A mother’s hands —
Hands that care,
That reach even the deepest
Cells in the body
With a tender touch.

Love —
It can crack and splinter,
But never disappear.

Even on a cold, rainy night,
When you try to hold yourself,
You never forget
A mother’s touch —
Like cherry blossoms
Blooming every spring.

But what happens
When that love
Pulls apart,
Finger by finger,
Bone by bone,
Until it’s all gone?

Who’s going to hold you then?

When a mother’s hands heal no longer,
And all you can do
Is remember how you used to be held —
The notes of her quiet humming
Now seem off-pitch.

If time heals
Why do i hurt myself
Trying to prove to you
I'm no...

MISTAKE.

Running out of pages,
these words—
they turn into
a jumble of thoughts
no one can understand.
A work of art,
running out of ink,
that never came to be.

Roots—
they never blossomed,
they withered away,
drying up
under a pile of soil.

I'm ripping out pages
in anger,
clinging
to words
I might not even believe in.
One by one,
just to leave them
crumbled,
dust,
turning—
into sand.

The wind picks it up,
flipping to the next page,
that’s already starting to crumble.
My pen
starts to write
on its own.

Paradise,

A dream
With no screams,
No tears being shed.

No questions,
Only answers.

A world with no fight,
No bloodshed—
-
Only peace,
Harmony,
Companionship,
No Judgment
No killing,
-
A world where
We aren’t controlled
By our fears
Of the darkness
In the world
We live in.

A world
Where love
Wins
In the game of life—
-
Where kindness
Walks the streets freely,
Not bound by chains,
Not set free
Only when
There’s something to gain.
        
Paradise,
Every soul is seen,
Every voice is heard—
Where hearts reach out
Without fear,
And healing
Is no longer a dream.

Here,
We don’t expect paper,
Or wealth.
There is no greed.
Everyone opens
Their arms.
-
Everything is free—
Given,
Not taken.
Supported,
Not scolded.

A place,
To belong.
Where silence
Means peace—
Not loneliness,
-
Love isnt a option
Its a necessity.