I opened my eyes and it was raining
it would probably have been raining
if I had kept them shut but then..
..and then
I thought what then?

see how thoughts are cut down in their prime.

coffee tastes the same in spite of the rain
the radio still plays and
the day's still the day I woke into.

it's 5:15 or 5:16
and I wonder if this is known as
living the dream.

Love doesn't hate,
Love doesn't demean,
Love makes you feel wanted,
It makes you feel seen,
Love doesn't boast,
It doesn't condecend,
Love holds your hand,
And is like a good friend.
Love doesn't turn it's back,
And ignore you for days,
It doesn't hurt your feelings,
In many different ways.
Love is there to hold you,
Even through troubled times,
Real love doesn't judge,
Because real love is kind.
So what is true love?
You may ask,
Well it's definitely not something that makes you feel like a task,
It doesn't belittle,
Or make you feel bad,
It doesn't treat you like you're invisible,
Or make you feel sad.
Real love lifts you up,
It doesn't bring you down,
Real love makes you smile,
And doesn't make you frown,
So if anyone ever makes you feel,
That you're not enough,
That's not real love,
Cause real love sticks around for you,
Even when things are tough.

🥀

Why
And For how long
Why can’t beauty, just be admired
Why does it attract hatred
Why does one want to own it
Why can’t it be set free
Free as it can be
Mother Earth
Births

Why do we hold hostage

Boundaries are set
Why can’t they be respected
Why
A sheet of white, admired
Cold and clean
Struck and sprayed
Unawares, the innocent not spared
Scarlet, cries everywhere
Why
And for how long
🥀

When the night wraps around you like wet wool,
and your thoughts begin to ache like tired feet—
know this:

I am the light left on in your window,
the quiet hum in the next room,
the soft chair waiting with open arms.

If the sky cracks
and pours its weight upon your shoulders,
I’ll be your umbrella—
no, your stormcoat—
no, the sunrise chasing away every bruise of cloud.

When the world grows too loud
and every breath feels barbed,
I’ll be the hush in a field of lavender,
the hush that understands without asking
why your hands shake
or your voice folds in on itself.

You do not need to carry every fire alone.
Let me be your match,
your kindling,
your hearth.
Even the strongest trees lean sometimes.

So if you fall—
whether into silence, shadow, or sleep—
I will not let you hit the ground alone.
I’ll be the earth beneath your fall,
the moss that remembers your shape,
the roots that hold your name
and do not let go.

You don’t have to ask.
I am already on my way.

My reflection in a lake
seems so much more real to me.

So much beneath the surface
that no one ever sees.

But what is the reality,
Which one is real?

The Reflection you see,
or what lies beneath!