Whenever she opens her eyes, she writes poetry,
And with every breath, she pens dreams effortlessly.

Whenever she talks, the universe leans in to hear,
Whenever she thinks, she paints skies crystal clear.

Whenever she's near, my soul finds its beat,
Yet somehow, we're strangers, destined never to meet.

I want to write you a poem,
One as fragrant as a breeze after the first rain,
carrying the scent of jasmine,
twisting softly through your hair.

I want to tell you how even the flowers, with all their perfumes,
grow jealous of your presence,
their petals fade, knowing they cannot match your grace.

I want to weave words around you,
like a shawl steeped in rosewater and musk,
wrapping you in whispers
that linger long after I am gone.
Like the sun's gentle glow in a cold morning,
warming you everywhere.

At seventeen, I walk this line,  
Between what's lost and what's mine.  
MATURE in ways they cannot see,  
While others dance in youthful glee.

I hide my gifts, I shrink from light,  
For fear they’ll claim what isn’t right.  
They flaunt their pride, so loud, so sure,  
Yet their certainties feel so impure.

I loathe the arrogance they wear,  
Yet hate myself for how I care.  
For in my heart, I see the truth,  
That self-awareness often wastes in youth.

I exist for no one else but me,  
My deeds unseen, a quiet plea.  
Misunderstood, they call me bold,  
But selfish? No, that’s not my mold.

I’ve wasted time, I’ve tried to please,  
To fit a mold that wasn’t me.  
But now I see it’s all in vain,  
A cycle of self-inflicted pain.

Some call me friend, but I can see,  
They’re only close when it suits their need.  
Their empty words and careless ways,  
They leave me hollow, lost in a haze.

They act as if they care so much,  
But their warmth is cold, a shallow touch.  
I laugh and smile, but it feels off,  
Like I’m just playing some tiring scoff.

I've seen a few, wise and kind,  
But they’re too far for me to find.  
Their presence feels a distant star,  
Too far to reach, too bright, too far.

end,,,,,,

in a very large labyrinth
a lone walker wanders
once was a figure danced, bathed in light
now an echo fading into night

each step forward, under the moon
carries a whisper of a tune
a melody once sweets, bitter now it seems
for love shared by one, alive was at least in dreams

the hearts solace, memories fray
yet there’s relief in the unravelling
from the grasp of a love that never did spread.

In this gentle release, both sorrow and grace,
For a heart that loved alone, finds its own space.
No longer tethered by what could have been,
Embracing the stillness, of love unseen.

I ask for no love to linger, nor fade into blue,
But for memories to visit, as old friends often do.

unburdened now, but i miss the weight’s hold.
that gentle hold.

I just woke up and—
It’s cold, and I’m tired.
Standing at the bus stop with my neighbors,
my bag heavier than my body,
my head heavier than my bag.

The textbook in my hand lists my exams,
Kingdoms I can’t classify and processes I can’t explain.

The bus driver lives around the corner.
We hear his engine start,
the grumble of morning.
He pulls out,
backs up,
and rolls toward us.

We climb in.
Seats creak.
Heat hums, just barely.

I open the book,
but the letters won’t stay still.

I glance up—
and the sky hits me.

Pastel.
Not pink, not purple—something between.
And it’s almost as if you can smell it—
it smells like—

Like something good.
Not candy.
Not flowers.
Like air after rain, but sweeter—
cleaner.

The sky just exhaled
and the world paused
to breathe it in.

I stare.
Busmates probably think I’m twelve,
staring out the window like I’ve never seen clouds.

But that sky—

It knocks the tired out of my bones.
Cuts through the fog in my chest.
Wipes out the weight of what-ifs and what-nows.

It feels holy, almost.
Not church holy,
but the kind that sneaks up on you
when you don’t believe in much.

I keep looking,
like maybe if I stare long enough,
I’ll stay awake.

And for a moment,
I don’t care about the test,
or the clock,
or the day.

For a moment,
I believe that something out there
is still worth watching.

Winds carry whispers from afar
The moon drifts softly in its aura
Stars fall quietly where shadows lay
Memories linger, refusing to decay
Time slips past in the light of aurora
But still, your name remains unspoken.

In the tender embrace of a serene, ancient wood,
Two trees once soared, side by side they stood.
Roots entwined in the soil’s tender clasp,
Branches woven in a timeless grasp.

One tree, robust, with emerald might,
Its leaves a dance in the sun’s soft light.
But the other—oh, the other!—fades,
A slow decay in nature’s cruel parade.

Its bark now brittle, cracked like bone,
Once vibrant leaves to the earth are thrown,
Curling brown, a whispered plea,
As it withers, longing to be free.

Yet still the healthy tree leans near,
Its emerald boughs full of silent fear,
Reaching toward its dying kin,
As if love alone could pull it in.

The forest watches, breath held tight,
In twilight’s pale and ghostly light.
And still, the living one won’t release
Its fading lover from this endless peace.

For how can life persist, alone,
When heart and root together have grown?
In shared breaths of wind, in rain’s soft kiss—
How can one survive without the other’s bliss?

So they stand there, a tragic pair,
One green, one ghostly, beyond repair.
Yet the living tree refuses to sway,
As if to say: "I’ll hold you till I too decay"

Hold me as you once did,
With a love so fierce, it stilled the explosions of stars.

Wrap me in your arms,
Tighter than the universe binds its constellations.

Feel my heartbeat against yours,
A rhythm only we could share,
A connection that feels eternal.

You are my always, my only.
So please, just one more time,
Let me feel what we once were.

Green eyes, soft as moss in the rain,
Holding the kind of quiet that hums.
A flicker of gold when the light shifts—
A forest, a flame, something alive.

That Garden, That Garden
I see it in my sleep.
The rivers run green,
bright and alive,
a scene that holds me still.

The air is thick with a scent I cannot name,
unique, like nothing else.
The water flows with a sound
I would hold onto forever.

The flowers are soft,
their colors muted,
gentle against the eye.

In the lake, a bridge rises,
bright oak simple, steady.
And the tree stands alone,
its arms wide,
a mother watching over her children.

I’m tracing back to moments I’ve replayed a thousand times,

It’s just a confusing tone
Have the doubts and hatred grown too overblown
Has my perception been ruined on the lies we condone,
On the fleeting pleasure of a throne

Stop and wait a sec
When ten years from now, I look at myself, will I express regret
Do the failures of youth dictate the path we expect,
Or does a stumble define what’s next

An adult all alone,
With nothing to do, he spends his time scrolling through his phone,
With no one to call his own.

But being alone is no cause for shame
Sometimes the right person just never came
It’s not a failure or flaw it's not a crack in the frame,
Just a life unfolding at its own pace

Though frightened by the thought,
But what do you expect when you yourself have brought
A life where the cracks are easier to see than the whole
That if I’ve let myself be caught,
What if I grow into someone I no longer know
But perhaps the cracks bring light,
A fragile hope that cuts through nights

It seems like all the years are wasted, but who is there to blame
Hope is a thing that just makes me feel like ache
What is there to be hopeful of when all I see is pain
And I’d leave, if what was waiting for me wasn’t flames

And it’s all just in my chest
A disease that forbids me from going to rest
Lord, forgive me for where I’ve strayed,
If I’m still in your grace, let my soul not fade
You’re the only one who knows my path
I’m here by your will, not by chance or wrath
Just don’t take my eyes from my head too soon
Let me see the sun, even in this darkened room.

When she appears, dawn hides in shame,
It folds it's light.
Her eyes, twin fawns by the stream,
Framed by lashes that haunt like a dream.
I lean toward her as the thirsty lean,
To water’s edge in lands unseen

The font in her eyes—verses untold,
Etched by masters whose pens drip gold.
Each line I trace is a map to her soul,
A script where longing has taken control.

Her voice—like water over stone,
Soft, yet strong, wholly my own.
I need no riches, no kingdom’s throne,
Her smile alone makes the world my home.

Her name lingers in ink-stained verses,
Yet her footsteps never trace my door.
I wrote her into a love eternal,
Only to find she read no more.

She was both the poet and the silence,
The muse who never turned my way.
Her absence carves my soul to ruin,
Her love—a grave where echoes stay.

So long as hearts can break, as time may grieve,
So long lives loss, and I shall never leave.

I felt the warmth, the closeness of my opposite,
But only in a dream.
I improvise a feeling I’ll never catch,
A storm behind a sealed door—
Locked away, swelling, ready to break.

Years and years grind against me,
Years and years grind against me,
Brass coins for a soul, silver tongues for deceit,
Golden crowns too heavy to wear.
Not the price I planned to pay.
But if I must, then let it not be dull,
For neither my ancestors nor their ghosts
Ever feared I’d live like this.

It is a burden, an ache in my chest,
My young heart and my old soul
Reaching for a kind of love that drifts miles away.
My insecurities, my fallen, wounded dreams
Hang heavy above my head.

Rest now, rest now, soul,
Let yourself be fed.
Far away, far away,
From Him whose name weighs heavy,
whose mercy outlives the silence.
If He hears not, still He sees.
Pray the pain away, pray the pain away.

Poison shall not touch your lips,
Fly now, fly now—run red, run free.

All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,
Rusting under time’s heavy breath,
Dissolving the viridian pulse of the trees,
Bleeding out the lapis hush of the sky.

A scent you cannot name,
A fragrance lost before it’s found.
A sight you long to see,

Pain and the sound of your own name, a curse.
Love that held you down, held you still, held you open.
Hope ripped out.

Enclosure and hands that fed, then struck.
The sharp edge of knowing too much, too young.
The mirrors you covered because you couldn’t stand the reflection.
The gnawing, the rotting, the self-destruction.

Gray in the soul,
Not the soft gray of morning fog,
But of the ash from a fire.

Pink, bounds the heart,
shivers the body,
makes the pupil bigger,
wets the dry eye,
untangles the lashes.

Makes slumber fall upon the restless wicked,
joys with the chest,
lets foolish ambition rest.
Colds the forehead with soft hands,
plays with the hair with silken strands.

Not a fire that devours, but one that warms.
Heat against skin frozen stiff,
a thaw that aches before it soothes.

Laugh, light and unburdened.
Voice, the hush between thoughts.
Eyes, a question left unanswered.
Absence, an ache beneath the ribs.
Name, a whisper that won’t fade.

A dream she had first.
A dream to escape from—or into.

Let the wronging lie in love,
and not the righteousness in fear.

If wait I must, let love abide in patience.
Love yet holds me not,
neither does it fade nor rot.

What a strange request
To beg the dawn to sleep once more,
To bid the tide retreat, forget
The footsteps swallowed on the shore.

Alright now then, what’s next?
The turning page, the ink that bleeds,
The tethered soul who dares reflect
A child’s dream lost in grown men’s deeds.

Mourn me the wonder in my eyes,
For in its place, a hollow gloom,
No star remains,
Only the shadow of a bloom.

Never thought I’d hold those days
Like yellowed scrolls in trembling hands,
Illiterate to youth’s own phrase,
Yet reading now what time demands.

How can it be? This ticking crime,
this slow betrayal dressed in time?
This slow betrayal robed in grace?
Let me vanish in their wake.

The darkness of night was torn apart by dawn,
Its fragile edge softening the gloom that had long held on.
From the love his soul had dared to find,
The weight dissolved, the light unbinds.

And the sky—oh, how it dances in the river’s embrace,
Its living waters, a mirror for grace.
He wakes—or thinks he does.
Is this dreaming? Or has he shed the fuzz?

No hum of dread, no weight that clings,
Just echoes of hope, as soft as spring.
He speaks until his shadow tires—
Yet she stays, closer than the shadow’s spires.

Her gaze, like scripture etched on reeds,
Lines that whisper what his heart needs.
In the black and white of her starlit eyes,
A galaxy stirs, infinite and wise.

She smiles, and it’s light—
Not the fierce glare of sun’s spite,
But a warmth that burns through winter’s frost,
Reclaiming what the years had lost.

The rivers, they continue their mournful hymn,
Pouring tears from edges brimmed.
Yet, by her side, they learn to dance,
Shaping dreams in a lover’s trance.

She brushes his hair, her touch so rare,
Calls him beautiful, lays his soul bare.
Her voice—a golden thread in twilight’s weave,
Binding a faith he once chose to leave.

The stars appear like lanterns lit,
Revealing dreams he feared would flit.
Yet tonight, beneath their watchful gleam,
His fears dissolve into her dream.

And there they sit, shoulder to head,
The living with the ghosts he’d fled.
The shadows that once held his heart in thrall,
Fade like whispers to her call.

For she is the dawn, her light supreme,
And he, reborn, wakes from the dream.

I am a seed,
a husk of what once was,
a soil for what will become.

In this earth, my dead body is fuel,
flesh dissolving into the dark,
feeding roots that thread like veins,
pulling life from my decay.

Even in the loneliest of places,
where no eyes have lingered,
the trees stand as witnesses,
their leaves brushing whispers of acknowledgment.
The earth cradles my weight,
the air drinks my last breath.
Each moment, however brief,
leaves echoes in nature's memory,
etched in the bark,
traced by the wind,
carried by the quiet pulse of soil.

We live not in the length of our time,
but in the ripples we leave—
in the bending of grass,
in the songs of birds,
in the memories that hold us close
long after we are gone.

I am the quiet surrender to the inevitable,
the silence that gives way to green whispers,
a sacrifice to the bloom of tomorrow.

I do not ask for forever,
I do not beg to remain.
That I am in the roots, the wind, the rain—
That is enough.