They say I smile a little more,
That I don’t drag my feet like I did before.
I sleep through nights I used to fight,
No weight of wrong to make things right.

I left before the final storm,
I knew you’d be waiting with a pistol drawn.
No slammed door, no screaming scene —
Just walked away from what we’d been.

You loved the me that stayed in line,
Not the man in me I tried to find.
You saw me cracking but stuck to your ways —
Just glad it wasn’t your pain to face.

Now I ain’t saying that there was no cost,
Some things you leave still feel like loss.
But peace ain’t loud — it just shows up slow,
And I’ve been feeling better since I let you go.

They argue in threads they barely read,
Just dopamine and capslocked tweets.
No questions asked, no space to try —
PEOPLE READ, NOT TO UNDERSTAND BUT TO REPLY.

The sun comes out loud, like it owns the whole day,
It shines like it’s sure I’ll be okay.
It burns through the curtains, expects me to move —
Like light means life, and I’ve got something to prove.

But the moon doesn’t ask me to rise or perform,
It waits without judgment, calm and warm.
It shows up in the silence, when the world shuts up —
And reminds me that just being here is enough.

There’s peace in the dark when the day is done —
I feel more at home with the moon than the sun.

I had a thought —
it slipped.
A line to speak —
just clipped.

I meant to say
what’s wrong,
but maybe I
came on too strong.

My chest said go,
my mouth said wait.
My throat just held
a heavy weight.

I wrote it down —
then backspaced all.
It felt too weak,
it felt too small.

I wish I could
explain this fear,
but words run dry
when you get near.

So if I stall
or start to shake —
it’s not a game,
it isn’t fake.

It’s just that when
my mind gets loud,
my voice gets lost
inside the crowd.

I bought my peace in silver flakes,
from shadow hands in quiet breaks.
They said it shimmered, said it flew —
but gravity still pulled me through.

I lined the stars on bathroom tile,
called it freedom for a while.
It sparkled like a borrowed sky —
but burned like comets passing by.

I chased the night, I chased the glow,
until the stars fell down below.
And when the morning asked for me —
I left in dreams I’d paid to see.

We all wish to die of old age in our sleep,
But what if my slow death began at 22 and ends at 83?
What if the love I was offered in life was deadly?
I know love might show up with a different face, but that just ain’t it for me.
If it’s not yours, it’ll always pretend to be.

I woke up wired, heart beat fast,
told myself this time’s the last.
Lines on the sink, shame in my head,
texted some lies, stayed in bed.

The crash is gone but not the mess,
some days I still can’t catch my breath.
I stay away from what the old me craves,
and that part is still digging its own grave.

There were nights I almost called it quits —
and if the ceiling of my old apartment was strong enough,
I wouldn’t be writing this.