it’s been a while
since I wrote something—
something to name
the numbness in me.

I haven’t gotten better,
but I haven’t gotten worse.
days blend into each other,
work blurs into static,
time marches on.

I don’t feel a thing—
or maybe
I feel everything.

a numb little mouse,
trapped in my room,
I wake up fine,
then spend the day
trying not to fall apart.

a text from a friend—
and I smile,
like maybe the day
won’t drown me after all.

but then night comes.
I stare at the moon
and wonder:

what is this feeling
boiling inside me?

emotions—so fragile,
spinning like yin and yang
but blurred,
lost.

and still, I wonder:
why is it
so empty
inside?

i found your name pressed between the pages of june
written while the world stood still.
you reminded me soft landings still exist,
our connection - warm like the sun, easy like the breeze
we talked about everything and nothing,
like time couldn’t touch us.
i could finally breathe and not feel like i have to fight
do you feel it when i tell the moon about you?
do you feel every piece of me you're mending?
do you hear the silence between my words,
where I miss you - just a little?
i found your name pressed between the pages of june
warm like the sun, easy like the breeze
I told you didn’t I?
You make me want to write poetry

One story,
two different perspectives.
One story,
a hero and a villain.
Two different perspectives —
Now who's the hero
And who's the villain?

I burn
and I burn
and burn.
Everyone loves it
when I burn for them.
They enjoy the warmth I give.
I burn and I burn,
yet no one burns for me.

Why keep burning then?
The answer is simple:
I don’t know how else to love.
I burn and I burn
until I can’t
anymore.

Dreams, so many dreams
Some forgotten, some waiting to happen

am I one of those dreams?
forgotten after the morning alarm
or waiting to come knocking?

forgotten, or waiting to happen
am I a forgotten dream,
or are you waiting for me too?

dreams, so many dreams
overflowing with them

will I reach them,
or will I have to forget them?

each day, an ache that never ends
but when —
when will it be enough?

time.
time is cruel for a dreamer.

and what am I
if not a dreamer?

a dream
or a dreamer

I guess I’ll know someday,
but not today.

time, time is cruel for a dreamer
sometimes too slow
sometimes too fast
a never-ending agony

dreams,
so many dreams

some forgotten...
just like me

and yet —
I keep dreaming.

My prettiest words,
my sincerest thoughts,
the deepest parts of my heart—
you had them all.

I had eyes only for you.
Now I’m blind.

I don’t know where I’m going,
but I know where I’ve been.
I touched your heart
for just a moment—
and I could breathe.

Now I’m blind,
hooked to a breathing machine.

Stuck in a crossroad
always in the middle of these **** roads
Where do I go?
Which road do I choose?
Does it even lead anywhere?
Do either have a dead end?
Stuck in a crossroad —
or multiple crossroads
Identity, morality, existence
Love, pain, hope
I pick my path —
Another crossroad

Here I go,
once again—
cigarette smoke,
empty page.

Romanticizing pain,
self-destructing on my own.

“Your words are so pretty.”
“Thanks—they’re a cry for help,
you know?”

Maslow said we need food, safety, love
But he never mentioned
how easily hunger becomes sin

Greedy little thing
It’s never just about money,
or fame, or power—
It’s that ache deep inside,
the need for more,
for something real

Greedy little thing
For childhood memories I didn’t have
Insecure in the constant movement
Years-old boots, worn out
Around me —
latest shoes, new jackets

The grass is always greener on the other side,
isn’t it?
I couldn’t go out,
so I made a home in my head.

Greedy little thing
For the love that never found me —
the kind I watched
but never felt.
For the affection I never got
“I’m proud of you,” “good job” —
words I didn’t hear

At some point,
love became pain as well
A pretty bruise
Here and there

Greedy little thing
The grass is always greener —
where you’re not

My sweet love,
the mirror of my soul,
the calling of my heart.

The day we meet is so sweet
in my tormented mind.
How can I feel so much love
for someone I haven't met?
But I know, in my tired heart,
that you're somewhere out there —
maybe, just maybe,
wondering if I exist.

My sweet love,
the thought of you,
of us,
makes my suffering, broken heart
quiet down for the night,
like a baby coddled by their mother.

My mind runs soft reels
of your breath mingling with mine
as we lay to rest,
your keys left near my books,
the way your voice might sound
when you're half-asleep and safe.
That kind of life —
the quiet, ordinary kind —
lulls my storm to sleep.

The mirror of my soul,
are you searching for me
in the faces of new people?

The calling of my heart:
can you sleep a little lighter,
knowing I'm waiting for your arms?

I hope this poem reaches you —
a whisper in your sleep,
so you’ll know I’m already yours.

It’s a curse —
or maybe it’s a blessing.
It’s not my place to judge —
I’d only be biased,
so I let you judge for me.
A cup filled with water,
add a little more and
it will overflow,
spill every which way.
I’m a cup, overflowing with love,
spilling in every direction,
sometimes landing in harsh hands,
promising eternity,
but those hands leave
once their thirst is quenched.
So I wait,
a full cup left untouched
in an empty castle,
hoping for a king.
Is it a curse,
believing in a throne
no one wants to sit on?
Going through phony princes,
pretending to be kings!
Is it a blessing,
to still hold this much love
and not let it rot —
or is it a curse?