We owe it to ourselves to grow
and think of the places we can go.
We owe it to ourselves to grow
just as high as the sky allows us to
but let it be that the sky owes it to us
to rise higher as we will it to.

Let the clouds part that our dreams may pass
and they flower into bills and wads of cash and more than that -
let it be that we don't stick our heads up our *****
and that we breathe comfortably together with those we love.

Let it be that when the time comes, we are cut down before we wither.
Let it be that decomposition should come after and that we die before we break down.

I'm not what you want to see
but I won't try to change for you.
What you see is only me
and I am who I want to be.

I won't shed the colors of my skin
for these are my only hues.
We are the same but you are not my twin
and I'm the sole owner of my sins.

The market of lives which doesn't exist
so I can't trade with those I wish
but living this life with no regrets
is the greatest battle I can never resist.

The best fish you can catch is a fresh perspective.

see my angsty pout?
i will never be enough
but i was before

i sat with the company of an absent mind
and while my brother bent over paper,
his hands carefully making strokes with a pencil
i watched and heard my mother ask him,
"what are you writing?"
and i thought, "when will you ever ask me?"

when i was hunched over my chicken-scratch-filled
notebook, you didn't even bother looking.
when i proudly read the feelings i turned into words,
where was your question: "what are you writing?"

i think i just missed when back then she read my stories
and waved it at my father.
i think i miss the grins that came after.
i think i miss when i wrote and you'd
find my childish plot and still think it's great.

but ma, ive written 40 poems this year
and when im hunched over another
chicken-scratch-filled piece of paper,
i want to hear the question again -
"what are you writing?"

I wish I could write just as easily as my breath flows.

A world with people and daily lies,
Rushing people day and night,
but so many truths left behind.

All the evil we try to hide
still reveals itself to the outside.
We hold it and we do try
but lies, like oil on water
Still float to rise.

Fish would rather suffocate in land than drown in water.

I laid out my promises on a blanket.
I chose which ones I'd make, which ones I'd break, and which ones I'd keep.

I pick one up to examine it thinking, where would this one be when I'm older?

Sometimes,
I choose in a rush, in a blurry space where liquid burns in my eyes, I ride on a promise I'm forced to cling to.

Sometimes,
I choose with wise judgment, I see myself keeping it until I don't have to.

Sometimes,
I make impossible promises, hollow reassurance, empty, delusional, and temporary.

Sometimes,
I make promises to you, ready with a puffed chest and proud smile. I will keep them all.

i feel your arms around me
my head is on your shoulder
you whisper that you love me
it made me feel warmer

i feel safe with you near
and even when you're far
i know you'll always be here
even when i dont know where you are

i open my eyes and see
im holding cold, white cloth
it's not you holding me.
i sob into my pillow.

let the fireworks fly and light up the sky
when you decide you need to stop crying.
let them hear the booming of color and might.
when you admit that you have feelings
and when you forgive yourself for pretending.
it's time to stop pretending

fingers around in knots
show you the shape of my mind
tense, displaced

and my hands, for holding and gripping
instead only frantic
for no purpose can be presently met

there is no do, but just tapping

I am a rotten apple.
I am gray and dry,
I rolled in the mud.
I am covered in white fluff,
and it crawls over my skin
so I am no longer an apple.
I am a host for dirt and filth.

If there's a way out of this thick dead skin, show me.
If there's a way to be alive despite my thick dead skin, I need to know.
If there's a way to slice through this thick dead skin, hand over a thick sharp blade.
If there's a way out of this thick dead skin, I'll find us again.

It's bright in here and I don't know what's outside.
But I'm sure that it's bright here.
I'll stay here. It's safe inside.

My thumb hasn't hovered over a button for so long until today.
Today I said something, and now I need to make myself pay.
It came in the form of guilt and shame.
A mistake this big cost me a shyness I only ever felt at the beginning of all this.
This is the price of betrayal; a hesitance to send a message, the fear of rejection, and a shame of repeating grave mistakes.