have you ever looked at someone and wanted to tell them,
wanted to hold their face in between your palms and have them believe,
wanted them to know
that they can let go, they can fall, they can shatter and scatter all around—

and i'd pick up the pieces,
even if i cut my hands.
i'd glue them back and mark the scars with powdered gold,
i'd write poems on them,
shape the stitches like stars.

i'd caress your hair until you fall asleep,
i'd hold all the burdens you don’t wanna keep.
i'd sit beside you
and let you have my shoulder to weep.

and i don’t mean these as a flex,
it’s the bare minimum i know.
i don’t mean to brag—
rather i say these as a vow.

i want you to know
that i’d write you love letters
and send you long late-night texts to help you feel loved.
i’d support you in all that you want,
i’d hold your hand through all that haunts you.

i’d carry the lantern for you in the dark,
i’d peel oranges for you after a long day at work.
i’d fix your blanket at night,
put out my hand to shadow your eyes from the sunlight.

i’d make you handmade gifts,
i’d wait while watching the waves drift.
i’d do a lot for you,
i’d do it again and again, through and through.

but i still kinda doubt—
am i even enough
for you?

i won’t call you the sun.
you don’t hurt my eyes,
or blind me with your light.
you shine spectacularly,
but in a gentler sense—
like cherry blossoms,
ornamental in essence,
never promising sweet fruit
even if i help you grow.
but i don't expect any really,
i just want to admire your beauty
from the shadow you provide.

you’re not the moon, either.
you don’t need to borrow light—
you burn bright on your own.
your dark spots
don’t define your beauty;
your talent, your smile,
your infectious laugh,
your thoughts and care
outshine any flaws—
though honestly,
i don’t see any at all.

you are the nebulae.
beautiful and multicolored,
more than the eye can see,
more than the mind can reach.
you carry galaxies in your eyes—
light green and yellow-brown,
like forests and deserts,
the beauty of the earth
and the wonder of the universe
meeting in one gaze.

you are the stars.
seemingly small,
yet impossibly immense;
seemingly rare,
yet impossibly dense.
the only star i look at
like a sailor looks at the north star—
an essential on the sea,
guiding him home.

you are the mystery
that makes me trace lines in the sky,
connecting dots,
trying to find meaning
in what’s before me.
i want to understand you,
but you are so beautifully complex.
i used to think i was smart,
but you make me want to be better.
you are poetry—
the kind i cannot fully understand,
the kind with a thousand meanings,
and none i can settle on.

I write when I feel numb,
when to my mind I succumb,
when I wish for a magic spark,
or just a lantern to light the dark.

I write because my silence speaks,
from my brain, phrases leak.
No shape or dimensions needed,
just a soul finding meaning.

My mind has no sides,
no up or down, no left or right.
It offers no strong emotion,
no sense of relief or renewal.

It weighs too much from time to time,
making me cross the line.
To stop the needle from digging deep,
I pick my pen and let it bleed.

On dead trees, my lungs find breath again,
As I unravel a swirl of thoughts compressed,
hoping to sort the tangled thread,
I write what the silence left unsaid.

I don't carry open wounds,
None the world can see,
They have been stapled close,
Just enough to not bleed.