This piece was written after listening to AFI’s “A World Unmade.” I wanted to capture that same sense of collapse - the moment when everything false falls apart - but to respond differently.

Where AFI’s song sinks into entropy, Lights Out stands in the wreckage and chooses calm. It’s not submission; it’s endurance. It’s what happens when rage burns clean and what remains is clarity.

This is part of what I’ve been calling my HOLY VISIONS era - a stretch of work that lives somewhere between faith and fury, where prayer becomes resistance and quiet becomes a weapon.

It’s a meditation on holding steady when the world profits from chaos. On praying for the ones who prey. On watching the false lights fade, not with triumph, but with understanding.

The world’s still burning.
But some of us have learned how to look into the fire without blinking.

I wrote this in a moment when everything felt like it was slipping through my hands — love, control, even self-worth.

“Freefall” is about heartbreak, recovery, and the quiet ache of trying to be okay when you’re not.

It’s for anyone who’s ever reached out in the dark, hoping someone might take their hand.

inspired by Paramore’s “Crave” and the quiet panic of watching history glitch on repeat.

for everyone faking happy, still trying not to lose their mind while the world burns.

for anyone hanging by a thread and still keeping their spirit alive.

A poem I wrote to remind myself that choosing peace doesn’t mean failure. Sometimes protecting your soul means letting go, even when it hurts.

this poem came out fast — urgent, unpolished. it speaks to the ache of watching compassion slip from the public eye, replaced by apathy and gaslight. it’s a refusal to accept cruelty as the norm.

This piece was written with the ache of loneliness in mind — and the quiet reminder that yesterday’s weight doesn’t get to define today. Sometimes the simplest truth is the one we most need to hear: you are enough.

A rough, quick piece written while listening to funky music (Michael Jackson’s “Beat It”).

It’s about refusing to sink, pushing through obstacles, and finding strength in rhythm.
An anthem for getting back up, no matter how many times you fall.

I wrote this one quick — raw and rough — but it carries the fight I’ve been feeling.
It’s inspired by the rock cover of “Elastic Heart” (Written By Wolves).
An anthem for anyone who keeps getting knocked down,
but refuses to stay down.

"When the Fire Winds Down" was written from a low point — not the dramatic kind, but the slow, quiet weight that lingers. I’ve been wrestling with fear, doubt, and the ache of feeling stuck.

Wanting to take risks. Afraid to take risks. Tired of standing still but unsure how to move forward. This poem is about that moment when you’re trying to find your center again — not for anyone else, just so you can keep going.

inspired by Slaves' "Patience is the Virtue," this poem is an anthem for anyone who’s been buried under burnout, trauma, and self-doubt—but still rises. “what’s next” isn’t just a question—it’s a declaration. the past may haunt, but it no longer owns the future. this is reclamation.

A poem written during a moment of collapse — when hope felt farthest away — but somehow, through the haze, I found a whisper of light.

This is a letter to myself. A reminder that even in the worst of it, hope doesn’t leave. Sometimes it just waits for us to remember.

"Some stories aren't meant to be solved—they just leave smoke behind."

Inspired by Anchor & Braille’s “Stones,” this piece reflects on the quiet chaos of running, hiding, and carrying the weight of our own undoing.

A confession of burned bridges, blurred reflections, and the desire to escape... even from yourself.

There are mornings where the sunlight doesn’t hit quite the same—when grief lingers in the corners of routine, and you realize you're no longer who you used to be.

Inspired by All Time Low’s "The Weather", this piece reflects the quiet unraveling after losing someone who felt like your sun.

Sometimes the loudest prayer is the one left unanswered. This piece is a quiet reckoning with pain, faith, and the fragile hope that tomorrow might feel different. Inspired by Anberlin’s 'Nothing More,' it’s a reminder that even in the silence, you are not alone."

Some people keep stepping in and out of your life like it’s a revolving door, never giving answers—just echoes. I wrote this piece from the heart, tired of the repetition, tired of the silence, and finally needing something real. Inspired by Stand Atlantic’s “Love U Anyway,” this poem is my voice in the static. If you've ever waited too long for someone to make up their mind, this is for you.

this poem is about survival, exhaustion, and the hope that somehow…
even after everything, you’ll rise.

inspired by Point North’s “Into the Dark,”

this is for anyone still fighting to find the light again.

sometimes healing doesn’t roar—it flickers, then burns bright.

let this love (live in the past)

a quiet goodbye.

not out of anger—just out of finally knowing when to let go.

this one’s about the storm you didn’t see coming,

the closure you had to create yourself,

and the kind of love that’s better left behind.

inspired by Story of the Year’s “Take the Ride,”

this poem unpacks the moments when self-reflection spirals into self-blame.
it’s about losing control—mentally, emotionally—and wondering if the crash was your fault...

or if you were set up to break.

for anyone who's ever asked, "is it me?"

this one's for you.

A raw plea from inside the storm.

WASH AWAY THE PAIN is a desperate cry for release—when love breaks, and you're left staring at your reflection, wondering what went wrong.

This one’s for anyone who’s ever begged the sky for peace and prayed the rain could rinse the heart clean.

If you’ve ever felt like the weight of healing might break you—this poem gets it.

It bleeds, begs, and breaks—but it’s honest.

third installment in a trilogy about heartbreak, confrontation, and emotional survival.

this piece is a reckoning—and a reminder: when the spiral returns, you don’t have to ride it.

inspired by story of the year’s “miracle.”

inspired by Story of the Year’s 'How Can We Go On', this piece is about survival after collapse—when there’s nothing left to hold but your own strength. for anyone still standing, still searching, still screaming: this is for you.

A lyrical burn letter for the ones who rewrite history but forget who's holding the mic now.

I’m not stuck in your story. I’m filming my own. 🎬

inspired by Stand Atlantic’s “Love U Anyway” — this poem speaks to anyone feeling like they’re unraveling inside. sometimes all we need is someone to stay, even on the bad days. especially then.

inspired by don henley’s “the boys of summer.”

this poem explores the ache of love in the modern world—

where the echoes outlast the connection.

this one’s for the fighter who's been counted out too many times.

your story isn’t over.

your best hasn’t even begun.

inspired by slaves’ “petty trappin.”

a poem about the lies we tell ourselves, the pain we repeat, and the slow fight to break through it.

sometimes healing sounds like tough love. even when it’s your own voice.

inspired by slaves’ “let this haunt you.”

this one’s for the people who lie awake, wondering if they can keep going.
sometimes the past doesn’t let go—but you still can move forward.

written for my labrador, age 11, who’s nearing his final chapter. i hope he still has a little bit of time left. i love him so much.

inspired by backstreet boys’ “i need you tonight.”

this is a poem about love that never speaks, but always stays.
because sometimes, letting go means loving harder.

inspired by neck deep’s “dumbstruck dumbf**k.”

a punk-poetic piece on how selfishness, emotional burnout, and apathy are rotting us from the inside out.

mental health awareness starts with compassion—not compliance.

inspired by slaves’ “i’d rather see your star explode.”

a poem about holding on when you feel unlovable—about choosing to stay soft even when you’re broken.

written for the ones who wait, and the ones learning they’re worth the wait too.

inspired by mayday parade’s “happy endings are stories that haven’t ended yet.”

written in memory of my mom—gone in body, never in spirit.

this is for anyone trying to carry love through the silence.

written in the wake of heartbreak and loss—after losing my mother and being left days before my birthday.

inspired by mayday parade’s “by the way.”

a reminder that healing doesn’t have a timeline, and strength doesn’t mean silence.
this is for anyone who’s grieving, and still trying to live.

inspired by rob thomas’s “lonely no more.”

a breakup poem about letting go of mixed signals and empty promises.
some love stories never begin—because you're meant to write your own.

some legacies are meant to end. this isn't anger. this is release.

inspired by nsync’s “this i promise you.”

a poem about loving someone deeply—even while fighting to return to yourself.

this is a promise written in the quiet.

a soft rebellion against who i used to be—
this poem is for the nights i almost gave up,
and the mornings i didn’t.

the final piece in a three-part series.

“lost” was about survival, “unwavering” was about inner strength, and “found” is about healing through love.

inspired by avril lavigne’s “keep holding on.”

A sequel to my poem “LOST.”

This piece reflects the quiet strength that comes after the breakdown—the moment when hope returns, not loudly, but with enough presence to hold on.

I'll never believe in love again after this.