It's thrilling to show the world  
What I'd never show those near.  
When they don't know me,  
I feel no fear.  

It's a joy to write,  
To hear what people think,  
When they don't know me.  

It's a relief to pour my rage  
Onto a page,  
When they don't know me.  

The truth is easy to share—  
It doesn't scare me,  
When they don't know me.  

I am unafraid  
Of their criticism.  
How could they hurt me,  
When they don't know me?  

But in reality,  
Through these words,  
They glimpse a truth  
Even the closest can't see.

In a car, the two of us did ride,  
To a hill where stars abide.  
A hidden secret we did find,  
A view that stole away our mind.  

Curaçao's coast, spread wide and grand,  
Cruises docked—a shimmering band.  
Streets below waltzed like stars in a row,  
Twinkling, swirling—a luminous show.  

You let me drive, my nerves in flight,  
Yet trusted me, through the night.  
Though you acted scared, in jest,  
With laughs and jokes, we felt our best.  

No need for drinks to lift our mood,  
Your humor alone our spirits renewed.  
In simple joys, our hearts did find  
A night forever etched in mind.

Is it silly,  
To ache for fleeting things?  
To feel the end when the laughter rings,  
To sit in silence, heavy and still,  
The emptiness creeping against my will?  

To feel sad when people go,  
To wish they'd stay, though I know  
They have their right to leave behind  
This fragile tether in my mind.  

To fear the night, the sleep ahead,  
The quiet thoughts that fill with dread,  
Tipsy, but not drunk enough to erase,  
The stories my mind is bound to chase.  

To hate the morning's steady glow,  
The end of dark, the start of woe,  
To sit alone when joy has gone,  
With echoes left to linger on.  

Is it silly to feel so deep,  
To ache for moments I cannot keep?  
Or is it just a fragile plea,  
To hold what's fleeting close to me?

In Winter  
all the songs  
drift above the trees,  
while my poems  
lie below my pillow.  
Each word gathers,  
assembling on the page—  
while my feelings scatter,  
hidden in my heart.

I pen down tears  
that reach my eyes  
without tracing maps  
along my cheeks.  
The world sees  
the smiles I show,  
but my poems know  
the quiet truths  
I keep inside.  

In winter's darkest evenings,  
between these quiet walls,  
beneath my pillow—  
lie the secrets  
I've never told.

I kept the car where you broke my will,  
Tried to fill it with memories new,  
Hoping they'd bury the echoes still,  
But the shadows of you always grew.  

I went on road trips, and dates so far,  
Yet the wreckage of you lingered on,  
The trunk held secrets, a lasting scar,  
And no journey could make them be gone.  

Still, I clung tight, to erase the pain,  
To prove that you no longer stayed,  
But deep inside, in every lane,  
The ghost of you never did fade.  

You kept winning, mile by mile,  
I thought new memories could mend,  
But you haunted me with that vile smile,  
And in my head, the nightmare wouldn't end.  

So I drove to the place where it all happened,  
And scratched the car with a desperate hand,  
Hoping to break the grip of you,  
But freedom was something I couldn't demand.  

Sold the car, and it's gone,  
Yet the truth stubbornly remains,  
The stain you left, it lingers on,  
Not on the metal but in my veins.  

In the end, it's clear you won,  
For the real scars were never on steel,  
They're etched in me, by what you've done,  
The stains that no time can heal.

In the quiet hours, fear takes its hold,  
A whispering shadow, a story untold.  
I've walked this path, six years long,  
But now I wonder, was I ever strong?  

The books are open, pages are bare,  
Yet my mind drifts to a distant stare.  
Was it the time I lost, or the fear I face?  
Or is it just the weight of this endless race?  

I've stumbled through years, one by one,  
But now it feels like I'm coming undone.  
Is it my ADHD pulling me away?  
Or is it fear that keeps me at bay?  

I'm scared to discover, deep in my heart,  
That maybe I wasn't enough from the start—  
To be a doctor, to heal, to mend.  
What if this dream was doomed in the end?  

I'm terrified of the truth I might find,  
That the real battle is within my own mind.  
If I don't pass, will it be the end?  
Or just a bend in the road, a chance to mend?  

I fear the world, I fear their gaze,  
But most of all, I fear these days—  
When doubt creeps in, when hope is thin,  
And I wonder if I'll ever win.  

But still, I stand on this fragile ground,  
With all my fears circling around.  
And though I'm scared, though the road is tough,  
I'll face the truth, whether I'm enough.  

For in the end, it's not just a test,  
But the courage to fight, to give it my best.  
And if I fall, if I stumble and break,  
At least I'll know it's for my own sake.  

So here I am, scared but here,  
Facing my fear, facing my future.  
Whatever comes, whatever may be,  
I'll keep going. I'll keep being me.

There's a house inside my head,  
With many doors, both green and red.  
Behind each one, a thought awaits,  
Racing fast, or running late.

One door opens to a buzzing bee,  
Another shows the roaring sea.  
A thousand windows wide and bright,  
Ideas that flicker, flash, take flight.

But just as quick, they slip away,  
A sunny thought turns into gray.  
I chase one down, then lose the track,  
And something new pulls me back.

The world says 'focus, slow it down, '  
But I'm too busy spinning ‘round.  
It's hard to find the quiet key,  
To lock the noise and just be free.

Yet in this storm, a spark is found,  
A place where my thoughts swirl around.  
For though they scatter, fly, and flee,  
There's brilliance in the way they see.

One day, I found a door ajar,  
And standing there, a guiding star.  
He smiled and said, "Your mind's a maze,  
But it shines in such a wondrous blaze."

I learned to love my doors of light,  
The thoughts that dance both day and night.  
For in the chaos, I can see,  
The wild, creative side of me.