunflowers a darling yellow,
Vibrant orchids in splendour blue.

With her touch, beauty breathes,
Glorious blossoms thrive,
Delicately arranged,
Floral expressions come alive.

For new love that slowly blooms,
For confessions yet to be said,
The finest of her finest,
She ribbons roses dark rich red.

Fond good health thoughts,
Through florals expressed,
She’ll wrap with gentle care,
With love’s tenderness impress.

She’ll weave wreathes and garlands,
Blends of wistful white, blues, pinks,
For memories left behind,
Now distant imprints.

In sweet scents, she colours days, months, years,
Walks alone each night when she is done,
Back home, no florid fragrance fills her senses,
To colour her world there is no one.

Shame encircles me
It's a cloudy fog that blurs everything,
Making it harder to see reality
I run inside my mind and hide in a dream.

I am a master at romanticizing!
I might even avoid you to interact with a fantasy,
My mind likes to protect me by airbushing things,
even though what I want is to live authentically

Every moment that I'm not present
Is a lost opportunity to change my mindset.
I'm trying to push past my negative thoughts
and ground myself but I feel so stupid.

I want an identity.

These are confessions I can never send.
Because they blatantly won't understand
and that is something I need to get,
They don't care for me enough to accept the ways they hurt me and say sorry.

They are hypocrites,
Because they want me to stay weary.
They want me to always let go and cry alone.
They don't care if around them I'm woeful.

Mom,
You always said I was in the wrong,
Cleaning and chores were our only "bond"
You never chose me unless you could brag.

Dad,
You broke my heart,
You'd catch me when I'd fall
But never stuck up for me in the end.  

Mom chooses to make me a villain,
All I wanted was her acceptance
but she sees me as a sinner who's selfish,
I should put my pain aside and pretend I'm good.

I will be left to wonder forever,
Why my pain doesn't matter
In comparison to my sister,
Why am I less accepted when I'm in pain?

Dad loves me because he sees himself in me.
I look like him, we share a hobby
but growing up I believed that was the only thing he loved about me
Because one moment he'd be there, but would runaway when I needed him most.

Alone, he would listen,
He would say he'd help me
But in front my mom he was different.
Suddenly, what we said in the car was insignificant.

I'm an adult who doesn't know her needs, wants, and likes
Because I spent my life trying to be accepted.
No one taught me how to accept myself,
Or how to know what I need or want.

If someone cared unconditionally,
I clinged to them.
I hoped they'd never leave,
because I never got that from my family.

Now I'm in therapy, crying in every session
That I'm hurt again because of them,
Or hurt by myself because
I don't know who I am.

I sit and wait for the call to begin
I ponder what I'll say
or if I'll learn anything
While the dread settles in

I don't like myself right now.
I see patterns and look for answers
I'll think I might be getting closer to closure,
but in the end, only  assumptions are found.

"Why do you need to know?" She asks me.
Because I feel like a well.
The Sun appears and I become dried out,
a storm rumbles in and I'm overflowing.

People visit me rarely
each time they do, I become more empty.
They come to me because they get something
They don't stop and sit with me, they want what I function.

Sometimes they paint me,
or add a layer to my shell
They might gift me an accessory
because for them, it will help.

It makes them feel better,
when how I look brings them comfort,
They think everything changed
But I'm still a well they never visit to connect.

I'm a well that sits on a hill,
They think I'm out of reach
but I'm here, left out
Someday I'll be the well that fell.

I don't think we're friends anymore
I'll stop coming around and banging on your door,
It's ******* days where I miss you more
But the thing I can't take is how different we are.

I value consistency in communication
You value space and a lot of distance
Both things are valid and I'm not hurt by that,
But it's hard for me to maintain our connection

Especially when there are contradicting statements.
I know how hard talking can be
But it hurts to be cancelled on so frequently
Especially while feeling full of hope for where our friendship can someday, be

I understand the need for space,
Endless trauma dumping was such a waste.
If there's anything I regret, it's being a pity case
It's a shame I can't go back and still know our history to date

But I guess that's fate,
I can't go back to undo my mistakes.
I can only move forward
And know myself better

When I would ramble to you
I didnt know the power of the letters
I wrote endlessly to you
only wanting to feel better.

I think there was a time when things between us were good
Where we knew eachother and had dreams, as kids should
Somewhere, sometime, some month or week
Things changed between us, something changed in me.

I don't like who I am with you,
but I miss the fun we had and dreams we planned,
Sometimes I wish they'd still come true
But I have a feeling they won't because you don't trust me and I don't trust you.

082021

Naranasan mo na bang sumigaw
Nang walang nakaririnig?
O kaya lumuha nang walang sumasalo?
Sa bawat patak ng bumubugso **** damdamin.

Naranasan mo na bang kumatok
Nang walang nagbubukas?
O kaya tumawag nang walang sumasagot?

Ang tempo **** sinusumpong ng tampo’y
Umaanod sayo papalayo
Sa nararapat mo sanang hantungan.
Nakalimutan mo na rin atang
Hindi sarili mo ang iyong kalaban
Kaya’t hindi ka na rin mapigilang
Manlumo sa karagatan ng iyong mga pasanin.

Patuloy ang iyong pagsisi sa sarili
Bunsod sa mga responsibilidad
Na sana’y napanagutan mo
Ngunit iyong iniwanan
At pilit na tinakasan.

Ngunit sa paulit-ulit mo ring
Pagsagwan palayo’y
Patuloy ka ring hinihila pabalik
Kung saan ka nararapat
Para magsimula kang muli.

Ang iyong walang pagpapaalam
Sa plinano **** paalam
Ay naging hayag na paglisan
Sa nakaraan ****
Walang ibang mas mahalaga pa
Kundi ang pagtuntong mo
Sa ngayong noo’y ayaw **** pagtayuan.

Ang bawat gumuhong gusali ng iyong nakaraa’y
Kusang mag-aalis ok sayong
Pagtagpi-tagpiin mo sila nang nakapikit.
At kahit pa —
Kahit pa sinasabi **** nalimot mo na
Kung saan mo hindi sinasadya
O kusang naiwan
Ang mga piyesa ng iyong sarili ng tula
Ay kusa mo rin itong maaalala
Na para bang ang lahat ay bago’t
Hindi ka na mahihiya pang
Bumalik at magsimulang muli.

Lulan ng mga lumang pahina
Ang pag-asang may tiyak na kahulugan.
Tiyak ang iyong hahantungan
At walang katotohanan
Ang sinasabing “paano?”
Kung hindi mo naman nanaising
Tumapak sa hagdan
At kusang umakyat
Gamit ang sarili **** mga paa.

I arch my shoulders to my cheeks
And press my weight upon my feet
Agress my chest unto my knees
This shape I take; anxiety

013024

Walang ibang saksi
Ng mga binhing kusang umuusbong.
At walang ibang tutugon
Sa walang katapusang paghikbi.

Daig pa ng liwanag
Ang kadilimang baluti sa’king mga mata.
Ngunit tila ba ako’y hindi pa rin handa
Sa mga balang tumatagos sa’king katauhan.

Nauuhaw pa rin ako
Sa mga salitang “Mahal kita”
Ngunit sa bawat pagtagisan ng mga salita’y
Puso ko rin ang kusang lumilisan.

Marahil ang paghilom ay isa lamang panimula
Ngunit sa ngayo’y ang mga pahina’y
Nasa dulo na ng aking katapusan
At paano nga ba muling makasasandal?
Paano nga ba muling magsisimula?

I'm still ripping out my eye lashes
It makes me sad.
I lay and wonder about the woes I cast
and why I feel so bad.

Reflection is a tricky thing.
It can bring up so much, but is never-ending
Like the hyphen between never and ending
Reflection is a process that loops.

You can feel as if you're on top of the world
Once you've climbed out of a pit after reflecting...
only to fall into a ravine after taking a few steps outside instead of running.

The journey to healthy is a tough one.
I feel like I'm splashing in this gorge
Flapping and flailing around,
trying to escape and get warm

Overtime, I slow down more and more
until finally, I want to give up
Succumb to the bubbles...
and perhaps, never wash up.

Every time I think I'm done with my walk
I take note of the street signs name.
I'm still not done talking with myself
Because I'm still on the street of Shame.

When I think about why I feel so badly
I can list my ideas for what's wrong with me
but when I reach the the house and open the door,
I remember how unheard I felt in my core.

8

She likes video games, reading books
and watching movies with family
She always day dreams
and plays outside alone, imagining.

She looks up to her big sister,
and likes to sing together in her car
Her little sister is annoying
She's always the shining star.

But together all three will walk to the park.

11

She likes to color, play guitar and sing
She dances in her room without worrying
One wall is covered with a teen pop sensation,
Others hold her poems and art that reveal her struggles and wishes.

She liked the attention singing got her
It made her feel like she was worthy.
She did her best to live up to
The things said by her family

13

She was sad often and preferred to be alone
She still played guitar but played games the most,
She liked writing poems and songs,
They let her express herself in any tone

She had plans to go far away one day,
with her best friend she would escape.
There'd be hello kitty tunnels
and fun had every day.

She fell victim to infatuation
which lead to many hearts being broke,
Forced to play outside,
she'd swing away her trauma while grasping ropes.

16

She's quiet, she stays in her room alone, she feels unwanted.
The internet is where she felt she belonged
Most people would hear her out
and wouldn't ask her to play them a song.

She was forced to go somewhere she was needed
She got an education out of it and an identity crisis.

25

She is independent, but still feels scared
She is working to understand her life
and is moving forward with care.

So don't call me Becca,
It reminds me of those years-
the times I was saddest and living in fear.

Becca had a mask that Rebecca has out grown.
The mask is smaller now and is becoming unsown.
It's been a painful process, the mask really hurt
This is where I'm at now, trying to unlearn.

We should know better
With or without schooling.
If we willfully refuse,
If we disregard the facts;
We are ignorant.
That's below below average.
We made a choice.
A choice is not a chronic disease.
Not like mine.
It was never my choice.
I don't know if it happened
Before or After,
But the manifestation was slow, profound,
And addictive.