I never understood why people cry over heartbreaks
perhaps because I cry over my family's financials
or that my parents never loved each other
or that my sister's attempting suicide
perhaps I understood that love is just a burden
from the endless divorce courts choosing sides
or the endless fights over our school's fees
that's why love was never a curiosity
it's a plauge that I tremendously avoided
I know it's meant to be that way,
to survive, I must be on my own
if love arrived,
prepare to bury me
for acknowledging things and feeling them
will destruct every piece of my existence

Is like dancing in the rain
Letting go of a string of feelings,
Swinging on a rainbow of thoughts,
A soft whisper,
A cry of joy,
A beat of the heart.
And just as first rain drops kiss the earth,
The petrichor of words,
Hits the senses,
To pen beautiful poetry.
31/12/2024

casts huge leaf shadows on dirt
and the mockingbird's mocking me.

"mockingbird,"
I put my hands in my pocket
and pretend a smile,
"some things you can't out run,
church bells and a wedding dress,
funeral processions and baptisms,
the cop car radio,

she was so beautiful in her wedding dress,"

I'm pointing my finger up at the mockingbird,
"so I'm a few steps ahead of you in heartache,

it was a toss of the dice,"I tell the bird,

"I threw a handful of rice."

"so don't look sad at me, bird.
everyone gets hurt."

and on her branch in the sycamore tree
the mockingbird's crying to me...

"I'm a few years ahead you...
Sweet One, lonely bird.

I've walked through fire,
stared into the wall of shadow and sorrow
into the cold silence of tomorrow.

I hear what you're telling me, Dear One,
loves been a little ******* you, too,

and there in illusion lies the danger
so please be kind, my friend,

the sorrows that never seem to fade away
become the grey, dark sea,
and sunlight through the Sycamore tree.

After years of
Constant self-abuse
I've finally reached
My breaking point
And I don't think
Superglue will
Do this time

Love being alien to many
comes as unbelievable reality;
to those who live in and
prefer the life of shadows.

Dear diary;
I do not feel-
no, I do not feel anymore.
Sometimes I can feel my heartbeat,
or a lonely butterfly in this stomach
but that pales in comparison to
when I used to feel alive,
to feel any hope at all.