I have always carried within me a rage that defies reason, an anger born of shadows, with no beginning and no end. It surges through my veins like wildfire, an untamed purgatory that feeds on every emotion I offer it. Sadness becomes its kindling, joy its fleeting fuel; even love is not safe from its hunger. This fire lives in me, relentless and unyielding, a storm of embers that scorches every corner of my soul.  

I do not know why I am like this. Why must I always be the tempest when I long to be the breeze? Why am I the hurricane, destructive and wild, when I yearn to be the soft whisper of the wind, soothing and free? I dream of peace, of stillness, of a moment where my spirit is not clawing at the walls of its cage. But peace slips through my fingers like smoke, intangible and cruel.  

I want to matter. I ache for purpose, for meaning, for a reason to silence the roar inside me. I long to love without fear and to be loved without condition. To matter enough that someone, anyone, would stop and see me—not the mask I wear, but the fractured, burning soul beneath.

But they don’t see me. They see the shell I’ve constructed, the armour I’ve forged to keep my fire from spilling out. They see a calm that is a lie, a stillness that hides a thousand storms. And even if they did see, even if they glimpsed the chaos within, would they stay? Or would they flee, as so many have before, unable to face the inferno?  

The fire rages on, unstoppable, insatiable. I want to scream into the void until my voice is nothing but ashes. I want to tear down the heavens and let the world feel the fury that has been my curse. Let it burn, let it break, let it crumble. Maybe then they’d see, maybe then they’d understand.  

But I know, deep down, that even if the world turned to ash, this fire would remain. It is as much a part of me as the air I breathe, the blood in my veins. It is my companion and my prison, my torment and my truth. And though I dream of soft winds and calm waters, I fear I will always be the storm, raging and alone.

What is it to be human?

To love, to care, to hope, to see.

To feel, to appreciate, to simply be.

To live is to long, to give, to believe,
To yearn for the warmth we hope to receive.

To be human is to be loved,

To be seen, cherished, and thought of.

To be missed when absent, wished for in heart,
Yet here I stand, forever torn apart.

A part of me missing, a piece left behind,

A hollow ache no love seems to find.

I give and I give, but nothing returns,

Only questions and heartache, and endless burns.

"I love you"—was it ever true?

Why am I the one so easy to fool?

So hard to love, so hard to stay,
Why am I always cast away?

It hurts, this truth I can’t outrun,

Knowing I will never be someone’s someone.

I wonder, do they see the cracks I hide?
The broken pieces I guard inside?
Am I too much, or not enough,

For a world that feels so sharp, so rough?

My voice grows quiet, my hope turns thin,
As I watch the world, wishing to fit in.
The love I crave seems far from reach,

An ocean too vast, a shore I can’t breach.

What is it to be human, to dream in vain,
To hold on to hope, yet cradle the pain?

To give your heart and be left to grieve,

To wonder if love is something to believe?

Still, the questions echo, sharp and clear,
Why am I so hard to hold near?

Why do I give, yet stand so alone,

Searching for a place to call my own?

Perhaps to be human is to feel this strife,
To wander the edges of love and life.

But oh, how it aches, this lonely fight,

To long for someone, in the dark of night.

The moment my eyes met yours my heart started longing for things that I never had, a love that I never felt

If asked to name love in a single word,

I’d whisper your name, soft as a bird.

But one word alone could never suffice,

For love, with you, is boundless, precise.

I'd speak of our spark, a flame that won't dim,

Of the solace I find when you pull me in.

When we embrace, I am home at last,

A haven eternal, unshaken, steadfast.

Your glance ignites a leap in my heart,

A symphony sweet, a work of pure art.

Your touch, so gentle, like whispers of rain,

A balm to my soul, erasing all pain.

I thought I was whole till you came to me,

Unveiling the depths of what love could be.

Now my heart overflows, an infinite stream,

With love to give you, the heart of my dream.

One word cannot hold this tidal wave,

A love so vast, even time can't enslave.

For when I met you, words burst in a flood,

Like lightning's etch, carved deep in my blood.

Star-struck by the gaze in your dazzling eyes,

I wonder, is this what we call soul ties?

No one will ever love you the way you love them,  
Nor cherish you the way you cherish them.  
We dream, we hope, we ache to find,  
A love that mirrors heart and mind.  

But no—this world is cruel and bare,  
The givers give, yet none will share.  
We pour our souls, we spill our light,  
Into the void of endless night.  

We give, we burn, we tear apart,  
Fueling fires from a hollow heart.  
Hoping one day, perhaps, we'll earn,  
A love as pure as what we yearn.  

But no—our giving goes unseen,  
Our brightest flames turn cold, serene.  
Behind four walls, in shadowed grace,  
We crumble in a quiet place.  

The angels hear our silent cries,  
As pieces of our spirit dies.  
Still, we cling to fragile dreams,  
Of love as vivid as it seems.  

Movies paint a fleeting glow,  
Of tender hearts that heal and grow.  
But we, the givers, bear the cost,  
Forever giving, forever lost.  

They take our light, our endless joy,  
Until there's nothing left to destroy.  
Then leave us hollow, dim, and bare,  
To mend alone in our despair.  

Yet still, we rise, though beaten down,  
To wear again love's fragile crown.  
And once more, the cycle turns,  
Our hearts ignite, our spirit burns.  

But love, for us, is a curse, a blight,  
A beacon fading into night.  
Behind these walls, we break, we mend,  
A story cursed to never end.