i was happy, in a very sad way
but i was happy
happiness is still happiness
who is to tell me what was right and what was wrong

it was everything i had in that moment
it was all that i had
the only thing i had
and i used it to my advantage

it made me miserable
and i was indeed filled with shame then
for what i was to do
to the people around me

but please,
remember it was the only thing i had
my safe haven that i reached to
my own revelation

who was to say what i should or should not have done
when in the end it brought me peace and quietness

it was a silence so serene
it was something that i sought for all my life

— Y.H.

stigma,
gentle fervor.

life is beautiful
but it is also sad
of all the good things
there is also the bad
and it feels as though the bad is always embracing the good
that there is more bad than there is good in this world

and when the mind is overloaded with the negative
sometimes the drowning can't be stopped

the world starts to understand
that the happiest people may just be the saddest
and it fills me with grief
as it is anything but untrue
true to the point it hurts me

my secret was being revealed

it strips me off my feigned confidence
and leaves me with an empty shell
empty of love
of all the good things in life

i am sad for myself
who have turned out this way

and in the end i only have myself to hold
but i do not like me
not now
not ever

so tell me

how shall i live?

— Y.H.

my own personal epiphany,
gentle fervor.

I realize I am too compassionate;
I feel everything at a 100% rate,
and I loathe it so much.
Why do they come on so strong all the time;
it mentally drains me.

I am destined to die early;
I can't see myself living past my mid-thirties.
I learn how to accept death as it is,
and I am slowly learning how to let go.

I want to cry, I want to scream;
I want to voice out this indecipherable torment inside of me.
But no one will understand,
and no one will know;
this mask of mine can't be taken off.

It is what I desire,
yet I want to scream the truth out to the world;
my alternating flow of thoughts,
my constant battle;
it goes down with me to the grave.

This happiness is an illusion;
There's a second mind that takes over,
and blocks away all of the hopelessness.
It brings forth a temporary elation,
a nonchalance,
a pretentious ease.

Is this better?
Does it make me better?
Or does this delude me to the point
where I become more destructive
and cause more harm than cure?

Why does my mind run so much?
Why does this version of me exist?

Because I am born empathetic.
Because I am human.
Because I hold a great understanding of myself,
and a greater awareness of how I am.

But not behind in the how it came to be.

No one holds the answer, and I am forever left with questioning all these endless why's and how's.

Everything else is left unanswered

perhaps until the day I die.

— Y.H.

the end of the tunnel,
gentle fervor.

"You have such a beautiful way
with your words;
It's almost as if they are laced
with melancholy."

You see, the word beautiful
has been told to me by a lot of people.

Appearance-wise,
how I speak,
how I form my intricate thoughts;
the list goes on.

Their words would elevate me,
and then pull me down like a sinking weight.

It grows like cancer.

Am I enough today?
Must I go on with 'this'?
Why was it given to me when I hadn't asked for it?

And this burden attacks me so viciously
it rips me of my courage,
my interest,
myself,
and who I am.

I feel like an empty shell.

Is this what it means to be beautiful?

If so,
don't let me be.

— Y.H.

beauty,
gentle fervor.

I am empty,
unfeeling;
That was what I felt when I met you.

You cried for those who were miserable,
and I only thought it vain.
You fought so vigilantly for everything,
and I did the same,
with my own perspective.

You were a child with big dreams.
I was the adult with true realism.

But I was trying.
I only dreamt of a world with you.
I did not realize of the destruction I was capable of,
and I was not aware of the calamity that lived within me.

I had lost you,
and only did I know then
that I was never empty.

I was filled with the existence of you.

And now you are gone.

So tell me,
what am I now?

— Y.H.

lost love,
gentle fervor.

He told me I was all types of wonderful.

He said I found something melancholic in everything;
That I saw meaning in all things I perceived.
And that it was so, so beautiful.

But no, it was just what I saw.
I didn't understand.
Everything felt so disheartening to me.
I didn't understand him,
who found beauty
in my own sadness.

He said he loved me for who I was,
but he didn't really know me.
For who I am.
Who I became.
Who I turned out to be.

He told me he understood,
but I know he didn't.
I could see it in his eyes,
and his smile.
In his words,
that speak of such sweetness,
but with simplicity.

Maybe it was me who couldn't understand him.

I found bleakness in the way he loved me,
and that was when I decided:
there was definitely something deeply wrong with me.

Maybe I was broken.

And perhaps broken people,
were only meant for broken people.

— Y.H.

desolation,
gentle fervor.

I'm tearing, I'm breaking,
and I'm trying to mend my broken heart.

Am I okay, you ask.

No, I'm not.

But I am getting better.

I'm certain I am.
I have to be.
I must.

Time will not stop just because I'm having a hard time,
neither will my tears just because I plead.

But the seconds also don't flow as slow for you,
who aren't in grave despair.

I'm trying,
give me time.

Let me grief.

— Y.H.

mourn,
gentle fervor.