This is to my user
my user who writes without end.
The emotions built up in your confined heart
spill onto the page,
tearing you apart and healing you
with just a few words
to brighten the darkness,
to fill the void,
to steady your sanity.

My dear user, the only one for me
for years we’ve told our story
to the whole world to see.
And as I bid you farewell,
my time running out,
know I love all your broken pieces—
because that’s what our love
has always been about

Wait! Wait! Wait!
I need you to hear her out.
She needs you to listen to these emotions —
the sadness, the anxiety, the grief in her heart.
So give her a second
to catch her breath and think,
to wrap her head around where to start.
So give her some time.
Patience, people!
Patience!

Tell me, what is poetry?
I don’t know
or maybe I do, but don’t understand.

I’ve been writing for three years,
thinking it was all about rhyme,
about making words flow
fast or slow.

But I’ve read enough now
to know it doesn’t have to be that way.
So how do I write?
What should I write?
I want someone to read,
someone to like it.
But is that what it’s all about?

Once, in tears, I wrote a poem—
and it was better than the rest.
Was it the feeling,
the raw emotion,
that gave it life
it never had before.

Maybe poetry
is just the sound of my soul
asking to be heard—
with questions
we can’t stop asking.

Welcome to my world,
the world you left me in.
To rot alone—
I hope you’re happy?

It’s been years.
You erased me like I was nothing.
I thought I was special—
but I was just your game.

You fooled me,
made me believe.
But I’m not stupid anymore.
Now the lie is yours to keep.

I think I’m addicted.
I’ve tried to run so many times I’ve lost count.
Have you ever seen someone as foolish as me,
chaining myself to this gruesome fate?
It’s not like I knew this would happen,
but it’s still my fault.
Now I’m drowning with no one to tell;
I don’t think they’ll understand the mess I’m in.
It’s hard to explain —
I think it’s an addiction now.
As you can see, I can’t run away.
Will I ever be the former me,
the one who used to feel better?
My addiction drives me crazy.