God
or whatever is out there,
if you are

can you hear me?

I don’t need heaven.
I don’t even need hope right now.
I just need a moment
where the pain isn’t gnawing through me.

Please.

I’m so tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes
the kind that sinks into your bones
and tells you this is all you’ll ever know.
The kind that makes your chest ache
just from waking up again.

I’ve done the work.
The years of therapy,
the holding back the storm so I don’t lose people.
The pretending I’m fine
when I’m unraveling in silence.

And still,
no one sees how loud it is in here.

I feel like I’m drowning in plain sight,
and everyone just walks by
like I’m supposed to be able to breathe underwater.

If there is a God
if you’ve ever watched me cry on the bathroom floor,
if you’ve heard the prayers I never said out loud
then please.
Please.
I am begging you.

Just let it stop for a second.
Just one second without the ache.
Just one moment where I’m not
fighting myself to stay.

I don’t need answers.
I don’t need signs.
I just want to be held
by something kinder than this pain.

Let me put it down.
Let me rest.
Let me exist without bleeding.

There are days my heart is a raw thing,
a surface of open wounds stitched together by hope,
by every whispered promise that you love me enough to stay.

There are days I carry my feelings like glass,
stacked too high in trembling arms,
praying you won't reach too quickly,
or speak too sharply.

You always knew I bled easier than most.
You kissed the fragile parts,
said you loved their softness,
said you understood.

But sometimes your voice sharpens without warning,
a blade born of anger, or carelessness, or exhaustion,
and slices clean through the carefulness I built.
No armor can catch the words in time.

It happens fast
one sentence, thrown hard,
splintering the places that were already holding on by threads.

I know you don’t always mean it.
I know you think I’m too sensitive,
that my trembling arms should be stronger by now.

But inside me, there’s a battlefield you cannot see.
Every harsh word is a grenade.
Every sharp tone, an echo I cannot quiet.
My mind doesn’t heal with apologies;
it loops the moment over and over,
building walls where bridges used to be.

When your voice becomes a blade,
I’m not just hurt
I’m torn between defending myself and begging for mercy,
between running and staying,
between remembering your love and believing your anger.

I don’t want you to be the one who hurts me.
I want to be the one you speak gently to,
even when the world is heavy,
even when you're tired.
Especially then.

Because love should not sound like a weapon.
And I have already survived too many wars inside myself
to survive another one inside the walls of your voice.

She left on a Friday,
when the world remembered a Savior’s sacrifice
and Heaven welcomed home one of its own.
A woman of quiet strength and unwavering faith,
whose prayers were soft armor
and whose love echoed like hymns through generations.

To pass on Good Friday
feels like a whisper from above,
a holy timing for a soul so rooted in God’s grace.
As if even her goodbye was a testimony.
Not an ending, but a homecoming.

She believed in eternal life,
and now she lives it.

Loving her is like standing in the sun
warm, all-consuming, and impossible to ignore. From the moment I met her, something in me shifted, like the universe had finally placed a missing piece into my soul. It’s not just the way she looks at me, though her eyes alone send shivers down my spine. It’s the way she exists, effortlessly, unapologetically, as if she was meant to be mine all along.
Every touch ignites something deep within me. The brush of her fingers against my skin, the way she tucks my hair behind my ear, the way she holds me like she never wants to let go.. it’s intoxicating. I crave her, not just in a physical way, but in the way that makes me want to memorize every detail of her, to know every thought that flickers through her mind.
There’s an undeniable force pulling me toward her, something beyond reason or explanation.
She is my gravity, my magnetic north, the steady rhythm in the chaos of my world. And when I look at her, I see everything; my past, my present, my future.. all wrapped up in the form of the woman I love beyond words.

She is my greatest love story, and I want to spend forever writing it.

Happiness flickers, a match in the wind,
A moment of warmth, then it’s gone again. Laughter surrounds me,
Yet I stand in the center, unseen by the light.

Smiles like masks, hands that touch air,
They talk, they reach, but somehow I’m not there. A ghost in the crowd, a voice out of tune, drowning in noise, yet alone in the room.

Love feels fleeting, it slips like sand
I try to grasp too tight, causing it to fade into my hand.
I’m everything—then nothing at all
I pull you close then push then fall.

My mind’s a storm, a shifting tide,
I crave an anchor but cast it too wide every time.
I wear a thousand faces, and none of them feel like me, I’m trapped inside this mental maze with no way to break free.

And so I chase what never stays,
Sunlight swallowed by endless gray.
Happiness whispers, then turns away
Just long enough to make me stay.

May I be the one to see you. I mean. Truly see you. May I be the one to explore parts of you that you have silenced in fear of being judged. May I know the thoughts that swirl through your mind in your most silent moments. May I learn the lines to your favorite songs so that we can sing them together as we drive with no destination in mind. May I memorize your favorite snacks so that when you are feeling too much or not enough we can eat and talk. Or eat and silence. Whichever you prefer. May I become your pillow. May my chest feel like home and a safe place for you to rest your head to relieve yourself of the weight that life has placed on your shoulders. May I help untie the knots of experiences that feel too difficult to carry because you have had to do it alone. May I love you in ways you didn't think possible because you haven't been shown true love. May I enter your life and show you that you can be vulnerable and it will be okay. May I paint your black and white into color.

its the kind of hell
that brings you to your knees
in a prayer of fear and forgiveness
but get nothing in return besides
a hole the size of texas
with aches rusting your bones
and flooding your eyes,
but you are still alive.
a shriveled smile of fake happiness,
temporarily bliss,
tastes of heaven through poison-infested lips,
but you are alive.
your heart still beats, opening and closing valves
locking doors and hallways of vessels
lacing through your silk-skin veins.
the words you don't want to hear
in bits of syllables that ends with
a bit of an "i'm sorry" but more of a
"no i'm not."
the highest part of the lowest point
where your heart sinks
through your body
below the ground you walk on
in hopes of protecting itself;
but really,
the grave has been dug
and your heart
is already in hell