i would burn myself down to light someone's path for when they cannot find their way home,
strip my own bones for making fire if it meant warmth for somebody
i've imagined climbing into heaven itself,
finding God exhausted somewhere and asking; "what do you need?"
because I know what it means to give until you're empty, to answer every cry like it's the only sound im meant to hear ever since ive stepped foot here on earth
and when I look around for someone to catch me, i found only my own voice, echoing and asking if anyone else was tired
it's not that I think I'm holy.
it's that i've practiced resurrection so many times on people who could never be able to bring me back to life if ever,
i started to wonder if i could do it
for the one who supposedly does it for everyone else
no one has offered to bleed the way I have
i think about saving God, because at least then someone would understand
what it costs to love and live and save like this
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 11:26 PM UTC
and i write and i write
and yet
no amount of ink and paper
could ever
scribble off the feelings i had
from the things
i was writing about
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 4:34 AM UTC
And here i am telling myself that everything's my fault while people tell me that it isn't
But every problem or situation that I've caused wouldn't have happened anyways if i wasn't so blind, so stupid
And yet no one cared enough to check up on me
So who's really at fault here?
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 8:50 AM UTC
I just woke up from a nap and it felt like the nap i had back in December, when i felt like i didn't belong anywhere and sleep was my only friend.
Except it's not december.
It's september, it's too early for this, this was the time i genuinely suffered and went insane and just wanted a hug and yet...
And yet, no one noticed, they never do.
I think im gonna go back to sleep.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 8:47 AM UTC
I am a wildcard that cries silently when drawn, but serenades you still.
I put bandaids on my mouth that speak.
I poison words and call them poetry.
I survive on sorrow,
I suffocate myself with salt-stained pillows, hands inked down at the excuse of my rage. Maybe I've known love, but all my texts are some I could never send.
My journals and notes are tired of hearing the same names over and over again.
I've tattooed "you made me a poet" on my bones, but I'm confused how many people I should label as "you."
But one day;
I'll watch the sky,
it will be sunset,
and the world around me will be painted in yellow.
And I love yellow.
And soon I will realize that
I will be okay.
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 5:52 AM UTC