i feel
like im
unfinished --
almost like
my life is a story
only half-told
with too many
blank pages
left.

to exist
when i want nothing but love of my own
for myself
some of it,
dedicated entirely to my being,
my skin, by all means

and i feel like this skin isn't mine
like a second layer
some days i dream of tearing it apart
and perhaps finding what i look like
within

is it any different from the other deformations?
do i have it smooth, baby-like, good enough, to be accepted?

had it been all natural,
nature-given, that way i'd have perhaps accepted
alas, knowing it's a play of the world onto me
and in my body,
my blood messing up everything it's meant to do for me
all because of the ones that were supposed to create antibodies

there's this guttural scream that ensnares me whole

where do i go
when i see them fight the demons outside and around
i can't even win the battles that i carry within me, all time round

and i'm on a war with myself
there's rage, there's ache, there's the pain
of when will i accept
i shall forever bargain

why do i even begin to heal if i have to go down the same place
down the same low
the lows hit lower
i see new symptoms, new symphonies of how it could and would
and it does—it gets worse again
and it's a cycle

healing, accept the white little ***** that carry the science of potential magic
put all my hopes, have them disintegrate
go back again
start at the beginning, new dose around—i'm healing

and then i come crashing down again

and it's the nights
and the mornings
that are the worst

both the times, when i should be at my best
i'm battling, wanting to hide and disappear
and wear a snake-like skin on myself

i hate me
and this hatred lives deep within like a monster that birthed itself
out of the normal, the ordinary that i have lacked

there are days where i pull at my roots
watch them fade
watch them fall
i cry and lose hope with every strand that couldn't stand tall
and it's like cemented on me

had it been scales on a snake, i'd have called it flashy
it's disgust that's piled in my eyes, against my being
i see the look on my face
the dead, the dead stares back every time i try to play pretend
and it whispers
it whispers, smirking in my ear

this is what you get

be normal?
oh i would do anything—exchange half my lifeline
if i could live through a healthy half of life
or whatever remains
i've tired myself out of it all anyway

there's bumps
and there's fractures
i feel like it's my own skin that peels
every time i grasp it

and it's visceral
too graphical, no gore however
makes me wonder
how it'd be—moments of softness
where i cherish just me
where who i am isn't my enemy
even just for a breath
i wish to write about that breath

but oh—
imagining is hard when there's nothing left for you to do
the ones living in delusions have thought and wondered if it could all come true
my case is different
so far, years upon years i've been hoping
but the last of this strength, the last drop in the vessel that was given
it might run out as soon as i stop breathing and moping

and i am perhaps the most devastating liar of all
you shall never see me burning myself to the ground
for i'll stand tall through it all
and in front of your lies, i'll deceive and speak my practiced lines
i'm alright, it is what it is—i'll be fine

i won't be. i am not. i'm tired. give me some hope.

i might be a ***** for feelings
and i fear—i fear so loudly in a silence
call me a *******—love is what i want
hatred is all that i got

i have been hiding
and i've been running
and i sat in this adventure ride
never got back out of it

i'm scared
and i don't think i'll get out of this shell ever
so i imagine myself hiding
covered in multiple shells and armors
walls surrounding me, boundaries in the form of
words and my own scars—the ones that aren't even on the surface
protecting me, giving the silent comfort
that they are here, to carry me on, forward

and i've lied so much
i started believing my own lies
forgetting what was the truth
'cause it hurt so much

what do you do when you go down?
where do you go when you are drowning?

quiet is peaceful
quiet is welcoming
like i don't have to perform to exist in here, no
especially the dark
no one can see me
i can't see me
and that's just easy

to exist that way
been felt for, not seen on the surface
not just looked at, but heard
for your voice to find out of your own existence

there's voices in my head
that'll scare you more

what even is there to love
or like?
i see nothing
and on the surface
it's all to despise

show me if there's something
don't tell me it's the heart that's worth it

when you starve yourself for long enough
the void of hunger becomes like it's a normal
the new normal

starving myself of everything
to get used to it the best way
the void, though
continues to grow

i get these random bouts of feeling
such immense loneliness
makes me want to pull in the closest person
hug them tight
take all the warmth
squeeze out my life

i'm layers upon layers
of words and of stories
of people i've met, their memory
and of all who've given up before me
girl in pieces, i shall call myself
would anyone even want me?

Imagine yourself
Alone in your head.
You're hanging, dangling
From a silver thread.

Empty, alone
With the monsters within.
Internally screaming,
You just want to give in.

Now imagine that's you
Every day, every hour.
Forever sinking
Like a wilting flower.

You try to tell your dad
And you try to tell your mom,
But they say you're being silly,
You've just got to move on.

Because teens don't know sorrow
Nor the hardships of life.
They're just kids with imaginations
Just looking for attention, right?

You think that there's none
Who knows how you feel.
You're just so alone,
But the feelings- they're real.

Useless,
Neglected,
Forgotten,
Distressed.

Alone,
Afraid,­
But mostly
Depressed.

And you're friends,
They go on
Like nothing has changed.

"They must not care,"
Your thoughts whisper,
The lies in your brain.

You can't escape it,
Trapped in your own skin.
You're ugly,
You're hated,
But you mask it with a grin.

You hate what you feel,
So instead you feel nothing.
Your insides are numb,
Your confidence crumbling.

You look to other things
To stop the pain.
Like cutting
But it gives you no gain.

And the people around you
Shout abuse your way.
"You're hurting yourself, stop it!"
That's all they ever say.

No matter how you plead
That you're broken inside,
They turn the other way,
They run, they hide.

They say you're just foolish,
It's all in your head.
What they don't know is inside
You're already dead.

she is
glorious --
in that golden-hour
type of way.
it looks like
she was dipped
in the kind of light
that you can't touch,
but admire.

i listen intently
as she talks about
boys
like she's reading it
from a script
that fits her mouth
almost too
easily.

and i sit there,
i smile and nod,
trying not to look
at her lips
when she stops
paying attention to
my eyes.

she says im her favourite,
her safest place,
her soul sister even --
and i say..
"me too."
yet it still aches
like a confession
i can't give
to her.
to anyone, really.

she's glorious.
and i love her
in the quietest form --
the one that
lets her go
every day
without thinking about
telling her
i ever wanted to
stay.

Fleeting eternity
surrounds the mountaintop,
nestled in a lush green valley
time forgot.

We're born, we learn,
and sometimes we weep.
No thought of time,
it quietly creeps.

Stones skimmed
through freshwater streams.
Breathing the harmony
of childish dreams.

We frolic, we flourish,
often in haste.
Time saunters by,
ample to waste.

Where seconds seem
to have immortality,
distant clouds tick to the beat
of our destiny.

We aspire, we desire,
we love and fulfil.
Time, we notice,
hasn't stood still.

It unravels
and unleashes.
It's sentimental,
yet sprightly releases.

We respired, we loved.
The winds of change blew.
Time we pursued,
yet it silently flew.

Gently fade into the
midnight hour of peace.
Our dreams immersed,
their flickers cease.

Ashes will carry
on a summer breeze.
Floating skyward
beyond the willow trees.

From earth to heaven
with God's grace and a prayer.
Listen to your heart,
you can find me there.

Laugh in the dark at your own clever spin,
turning meaning to mischief with a smirk and a grin?
Are your nights stitched in velvet, your mind wide-awake,
with your dog at your feet and the silence you make?

Veil your affection in jest and disguise,
saying darling or love just to watch my reply?
Ever wonder, like me, if your teasing might stay
longer than you meant it to linger that way?

Lace on your wrist smells like citrus and rain,
is your scent a soft story you haven't explained?
Are your plushies arranged like an audience unseen,
watching matcha-steeped mornings unfold like a scene?

Vanish mid-text to float in your head,
do your thoughts wander far before coming to bed?
Even now, I don't ask for more than you give,
just to wonder like this is a sweet way to live.

I only grow flowers with thorns.
Beautiful from afar,
Their petals softer than skin after shea butter,
But poison to the touch.

Their scent so captivating,
You can't help but search for it,
Only to be knocked out once found.

Those brave enough to pick up the stem
Will always regret it.
These thorns are razor sharp,
And they love to embed.

what would you do if the one you loved didn't feel the same way?
if the one you longed for had moved on,
had left you behind to mend on your own.
would you still hold on?
could you still go on?
would you chase him till your feet bled?
or would you turn away without a glance.
is this what love is?
to hold on after they let go.
to die and wither after they leave your side.
is this love?
could you truly love someone so passionately?
or is it all in your head.
is it all a trick done with smoke and mirrors?
done to break you and tear you down.
is it possible?
possible to feel the warmth in your chest.
to feel like he's all you'll ever need.
like he's the one.
the one that protects you each and every night.
that without him you'd die.
is this what love is?
are you truly the one?

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"we are not a phase"
they had told us
to whisper our pronouns
hide our true colours painted on flags
like shame folds easier
than truth.

they say,
"love has rules"
but only when it looks
a certain way,
and we never looked
they way they had wanted,
the way they expected us to be.

but we exist
in full colour --
in quiet,
soft,
gentle first kisses,
in second glances that were held
a little too long by most,
in the hands that tremble
but still reach.

we are not a debate.
we are certainly not a phase.
we are stories
that are still being written,
in chalk
on our skin,
in protest,
and in poems.

and when they try to erase us,
who we are,
we come back.
louder.
softer.
screaming for rights.
still here.