I hate this hunger, gnawing loud,
a whisper turned into a crowd.
I write for peace, for truth, for light—
yet crave the echo in the night.

A thousand eyes, a million hearts,
I want the world to know my art.
Though kindness rains and love is near,
still something selfish stirs in fear.

Why isn’t enough just enough?
Why does praise feel like fragile fluff?
Why do I ache for louder cheers,
when gentle voices ring so clear?

I count the stars, but chase the sun—
forgetting how the moon has won
my poems over with her grace,
while I still seek a grander place.

I loathe this thirst I cannot quench,
this greedy pull, this inner wrench.
Yet deep inside, I see the root—
a child who just wants to feel absolute.

But let me learn to love this pace,
to write for stillness, not the race.
To hold each word, each soul, each view,
and know—enough is something true.

75. Just a thought. A whisper. A what-if.
74. I test the weight of silence, hold it in my hands.
73. Everyone talks. No one listens.
72. I count cracks in the ceiling, pretend they are escape routes.
71. My name sounds foreign when they say it.

70. I make a list of things I’ll miss. It’s short.
69. I start another list—things I won’t. It’s endless.
68. Someone asks if I’m okay. I forget how to answer.
67. I laugh too hard. It feels like breaking.
66. I cry in the shower. The water drowns the sound.

65. Sleep is a stranger.
64. I lose my appetite. Even hunger forgets me.
63. The mirror doesn’t recognize me anymore.
62. The days blur, smear together like wet ink.
61. I hear my own voice and wonder if it’s mine.

60. I rip old photos apart, scatter them like dead leaves.
59. My heartbeat is a drum in an empty hall.
58. I start talking to shadows. They answer back.
57. I see movement in the corners of my eyes.
56. The walls breathe when I’m not looking.

55. My skin feels too tight.
54. My thoughts are too loud.
53. I try to scream but forget how.
52. I write a note, then another, then another.
51. I set them on fire. The flames flicker like old memories.

50. Halfway there. A relief. A curse.
49. My hands shake. I clench them into silence.
48. I step outside. The world moves without me.
47. The stars blink. I wonder if they’re watching.
46. I lose another hour to the void.

45. My name no longer belongs to me.
44. My body feels borrowed.
43. I stop answering messages.
42. They stop sending them.
41. I bite my tongue to taste something real.

40. I forget what my voice sounds like.
39. Music doesn’t move me anymore.
38. The wind howls. I howl back.
37. I lose track of days.
36. The countdown is all that’s left.

35. I lock the door.
34. I lose the key.
33. I stop checking the time.
32. Time stops checking on me.
31. The air is thick. I choke on nothing.

30. They say people can tell. No one does.
29. My chest feels empty, like I misplaced something vital.
28. I press my ear to the ground, listen for a heartbeat.
27. Nothing.
26. Nothing.

25. The sky is too bright. It hurts my eyes.
24. The moon is too full. It mocks me.
23. I turn off my phone.
22. No one notices.
21. I am a ghost before I am even gone.

20. I stop pretending.
19. I stop hoping.
18. I stop waiting for someone to save me.
17. I stop wanting to be saved.
16. I stop.

15. The countdown is a prayer.
14. The countdown is a promise.
13. The countdown is all I have.
12. The weight of it is crushing.
11. I welcome it.

10. I can’t remember why I started.
9. I can’t remember who I was before.
8. The world is underwater. I am drowning.
7. I let the tide take me.
6. I let go.

5. The choice is already made.
4. I exhale.
3. I close my eyes.
2. The world fades.
1.

We feel the same way
I know why you choose to be alone
There are so many things in this world
That I too cannot comprehend
But, we already know so much
You and I
We're two brains
Thinking of the same puzzles
However, we were never supposed to meet

Perhaps, when you and I
Have surrendered the
sea
of
thoughts
The waves that continue to keep
                                   pushing
                                us
                        back
                 to
           the
shore
Back to where there's comfort
Or not

We feel the same way
If only we could not read so much into things
Not so much with the thoughts
The concepts
Theories
Ideas
If we try not so hard to understand
Every detail––
every/group/of/words/put/together
We would not end up
Finding ourselves unable to understand the WHOLE
The big reasons
As to WHY we question
Or we DO not question
And the most miserable of them all
Why are WE here?

We feel the same way
I know why you choose to be
Alone
The waves
         would
               continue
                     crashing
                           before
T h e     v a s t n e s s    o f     t h e     s e a
The gloom
In the moonless night
                                 be
                           sure
                       to
                come
            back
         to
The shore.

They call it a gift,
this body of mine,
but every month it gnaws at itself,
chews the lining of my womb,
spits out blood like a sacrifice
to a world that does not care.

I step outside,
eyes crawl up my skin like ants,
like maggots,
like fingers that never asked for permission.
A whistle slits the air—
a razor against my spine—
I swallow the bile, keep walking.

Mother said, don’t wear that
Father said, boys will be boys
I say nothing—
only dig my nails into my palms,
so deep the crescent moons bloom red.

I dream of shedding this skin,
peeling it back like an overripe fruit,
scraping out the parts that feel *****,
that feel weak,
that feel like they do not belong to me.
I want to be new,
to be sharp,
to be something they cannot touch.

But even in dreams,
they chase me.
Even in dreams,
I run.