Everyone I’ve ever loved
Is somewhere in my heart locked away
Parts of them scattered and mixed with my blood
Running through every part of by body
To my brain
Reflections of their persona escape as i speak
I’m everyone I’ve ever loved , that is me

Everything happens just so we can feel
And when we lose that
We lose everything
Because that is what humans are made of
Emotion
When we are deprived of that
we are nothing.
We are nothing but melancholic spirits
Translating our own sorrow into poetry
Our own pain into art.

I can’t escape your waking gaze,
While in a trance, I pace—waiting for pain as I hear
The fall of rain,
And feel the gloom of day,
Hiding the sun’s rays.

The room is empty, the clock ticking—
Lights flickering, air thick with sorrow.
I wait.

I wait to declare my love,
My adoration.
Oh, how I yearn for your presence,
To be seen by your conscious.

It pains me, my love,
As I see your half-conscious state,
Knowing what you wish to say.

But, please, for my sake,
Don’t make me wait.
Don’t leave me.
Love me, before it’s too late.

It comes to me that I
don’t truly know who I am.

Some call me brilliant,
lovely, bright, and beautiful ,Others call me idiotic ,
depressing, selfish.

I don’t know my name,
shaped and molded by the perceptions of others.
Who am I?

Lying awake at the peak of dawn,
I ask myself—
what’s my favorite color? My hobbies? My favorite food?
Nothing.

I don’t know who I am.

Am I the cool breeze that lingers in the August heat?
Am I the rivers that flow through the soil and greens?
Am I the rain—crying the sky’s tears,
consoling those who weep?
Am I the moon—adored in private, unseen by day?

Or maybe…

I’m the earthquake that shatters hearts and souls.
Maybe I’m the tornado that destroys as it goes.
Maybe I’m the villain in this story,
while someone else— is the hero.

I don’t know.
I don’t know who I am.
Perhaps I never will.

I only see myself through others’ eyes, never my own.
My own mind—
a war zone.
With My heart and mind, forever at war.

I don’t know who I am.
Perhaps, I never will-
Lost in echoes of voices— not my own.

November is over, yet memories remain.
The moon dims its light, greeting the night,
Longing for his forgotten lover,
Leaving the stars behind in the sky.

The wind turns frigid—
The sun bids its farewell,
Preparing to meet the moon,
Two bound yet distant souls.

November may be over, but not our love—
Never fading away..
Unmoved by time , untouched by fate
-sal