Its not always a cry for attention.
Sometimes, it’s the only way to silence a storm no one else can hear.

It’s not about death.
It’s about feeling something,
Anything in the numb.
It’s pain trying to make itself known in a world that doesn’t listen unless you bleed.

People say,
“Why would anyone do that to themselves?”
As if pain always waits for permission.
It’s easier to hurt yourself than to explain the emptiness.  
Because how does someone say,
“I don’t want to die, but sometimes I don’t wont to exist either.”
Without scaring others away?

If someone tells you they’re hurting,
Don’t flinch.
Don’t turn it into silence.
Don’t make them feel like their truth is too sharp for your comfort.
Be the reason they don’t have to prove their pain to be believed.
Be the voice that doesn’t look away.

So ask again.
Ask gently.
Ask like you mean it.
Because someone near you might be bleeding in ways you can’t see.

And what to what you next might be the reason
They stay.

There’s something in me that I cannot name,
A quiet pulse beneath my ribs that huls the wrong note in every brat of my heart.

It moves with me,
Breathed with me,
A shadow switched into my skin that no light can touch,
No words can capture,
No one can see.

It whispers in mirrors,
Tugs at my reflection,
Makes familiar faces look foreign,
Makes my own hands feel like strangers.
I cannot show it,
Cannot speak it,
Cannot explain why the world sometimes feels heavy,
Why laughter tastes hollow,
Why silence cuts deeper than noice.

And still I carry it.
Still,
I walk,
Still,
I smile,
Still,
I try to be whole with a shadow that refuses to leave.

Perhaps one day,
I’ll learn its name,
Or perhaps I’ll walk
My whole life
With a companion
I never chose,
Never wanted,
But cannot escape.

Cancer doesn’t crash in
like a storm.
It seeps in.
Quiet.
Cruel.
Certain.

It starts with a phone call,
a strange tone in someone’s voice,
a word you never wanted to hear
said out loud in a room that
suddenly forgets how to breathe.

And from there,
the world splits.

The person you love
still smiles,
still says they’re fine.
but the light behind their eyes
flickers.
Their body becomes a battlefield
no one asked to fight on.

You watch them shrink
while trying to stay brave.
Trying to laugh through nausea.
Trying to hide pain
like it’s a gift
to keep you from worrying.

And it steals them
bit by bit.
hair,
weight,
strength,
hope.

It doesn’t care
if they were kind,
if they were needed.

It just takes.

And the worst part?
You can’t hate it out loud.
Can’t punch it.
Can’t reason with it.
Can’t make it stop.

All you can do
is hold their hand
until one day
you can’t.

And you’re left
with a silence
that screams.

They burn
millions of miles away.
ancient fires
pinned to velvet black,
soft and distant
yet somehow
deeply ours.

We look up
as if they’re listening,
as if they know our names.
Maybe they do.
Maybe they don’t.
But something about their stillness
makes us speak anyway.

They were there
when we first whispered love,
when we cried into the night,
when we asked the sky
if we’d ever feel whole again.

And they blinked,
silent,
enduring,
not answering,
but not turning away either.

We make wishes
on collapsing light,
hoping the fall
means something.
Maybe it does.
Maybe it’s just our way
of believing
in something beautiful
despite the dark.

Because the stars,
they don’t fix us.
They remind us
we’re small
and that being small
doesn’t mean being unseen.

Someways, i punish myself by eating too much.
Other days, I punish myself by not eating at all.
Either way, I call it control.
But it feels like drowning.

The mirror isn’t glass anymore,
It’s a weapon.
A judge.
A liar I keep believing.

It whispers,
“Too much”
“Not enough”
“Look at you”
So I look.
Too long.
Too often.
Until the reflection wraps int something monstrous I swear wasn’t there yesterday.

I swing between hunger and shame.
Between craving comfort and punishing myself for needing at all.

I eat and hate myself.
I starve and hate myself.
It’s never really about food.
It’s about guilt.
I skip meals and call it discipline.
I binge and call it failure.

If you’ve never hated your own body,
Really hated it, then you wont understand how deep it goes.
But if you do, if it feels familiar.
I see you.
And I hope one day you’ll look in the mirror and see something kinder.
Something whole.
Something worth saving.
Because you are.

Time doesn’t knock.
it slips in quietly,
moves the furniture of our lives
without asking.

One moment you’re laughing
in a summer you thought would never end,
and then
you’re standing in a room
that feels smaller somehow,
wondering
where all the hours went.

Time is a thief
with soft hands.
It steals slowly,
but takes everything.

It doesn’t stop for joy,
or grief,
or love that begs to last.
It simply moves forward,
never once
looking back.

We try to hold it.
in photos,
in memories,
in words spoken like spells
to make a moment stay.

But nothing stays.

Time reshapes us,
rewrites us,
reminds us that even mountains
were once dust.

And yet
within its passing,
there’s meaning.

A heartbeat is precious
because it’s borrowed.
A smile matters
because it ends.

So love now.
Forgive now.
Say the thing
you keep saving for later.

Because time waits
for no one.
But it listens
to those who truly live.

Sometimes, I think I want to disappear.
To melt into the background do no one can ask me what wrong when I don’t know how to answer.

I think about vanishing,
Slipping between cracks where no one looks,
No one calls,
No one noticed the space I leave behind.
But the truth is,
I don’t want to be gone.
I want to be searched for.
Feel missing.

I want someone to say,
“I see you”
and mean it.

Because disappearing isn’t about fading,
It’s about wanting someone to pull you back.
To look past your
“I’m fine”
and ask again.
To see the version of you that’s curled up in silence,
Hoping someone heard the echo of everything you didn’t say.

I don’t want to be lost.
I just want to be found.
Not by everyone, just by someone who wont leave when I stop shining.
Someone who notices the dimming light and stays anyway.

So no,
I don’t want to dissapear
I just want proof
That if I did,
Someone would come looking.

I see you between bells, in the rush of bodies and the echo of lockers slamming shut.
You don’t know me,
Not really,
But I know the way your smile breaks sideways,
How your laugh drifts down the hall like a song I don’t know the lyrics to,
But hum anyway.

Two weeks left.
Fourteen days
to maybe say something,
Or nothing at all.

Maybe I’ll keep pretending I’m not looking
When you pass,
Or maybe I’ll finally meet your eyes before the hallway goes silent.

Summer break is almost there.
I fear you’ll change school,
Or stay.
Maybe by then you’ll already have a girlfriend.

And I’ll wonder
What might’ve happened
If I just
Said
Hi.

We are soft things
on a spinning rock,
with hearts too big
for the skin that holds them.

We cry over songs
and laugh in places
we were once broken.
We hold each other like lifelines.
because sometimes,
we are.

Strangers become soulmates
in coffee shop lines,
on sidewalks,
in passing glances that feel like déjà vu.
A shared joke.
A favorite movie.
A song we both scream in the car
with the windows down.
Somehow,
we just get each other.

We create art
from the ache.
Paint galaxies
on bedroom ceilings.
Turn “I miss you”
into music,
and pain
into poetry.

We find beauty
in the ordinary:
sunlight through curtains,
the way someone says our name
softly,
like they mean it.

Yes. there is war.
There is grief.
There is so much we don’t understand.
But there’s also
birthday candles,
random hugs,
midnight walks with friends
who make the silence feel full.

We love so hard
even when we’re scared.
We show up,
even when it hurts.
And when the sky falls,
we rebuild,
together.

So if you ever wonder
what’s still good in this world,
look around:

We’re still laughing.
Still reaching.
Still dancing
in the ruins.
Still human.

And somehow,
that’s enough
to believe in.

We come from the same earth,
Breaths borrowed from the same sky,
We all have the same beginning and ending.
We share this world,
Laugh when others laugh,
Smile when others do.

A nod,
A smile,
A simple gesture that can tilt a day from dark to light.

In crowded streets,
Musicians play,
Pulling strangers close.

We are all connected to each other in a loop that never ends.
We are not different.
We breath the same air.
Walk the same earth
Live in the same world.
So why draw lines,
Call each other illegal in a world we all share?
Why built walls when we could built bridges?
Why fight for power,
When together we hold strength to lift,
To heal,
To rise?

Stronger together, right?
But we don’t see that
Even though
Together,
We are one.

When the world goes quiet,
and the body surrenders.
where do you go?

In sleep,
we fall through time
without falling,
touch faces
we’ve never seen,
grieve things
that never happened.
And still,
we wake up aching.
Why?

What if dreams
aren’t just brain static or broken memories,
but something sacred,
an ancient language
your soul still remembers
even if you don’t?

You float.
You fall.
You fly.
You meet people
you’ve never seen,
but somehow you know them.
Places you’ve never been
feel more like home
than the house you wake up in.

What if every dream
is a message,
a mirror,
a map.
but only if you’re still enough
to listen?

What if they mean something?
What if they mean everything?

And maybe
we’ll never know for sure.
But still,
each night,
we close our eyes
and enter that strange, sacred place
as if we’re trying
to remember
something the daylight
won’t let us see.

Some say your soul leaves your body at night
and wanders.
Touches other worlds.
Crosses timelines.
Meets souls it once knew
before the name you wear now
existed.

Maybe,
what we call “sleep”
is the real awakening.

And waking up?
That’s the dream
we keep returning to.

The soul
is not skin,
not bone,
not something you can point to
or name.

It’s the ache behind the smile,
the tremble before truth,
the way your chest tightens
when a song knows you
better than you know yourself.

It’s memory,
tied in threads of scent and sound.
It’s grief that lingers
in a room long emptied,
and love
you still feel
for someone long gone.

It carries every version
of who you’ve been.
the child who dreamed,
the teen who feared,
the adult still learning
what it means to be whole.

The soul bruises quietly.
It celebrates in silence.
It’s heavy with things
no one else sees,
but it still shines
in your laugh,
in your quiet kindness,
in the way you keep going.

And maybe that’s the soul’s secret:
it can break
and still glow
like something holy
trying
to make this life
mean something.

Why do we dissect the stars
instead of letting them simply shine?
Why must every silence
be filled with a reason,
every feeling
pinned down and labeled,
like butterflies behind glass?

Why do we fear the unknown
more than we fear missing its beauty?
Why do we tug at mystery
like it owes us an answer?

Some things
are meant to be felt,
not solved.
A laugh that comes too fast.
A dream that makes no sense.
A person you just click with
no explanation,
just connection.

We weren’t built
to hold all the answers.
We were built
to stand in awe.
To wonder.
To feel.
To sit in the quiet
and let it speak without words.

Maybe the point
isn’t to understand everything,
but to trust
that not everything needs to be understood
to be real.

Some truths
don’t live in facts.
they live in the way your chest rises
at the sight of the ocean,
or how someone’s voice
can feel like home
even when it says nothing at all.

Let go of needing to know.
And you might finally see.