Top of my game,
Top of my aim,
Top of my speed —
You crave that.
Down on my game,
Down on me,
You shun that.

Silence. Echoes.
I love them.
They remind me
Of loneliness.

Dark clouds — those days —
Gift me
A clearer view
Of my circle.

Groveling through snow,
Through fog,
I understand
Why most company
Means nothing.

If I once gave
A Cheshire smile,
Played the jester —
I can't now.
Not until I’m fixed.

So when I get the urge
To saunter away —
Do you blame me?

Should you fill my shoes,
Or allow me
To make the decision
For us — alone?
Should you be my light
When it's pretty sketchy,
Or wait —
Hoping I fix myself?

Because maybe,
Just maybe —
To saunter past you
Is the best
I can do.

If weeds could thrive—
Grow under duress,
Withstand the stomping,
Cling to minimal breath,
Evade the storm—
Then I want to be one.

No—
I am one.

But the downfall,
It’s a weakness:
Weeds get wiped out faster.
They welcome death
By choking what breathes beside them.
And so do I.
I realize.

I thought my forte was depth—
Roots dug well.
But now it’s dried, cracked,
And starting to burn
Others with it.

What have I done?
I asked myself

Ten feets distance
Wasn't enough

Darkness is contagious
It eats you like a prey

But I guess it's late now
Apologies won't cut it

The silence was worth it
The pain is welcomed
That way it feels humane

It doesn't ****,
The ones you love
I guess it finally
exploded

I've always wondered—
If baby carriers worn at six o’clock,
Or slings drawn close to the chest—
Which is better?
One cradles a mother’s aching spine,
The other calms a child’s frantic breath.

Does one weigh less,
Or simply feel lighter
Because love shifts the gravity?
Is it comfort or convenience,
A whisper to the world
Or a hush to the soul?

It’s like life—
One posture pleases the crowd,
The other holds you closer to yourself.

So tell me—
Which one would you be?
The back that bears with quiet strength,
Or the chest that beats with knowing warmth?
Would you give ease to others,
Or peace to your own aching pulse?

I wonder still—
But maybe,
Maybe I’d be both.

As messed up as it is,
I like the overbearing kind—
The ones who shadow me like breath,
Their weight, my unexpected muse.

Attention—
Always on my back,
A strange comfort
Like pressure that says I see you.

It’s weird, I know.
But when we’re not connected,
I unravel.
No deal.
No spark.

I don’t know how to care for myself.
But someone else who figures it out—
They hold my key.
Not in chains,
But in knowing.

And when I’m quiet,
Not hyping you,
Not clinging to your orbit—
I’ve already let go.
You’re not my safe space.

But if I smother,
If I breathe you in like air too close—
It means you’re human to me,
Just like the rest.
Not sacred.
Not mine.

Only real.
Only fading.