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A Jan 2018
It gets hard when I wake up, and the reality I've seemed to create in my head starts to vanish.
It gets hard for me to pull myself out of my bed, when sleep is the only comfort I find in life.
It gets hard to smile, it gets hard to breathe,
when your dreams get crushed and torn at the seams.
It gets hard to write words that explain, the turmoil in my heart, soul, and brain.
It gets hard to simply exist, when you become aware of your surroundings and all the hope you've managed to conjure up seeps outside your being. In helpless whimpers and cries of unfiltered despair.
It gets harder and harder and I'm tired of trying.
If this is my goodbye to you then please understand that I was dying.
i have nothing to share
A Dec 2017
The sky is light blue and is pleasant to the eye, hospital lights are harsh and white, almost blinding and intense.
I lived as a silhouette, a shadow of everyone else, shortened at noon and lengthening in mornings, depending on the light, and like it was my self esteem.
I loved in the corners, silently. Looking at people and trying to know who they are from the way their hands moved in a conversation and the tiniest smile they’d have on their face when they talked about their passions.
I loved with all my heart, from the darker corners, so nobody knew.
I was a bulletin board, one where everyone came to hang their accomplishments on, I was the board that made everyone feel amazing and special, ignoring the stab of the pin and the hurt it caused when they put it on me.
I was a bulletin board, one where everyone looked at and felt motivated, one some would use for comparison, one that was always there, never changing, always being poked with new pins from all these wonderful people.
I was a bulletin board up until there came a day where everyone left, no one came poking and showing their pride, no one came to boast about their works. I was left and abandoned.
It was that day that I ripped them all off of me, hearing the tears and the echoes of the falling pins on the floor, feeling the tears that had fell from my eyes when I squeaked and rattled trying to break free from the wall, I was not a bulletin board anymore, I was a person with hopes and dreams.
And yet the pin holes never mended, they all sat gaping, never closing up, n filled.
The day I turned human my insecurities broke me apart, I was left a disfigured body and a deformed spirit.
Oh how I wish I could go back to being a bulletin board.
Just a little something that I wrote while feeling emotional
A Nov 2017
Golden sunlight has lost its touch. And I, In return, have lost faith.
As complex as this universe is I could never find it within me to understand, the blues and greys and blacks and whites that base our existence. I could only understand the faint yellows and pinks and greens, from a distance while I drown in myself, while I dance in the murky colorless pools of what I am. Of all the words and actions and tears and smiles that made me who I am, to have made me flesh and bone and breath and brain.
And I walk, for miles, with each step a thought, as fleeting and complex as an electron surrounding a nucleus and as simple as the earth revolving around the sun.
I only hope to understand
One day
To find solace for a while.
i **** at this
A Nov 2017
I'm afraid.
The sky is the same color as it was the day before and night is never bright, the stars are not visible too.
It rained today and its unusual, it only rains a few times every year, most think of it as a blessing, it makes me feel blue.
I hate thinking about the future because it's terrifying to me, as all roads lead to Rome, I feel as if  every decision I consider or end up making will lead up  to me becoming a failure, I bring upon myself my own rue.
I am so scared and my opportunities don't vary, I have yet to discover the meaning of life and with every day I feel myself getting older and older, getting by aimlessly through life, breathing stale air and eating and sleeping, just stoic.
I feel myself getting older day by day, and I worry, I worry so much and live in the torment of my worries, my mind won't stop. there's no way out, I live in a prison of my thoughts, and my dreams are not of console since they die and rot in this place as I type.
What of beautiful life? What of music? what of joy and love and hearts being full to the point of combustion? what of smiles and arms that hug you and lend you comfort? Am I not worthy of them? Does this place take everything that makes me human away?
I am nothing, my destiny is like that of everyone else, and that's what makes my insides quiver and sends a chill down my spine.
It's not being different that concerns me, but being like everyone else makes me feel like I'm slowly killing myself, destructing and crushing whatever wild flower that might've slipped and grown through the cracks of my sculpted mind. I can't be like everyone else.
I am afraid.
This place feels too small and yet it feels so big, my everyday life is a big deal to me and yet it is a segment that will never occur again in somebody else's life. A waiter, a stranger, a passing account on the internet. Isn't that crazy to think about? How you mean so little to a lot of people and they won't ever know your name, and how important it is to you and vice versa.
I can't comfort myself anymore and I am so afraid, something within me wants to be immortal, and the other wants to be forgotten.
I worry a lot, I seek comfort in anything and yet nothing does the job.
I'm afraid.
Of my mind,
Of my worries,
Of my fears,
and yet I know that they will take over eventually.
just a rant to try to ease my fear don't think its worth reading since it has nothing to do with poetry but I needed a platform to vent. This was it.
A Nov 2017
If I were to die tomorrow, I’d embrace trees, for they never change as time flees.

If I were to tomorrow, I’d hope to destroy that sweet pain that I once called joy.

If I were to die tomorrow, I’d tightly close my eyes, for we live in a world where everyone is in disguise.

If I were to die tomorrow, I’d silence my mind, for it always seems to be working, on and on like tides.

If I were to die tomorrow, I’d stare up at the sky, imagining my place within it when I finally die.


Tomorrow is here now, it turned into today, didn’t I tell you that time flies? Much to our dismay.

Tomorrow is here now, and I stopped thinking about dying, for it seemed to be salvation but now it’s terrifying.
One of the drafts I found in a notebook.
A Nov 2017
I am looking everywhere, but there’s no use. I can’t stop peeking for a chance at ending my life.  
My curtains are thin, sunlight pours in way too early and it never gets dark at night. Passing car headlights project as lines on my ceiling. I count them when I can’t fall asleep.
My curtains are thin, I keep them closed to keep reality away. Sometimes, I’d shut my eyes and imagine being in a place far away, where nature is beautiful and people don’t judge as much. I’d picture a perfect world of opportunity and happiness, a world where I have never felt any pain at all.
And yet my curtains are thin, cutting my fantasies short and bringing me to my harsh reality again.
I watched a little bird sit on my windowsill today, peeking inside and flying away mere seconds later. And it got me to wonder if it felt my sadness somehow? If it felt my desperation radiating from the thick walls and glass that separated us. Oh how I wish I had its wings, oh how I wished I could just fly away too.
My curtains are thin, I can see outlines of shapes at night, and I can see my own silhouette when I sit up on my bed and cry.
Music doesn’t make me feel anymore, it just makes my heart heavier, I write but it doesn’t feel the same, and I sing but it is not perfect nor beautiful. I stumble through life but at the same time I walk on eggshells, feeling as if one simple thing will one day end up breaking me.
My curtains are thin, and I think that they listen when I confess to the silence of my sins.
My curtains are thin, and I pray they’ll flutter open the day I decide to set my soul free and stop trying to blend in.
A Oct 2017
The dying embers of my youth are calling out to me. I am lost and miserable, watching life pass me by.

I am chained in a corner of this world because of lines from a book, they call it the word of God but from my experience I know that God never spoke.

And in these times I wonder, why am I still here? to suffer? to feel the joy that spills from the music that I hear? or am I here to make the stars feel less alone as they huddle and watch my misery unfold?

I feel suffocated and loneliness grips at my heart so firmly and painfully that I almost can't bear it. My words die on my lips now, and on my fingertips when I decide to write too.

I have lost my being in a whirlwind of what I see but cannot grasp, I have lost my being dreaming until I got slapped.

The dying embers of my youth shed tears at the loss of the fire that once burned within me. My soul is starting to get covered by frost and the coldness grips at me and my thoughts.  
I dream of a sun shining from lines on my wrists and oceans stirring from my tear ducts and I am weak.

I am nothing now but a broken soul that sees life as nothing but bleak.
Forgot this in the drafts by mistake. Enjoy.
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