I didn’t think that
you would leave that early.
I thought that you would
see me becoming
a person,
but no,
you left
when I didn’t expect it.
And to be honest,
I thought
you would live forever,
but I was wrong,
extremely wrong,
because I thought we
still had time.
But time isn’t fair,
because I wanted to
say so many things,
but now it is too late
to bring back that smile
on my face.
Because you showed me
kindness, love, and life
in your own ways.
You had known that
life isn’t easy.
You had one of the hardest lives,
and still,
you were there.
I wish I could save you
and make your heart beat again,
but I know you would continue to suffer.
But I want you back,
or just to know that you are okay.
I want you back
more than you think,
more than my selfishness
can be.
But I don’t deserve to have you,
and you are not coming back
to me.
And all of this feels like an endless
cycle of thoughts,
because I am scared
of not being able
to save everyone.
Because you had so much to see,
but you are not coming back.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 8:49 AM UTC
Out of this world,
purpose is left behind
in the ruins of broken dreams,
not waiting for permission
to appear in your life. Never understanding what hope can do
Even silence carries the weight of forgotten names
Shadows linger where hope used to stand
Something inside, refuses to fully disappear
And yet the fracture keeps shaping what remains
You are what survives the breaking, not what caused it And still, you move through the wreckage as it owes you answers
like meaning is something that should survive impact intact
but meaning doesn’t survive, it change
turning grief into habit
and habit into the shape of your voice when no one is listening
there are days you forget the difference
between healing and just learning how to carry weight quietly
you call it growth
because that word sounds less harmless than what it actually is
a slow rearrangement of everything you thought would stay
even memory starts editing itself
removing faces, softening edges
as if forgetting is mercy and not another kind of loss
and somewhere in that shaped silence
you stop asking what you were before
because the only honest answer left
is that you are still here and you are alive.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 8:49 AM UTC
What did they raise?
A liar, an introvert,
someone lost in trust and daddy issues,
someone who’s stopped smiling,
just a smart, scared creature
trying to fix itself.
And I still try.
Maybe that’s not what they wanted,
but it’s what I became because of them.
Because of screaming, impossible expectations,
and never being enough or being too much.
Or maybe just a daydreamer
who wanted something different.
Am I wrong
to dream?
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 8:48 AM UTC
To the glowing star that sits in my room,
A symbol of hope sticked on the wound,
Through darkness consumed
Still brightening my tomb.
My tunnel light,
That I look for at night
When everything surrounds dark,
I find my faith in you.
Slowly, surely, you calm the eye
As I lay to sleep, safe
Under your soft,
Glowing aid.
My dear star of hope, you still remain
When everyone else meets pain
And you will still shine
When I slowly die.
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 12:38 AM UTC
to be fair
I will never find the right words
to describe this feeling
like when a little kid
is asking you,
"are you an angel?"
and you obviously
say no,
because you know
you are nothing more
than a monster
and then the kid says,
"Of course you are. Mum said
that angels harm themselves
because they don't like life
on Earth.
This world is destroying them,
so they are trying to return
to paradise again.
they are too sensitive
to the pain of others
and their own."
I've wanted to say
that I don't believe in paradise,
and that the world is making
scars on your body
because the world is mean,
and this makes you
end up being mean to yourself.
but at the same time, the world
can be there for you
without you expecting it,
in the most beautiful way
so I just told him
that his mum is very wise
and I got,
"thank you.
she's also an angel,
but she already returned home.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 12:38 PM UTC
Nobody tells you
that losing someone
can be heavier
than you ever thought
no one prepares you
for that moment
or how it lingers
without asking permission
that was when my father died
but this story
is not about that
or maybe it is
in a way I don’t fully admit
maybe it’s about how I ended up here
in Sacramento
with my aunt and my uncle
who are Jehovah’s Witnesses
that thing with paradise
and no birthdays or Christmas
sometime after I arrived
they suggested
I should go
to be fair
I didn’t really have a choice
we went to a meeting
I thought it would be boring
and to be fair
it was
until she caught my attention
red hair
and eyes
that looked like they had too much life in them
for a room like that
after the meeting
I thought we could go home
but no
people love to talk
so I went outside
and there she was
sitting beside me
her name was Marike
a strange name
for a girl like her
then we kept meeting
at school
at the library
and obviously
at the meetings
then one day
she asked me
if I wanted to come to dinner
with her family
and of course
why would I say no
and here I am
at her door
waiting
the dinner was great
but before it
they said a prayer
and I kept my eyes open
and so did she
after that
she said
what if I stayed over
without realizing
a feeling grew inside me
slowly
but I decided to stay
and the next morning
I found her
with my glasses
on her nose
I’m not going to say
I’ve never seen such beauty
it would sound too plastic
too unoriginal
so here’s what really happened
I just smiled like an idiot
and waited
for my glasses
for a while
our lives were good
you know
until people start noticing
you might have feelings for someone
before you even know it yourself
then the rules appeared
if I wanted to hang out with her
I had to do religious stuff
so I did
until one night
after the Bible study
we walked home together
and out of the blue
she asked me
if I wanted to pray with her
at first I said no
but something made me change my mind
so I listened
she held my hands
like they were something fragile
after she finished
slowly
she kissed me
so fast
I didn’t even realize
when it happened
I felt like
I could finally live
but like I said
when people start to notice
it only gets worse
the next few days
I didn’t see her
until the meeting
where my heart broke in pieces
because next year
she was supposed to get married
to some guy
she didn’t even know,
but was her choice,
after all,
all she ever wanted
was to keep me safe
so I left
back home
because my mom
was somehow feeling better
and the years passed
without me realizing it
but I knew
my heart was still in Sacramento
and somehow
life brought me back there
so I saw her again
but this time
she hugged me
and I asked
“not gonna let me go?”
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 3:01 PM UTC
I am the greatest pretender.
The one who says, every time,
that they are fine,
and forgets about themselves,
and never hopes for good things.
Maybe I am the greatest pretender.
The one who screams
at “Halfway Right”
by LP,
or cries
at “Creep”
because of self-harm.
The one who works hard
just to forget feelings and emotions
because sometimes it’s too much
for itself.
Probably I am the greatest pretender.
The one who cries
when you yell at it,
or cries after you fight with it,
but after ten minutes
says it’s fine,
and no one asks about it.
Maybe it feels too much sometimes.
Maybe it’s too dramatic,
or it has too many feelings.
Occasionally I am the greatest pretender,
sitting there in silence
and overthinking,
maybe because of itself
or because of you.
Who knows?
I only know that “it” hates itself.
Probably because I am not the greatest pretender.
Because it is a people-pleaser
who cares too much
about others
and forgets itself.
Maybe I’m not the greatest pretender
because it tries to see the good in people,
even when they hurt it a thousand times.
Maybe because it cares too much.
Probably… because
I’m not the greatest pretender.
Because it can’t lie
when it says “I’ll be there for you,”
or when it cares
even when you don’t know,
or when it hopes like a fool
that people will change.
And it’s not about you or others.
It’s about it.
Because “it” is empathetic and naive
and hopes for change.
Or the moments when it sits there and listens.
It’s the only thing that “it” loves in itself.
Maybe it’s not about being
the greatest or the worst pretender.
Who knows?
I’m not here to judge.
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 2:18 PM UTC
What is wrong with me
that one asterisk row
can throw my whole body
into alarm?
Not disagreement.
Not irritation.
Alarm.
A tiny string of stars- *****
and suddenly my chest goes tight,
my thoughts start slamming drawers,
my jaw locks,
my hands go cold,
then hot,
then useless.
Fight.
Flight.
Freeze.
All three
crowding the doorway at once.
Stop.
It is only
a clerical error,
a $2.99 AI filter
purchased in haste by an absent admin,
a cheap, blind machine pawing at our lines.
What is wrong with me?
I have lived too long
through so many versions of this.
I have watched ministers
lean over culture
with their disinfectants and scissors.
I have watched them warn, label, soften, trim.
I have watched whole eras
ask art to apologize
for having a body.
So why this?
Why now?
Why this absurd little mark
sends me so quickly
into white animal panic.
Is it the child in me?
Who witnessed adults rename pain
until truth sat in the corner
with its mouth washed out.
Is it the books I chose?
All those years reading the wild ones,
the heretics, the drunks, the holy fools,
the queers and runaways,
the swamp prophets and asphalt mystics,
learning that language is the last real house
some people ever get.
Is that it?
That the written line is not content to me.
Not copy.
Not mood.
Not product.
It is breath made visible.
A hand on the table saying
I was here.
I wanted.
I feared.
I knew.
And if some backend ghost
slides in and powders over the mouth,
I do not see moderation.
I see desecration.
Should it be like this?
Probably not.
Should I care this much?
Probably not.
I overreact.
Because I am not only seeing
a damaged word.
I am seeing the body
taught to doubt its own tongue.
And I cannot stand it.
Maybe I am only this:
Someone who still believes
the line should arrive whole.
The body should arrive whole.
The word should reach the reader
with its dirt, its blood, its sweat,
its bad manners,
its human weather intact.
And if that makes me excessive,
touchy,
difficult,
unfit for the new upholstered silence,
then what is wrong with me
is that I still think a poem
should be allowed
to keep its teeth.
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
I've traveled in so many places
where is said that,
"to define is to limit "
because the places where I went
were full of magic, storms and
freedom
and I’ve lived so many lives
that I forgot how old I am
or what I am supposed to become
because the places where I went
it wasn't me,
was a child, a hero, a villain,
a lover or a rager,
but they weren't me
because " me " is not enough
is too much and worth for leaving
but it still has dreams
about what " me " could
or can be
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
hope is the thing with feathers
who flies over the night
and she brings joy and forgiveness
to all who believe in her.
and she is free from all the rules
more than anyone else could,
but she is haunted by people
like death,
because they are seeking for both.
until today,
a rose that falls
in the darkness and betrayal,
she changes the hope's path
saving her someday
and it tries,
and she starts believing
that love was never a straight path,
it was light, darkness
and a star.
now the star is a million miles away
freed from all roots
that kept her away.
now she is learning how to be,
brave, clever, and free.
because now the hope is up to her
to change her own fate.
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC