You think it’s a hug until it’s not,
Until warmth fades and ties grow taut.
What starts as comfort, safe and near,
Turns into something wrapped in fear.

The arms that held now grip too tight,
The light embrace becomes a fight.
Your breath, once steady, now feels trapped,
In what was love, now twisted, snapped.

You think it’s a hug, you close your eyes,
But feel the shift beneath the guise.
The weight that’s pressed against your chest,
Is no longer soft, no longer rest.

It tightens slow, it steals the air,
A squeeze that says it’s still “I care.”
But you can’t breathe, your pulse is weak,
What once was gentle now feels bleak.

You think it’s a hug, until the bind
Turns into chains that choke your mind.
And as you struggle to break free,
You wonder when it ceased to be.

If you have to lie, then deep inside,
You already know the truth you hide.
The words you twist, the stories bend,
Can never heal, can never mend.

A shadow creeps with every tale,
A weight that grows with every veil.
The truth, once bright, is lost in gray,
Each step you take leads you away.

You know you’re wrong with every breath,
Each word you speak, a quiet death.
If truth is gone, then so are we-
A bond can’t live on false debris.

If you must lie to make it through,
Then face the truth: it’s not worth you.

A small girl in a big world, sorry as sorry can be.
Hair too thin, stupid, grin, and bruises on her knees.
She stumbles through each crowded street,
Barefoot dreams an scuffed-up feet.

Her voice is soft, her eyes unsure,
A heart too kind, a world too blurred.
She says she’s sorry just for space,
For taking up the smallest place.

Wishing she could jut belong,
But feeling every step is wrong.
Her shadow, long, her presence, slight,
She fades into the endless night.

But in her chest, a spark still burns,
A hidden strength with time to learn.
Though she’s small, the world is wide,
She’ll find her way, she’ll turn the tide.

Alice and Bob, two minds entwined,
In binary thoughts, their paths aligned.
A world of ones, a world of naught,
In two’s complement, they’re re bound, they’re caught.

Alice starts with zero’s grace,
A perfect both in time and  space.
Bob, the mirror, flips the code,
Carrying the weight of what’s been owed.

For every joy that Alice brings,
Bob subtracts with silent wings.
A balance struck in binary,
Negative turns to harmony.

They shift, they slide, in endless dance,
Each number fits, no random chance.
Where Alice adds, Bob takes away
Two’s complement keeps them in play.

Together they form what can’t be lone,
A pair that makes the circuit home.
In twos they cancel, reset, spin,
Two’s complement, where they begin.

Syntax builds the fragile frame,
A structure bound by rules and name.
Each line, each mar, a puzzle piece,
The form that brings our thoughts release.

Semantics, though, is where it lives,
The meaning that the order gives.
A word alone, a line of code,
Means nothing till its truth is showed.

Syntax lays the path we tread,
The map of where our thoughts are lead.
But meaning waits beneath the lines,
In symbols, shapes, and quiet signs.

Without the rules, we’d lose our way.
But without meaning, there’s no say.
So  syntax shapes, semantics breathes,
Together, language weaves and weaves.

The sky was pinkle when I woke,
A shade of laughter, half a joke.
The clouds turned sorn, a moody hue,
Like whispers drenched in morning dew.

I dress in plasmic, soft and shy,
A color caught between a sigh.
My shoes were tied with strings of frave,
The color brave, that I crave.

The streets were wet, a glistening feel,
Like promises too sharp, too real.
I stepped through puddles, blur and glant,
With hues that speak, but never chant.

The trees were spindle, tall and thin,
Their leaves were painted grun and kin.
The world spun round in shades unknown,
Colors that feel, but never shown.

By evening, selk began to fall,
A hue that echoes with no call.
And as the night wore shades of flow,
I drifted where the colors go.

Oh, a liewish, a lieiwsh
a twisty-truth skewish-
a tale spun so wild,
it hopes to be true-ish.

It starts as a whisper,
soft as a sigh,
a fib with its fingers
crossed up to the sky.

“I’ve danced on the moon!”
or “I never feel blue!”
a liewish floats up
like a daydream’s debut

It’s a word in disguise,
a bluff in plain view,
a hope draped in make-believe,
sly as it grew.

Some say it’s a fib,
some say it’s unwise,
but a liewish just grins
and pretends it’s a prize

For what is a dream
if not wishes that lie?
so here’s to the liewish,
that dares and defies.