I cried again last night,
I just hate doing that.
I hate how uncontrollably my tears fall,
How they just roll off my eyes, smash my pillow at free will,
While I try with all my might to not let the sounds of cry escape my lips.

I hate feeling so helpless,
I hate the dampness of my pillow in the morning,
I hate that I have to wake up before everyone else so I can fix my eyes,
I hate that I made this my norm.

Honestly I'm tired...
I'm tired of hiding my pain,
I'm tired of hiding my sadness,
I'm tired of hiding my anger,
I'm tired of hiding my breakdowns.

I don't want to be the strong one anymore.
No one checks up on the strong one.
I don't want to live under these assumptions of being a fighter,
I can't even hold up a fist.
I don't want to be dealt these cards anymore and be told to just make it work.

I'm tired,
I am so so tired.
I'm exhausted.
Just... depleted.

Where's my rainbow after the rains,
Where's my calm after the storm,
Where's my light at the end of the tunnel,
Where's my peace after the war,
Where's my dawn after the darkness,
Where's my joy after the sorrow?
Where's my, "finally it's over"?

In solitude I retreat,
a hermit seeking solace.
Depression, my companion,
wrapping me in its Melancholic shroud.

I sever threads of connection,
Words become heavy stones,
and I carry them alone.

If possible, I seek forgiveness for my withdrawal,
For it is not you I flee from,
but the tempest within that threatens to consume me.

When storms rage, I seek refuge
in the caves of my mind,
where echoes of past battles revive.

But know this, my tender-hearted muse,
Your tears are constellations,
each drop a universe of hurt.

I ache to see your face again.
Yet my hands tremble,
afraid that their touch will unravel storms.

So here I stand silent,
Know that my withdrawal is not apathy,
but a dance of desperation.

When the tempest subsides,
when I emerge from my self-imposed exile,
I'll trace constellations upon your skin, and
and whisper, "I was lost, but now I'm found."

For in silence, I seek healing,
and in your eyes, I find my North Star.

I remember praying to you, and you did not answer.  
I was told God listened to His children,  
But you sure didn't listen to me.  
I was told to fast so my prayers could be answered quickly,  
I starved myself from food, fed only on prayer and faith for days,  
Hoping for some good but only ended in the hospital.  
You didn't answer.  

My clothes were drenched in tears,  
I felt myself dehydrated.  
I prayed from dusk till dawn,  
But still no answer.  

That pain I felt isn't there anymore.  
Not because things are finally looking up,  
It's because I'm losing faith.  
I feel numb to all the pain.  
You weren't there when I needed you the most.  

All those people lied to me when they said you come in times of need.  
They said if God doesn't answer,  
It's because He knows one can handle it.  
But here I am thinking that my definition of "handle" and His aren't the same.  
Unless, if wishing to die, isolation, and sh is His definition,  
Then I guess I'm handling everything perfectly.

There are two types of people,
The wind and the leaf,
Guess which one am I...

I'm being blown in all different directions by this wind called life,
Destined to wilt and fall on the ground.

But I guess we're all leaves after all.
We start of as a bud, unfurling into a vibrant green leaf.
As seasons change, we turn to brilliant shades of red, orange, or yellow, before falling to the ground.

But the difference is there are those who live like the wind and those who are like me.
Who only get to rest when there's no wind,
Get peace when there's no wind,
Be in control when there's no wind,
But that's like saying when there's no wind, there's no life.
When there's no life, I'll live.