I wish love were mine to write
I wish I wrote about a pair of dark brown eyes
staring into mine
like they were the only thing he'd ever seen
About how he hugged me until I was breathless
how with him living wasn't a burden

I wish love found me
the hard and forever kind of love
the kind that never ends never gets lost
I wish there were arms to hold me when I cried
or when everything got heavy

Halfway across the world
Asleep right now
There is a girl
I like her

Not like like her
Not in a romantic way

She's just sweet
She knows me
She cares about me
She's there for me

Halfway across the world
Asleep right now

She's there for me
She doesn't know my first language
She only knows me thru texts
She has her own problems

But I don't know
How I could help

Halfway across the world
Asleep right now
Doesn't have to face her thoughts
She's okay now

If she's okay
Than so am I

And I couldn't be more grateful
To have a friend
Halfway across the world
Asleep right now

Thank you Charu <333

In the end
I was never meant to be loved
Like a plant watered just enough to survive
but never enough to grow

I was that plant
Kept alive by fragments of affection
just enough to make me stay
but never enough to feel truly seen
Never enough to feel like I was enough

Like a glass vase that shattered into a thousand pieces
I melted myself down
remolded my brokenness
into something he could love again

He said he loved me
But still, he let me fall
Again
And again
Until there was nothing left to remold

Until even breathing felt like a burden
far too heavy for my shoulders to carry

Why do I have to force people to love me?
Tell them to care about me
Why don't they just do it themself
Am I really that hard to love?

That in all these years
I never once felt love
The way I loved—
Deeply, passionately and endlessly

But it was just who I am
Filled with love
Without ever being loved

Sometimes I feel cursed
The curse of always being loving
But never being loved
Like i read in books
Like in the movies i watch
That kind of love never found me
Even not in my own family

Youngest but never loved
Told to be more
Like their older child
But never themselves
I was never anyones favourite
They never came to me
When their life got hard
Or when it was fun

As always, when no one's awake,
my thoughts begin to eat me alive.
When I’m weakest—
when no one's watching—
I finally break down.

My eyes bleed
until sorrow drains from my face,
leaving nothing left to see.

My heart sinks
a little deeper each time
into a dark, hollow space
no one could ever reach.

There, my sorrows feast on me
second by second—
yet somehow, I’m still here.

No liquor strong enough
to keep me from drowning.
I walk into
a never-ending darkness,

awake—
in flesh,
adrift in shadow.

I wish I was the kind of poet
who was deeply in love—
who wrote about love,
about how deep his eyes are,
how he laughs like sunlight,
how he blushes like a soft secret,
how his voice is deep,
yet peaceful,
like rain at night.

I wish I could write
about loving him
like breathing—
something easy, natural, alive.

But here I am.
Writing about pain,
about the ache I carry in silence.
Writing just to be heard—
even once.

I write about trauma,
not tenderness.
About a childhood
where all I remember
is shouting,
closed doors,
and a war
I never asked to fight in.

Death—
the easiest cure to everything.
Every pain.
Every wound.
Every drop of blood
I spilled when I wasn't enough.

Every word that cut,
every memory that stayed,
every moment I begged the world to stop hurting.

It's so easy to die—
all at once.
But most days,
we die slowly,
quietly enough
that no one notices.

We smile.
We laugh.
We disappear,
a little more each time.

And when I finally go,
they’ll burn me beneath wood and smoke,
and forget.
Everything I carried—
gone.
To most,
I was just another sad story.
Just another silence.

But the ones who truly saw me,
they watched it happen—
day after day,
minute by minute.
They saw my eyes go hollow.
They saw joy bleed out of me,
until all I had left
was a heart too tired to beat.