The sky forgets
it ever stormed.
a sunbeam
slips through the cracks
No invitation,
just warmth.
Dusty leaves
turn green again
without apology.
You are not stuck.
not broken.
just between blossoms.
The Earth never asks
why you paused.
It waits.
Ice melts
into lemonade.
pain fades
into stories.
Every summer
starts from scratch
No pressure,
just promise.
You can change
like the wind.
softly,
or all at once.
There is room
for reruns
and redirections.
Even lost paths
grow wildflowers.
So rest,
but don’t give up.
The sun
is still in your corner.
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
What is this desolate place?
Is he showing me this?
Why would he take me here?
Snow?
Or is it blood?
The air feels heavy with despair.
It's suffocating.
It's so.....
......hopeless.
This can't be;
the world inside his heart, can it?
Where is he?
The trees here are hollow,
their branches like fingers pointing at me.
Blaming.
Begging.
There's a house ahead.
Falling apart,
like it's been grieving for decades.
A single photo swings on a broken wall,
too blurred to make out.
Is it him?
Or is it us?
I walk deeper in.
The snow crunches,
but it doesn’t melt.
Where is he?
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 1:45 AM UTC
The garden butterflies are all dead.
Wings torn, Head crushed.
Some lie still on the petals,
While other lie limbless on the soil.
So why are the flowers still smiling?
The leaves dancing?
Are they actually numb
Or were the butterflies enemies
Instead of friends?
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 12:42 PM UTC
Why do dead people get more flowers
than alive ones?
Is regret greater than gratitude?
Why do graves bloom
with petals of sorrow,
while the warm hands,
still reaching,
are left cold and empty?
Why do people love children
but neglect old parents?
why do we cherish youth,
soft , unwrinkled
but aver our gaze
from the hands
that built our world?
May 22, 2025
May 22, 2025 at 12:39 PM UTC
I ravage myself in hopes,
but purity was all u needed.
Crinkled bedsheets,
White snow turned red and purple,
Is this your kind of pretty?
My love is such a wretched thing,
To keep within and about.
I spoon it to your lips,
And yet you spit it out.
I built a castle from scattered bones,
Laced it with echoes of your name.
Yet every wish turns out to be ash,
And every ember dies the same.
May 19, 2025
May 19, 2025 at 7:32 AM UTC
Maybe I should've stopped him more.
Like a moth, drawn to the flame of my silence.
no matter how warm it feels,
too much light is bound to burn.
Even if he is happy now,
he might wake up
with ash in his mouth.
Sometimes,
I am afraid of your unconditional kindness--
like rain falling on a paper house.
Beautiful,
but destined to collapse.
Even if it's a fleeting connection,
I am afraid that one day...
you might regret me.
May 19, 2025
May 19, 2025 at 6:58 AM UTC