For a long time
I thought
this wasn’t me.
This face.
This walk.
This way
I look at the ground.

I thought:
I’m just acting.
Until I find
myself.

But some voice whispered:
“What if this
you’re pretending
is all you are?”

And then I stopped.
Looked at my hands.
And realized
the mask
got used to me.

I wore it so long
I began to speak
with its voice.
To feel
with its heart.

Now I don’t know
who’s beneath.
But I know
something still
wants to breathe.

And maybe
illusion
is the truest form
I ever had.

Some people believe in gods.
I believe in a presence
that never arrived
but still remains.

They promised me no salvation.
They promised only arrival.
And then silence stayed,
so thick
I began to listen to it
as a command.

Maybe they exist.
Maybe they’re just late.
Maybe they got lost
in prayers of others,
louder,
but emptier.

I lit a candle,
not to call them
but to show
I still have something
to see with.

I did not send them a wish.
I sent:
“If you’re already here
don’t pretend you’re not.”

And since then,
whenever I’m alone
something sits with me.
Not as salvation.
As a witness.

The gods never came.
But something in me
remained
as if they did.

writing and scribbling and scrawling down my all thoughts,
each and every
dark and sinister alley twisting in the curves and
    crevices
of my mind.
dusty, hidden corners filled with filth -
hidden by the shadows of my
    weighted self.

I cradle hurricanes in my ribcage
while words swirl around my head.
I try to catch the good ones-
but mostly, I wish I was dead.

I do everything too much-
the joy, the sorrow, the dread.
Yet somehow, I’m never enough-
what a curious truth to be force fed.

If I laugh, it’s always too loud;
my mouth too sharp to make anyone proud.
Crying is a dangerous game,
I could sob away a city, drown in the blame.

My rage leaves no survivors,
as if I line people up on personal pyres.
When I vent, they hear preaching-
a sermon no one wants, a fear of my leeching.

I don’t love, I dissect-
obsessively search for the trap I expect.
I can’t just leave; I burn it all down-
the bubbly, funny girl wears a permanent frown.

I do too much and my inner child feels seen,
She's acting out, we aren't this mean
I just get scared when the vibe is off, and ruining the mood makes the blow more soft.

Despite the chaos I still crave love, an equal partner, wearing fireproof gloves.

I’ve been to the darkest depths of the world,
And felt the cold hand of death caressing my chest.
I have seen the true mark of hatred,
And inflicted the pain of fire.

But never, never have I been deeply touched
Like the warmth of the burning sun
Or with the sparkle of the night sky’s stars.

Have you ever put yourself through hell just to keep someone else alive?
Have you ever been stabbed in the chest and had the knife twisted,
Yet felt nothing at all?

I’ve walked with sisyphus,
And flown with icarus,
But never have I step foot in the hallowed halls of Olympus.

Have you ever been deeply and truly loved?
Because, I have.
Loved with the glowing red warmth of a heartbeat.
Loved like achilles at the break of war.

Have you ever felt deep and true love for another?
Because never, never have I
Felt my heart beat in rhythm with another’s,
Or looked upon a face and felt like I’d set sail on a hundred ships
Just to fight for her.

I’ve never felt my chest rise and fall in time with their breath,
Never have I held a hand and felt my chest alight in sparks and warmth.
Have you ever felt this way?
The pain and the raw passion of heartache?

Because one day, one day,
I hope I can say that I have ever
Felt that way.