"A one-way ticket to space, please."

"These coins can’t get you anywhere"

I poured my silver lined heart
on the desk

"Ma’am this is all I have"

“I am afraid that is not enough"

I plucked my crystal tears
drew the rubies in my veins

I picked out my pearly eyes
they rolled like silk into her hands

"Enjoy your trip"



But

As I stood on the observation deck

Before the inky canvas
freckled with glistening stars

I realised

I had no

Eyes to see
hearts to please

Not even a tear to weep

Just a vessel
With a metaphoric soul

And a one-way ticket to space.

Through the light of day,
I see over the mountains,
I see the rich colours around me,
I see the vibrancy,
I see the light of day itself.

Is it really that pure?

So instead I wait for night.

I can’t see past the mountains, but why look?
Empty colours surround me.
I don’t see the filter; the alleged purity.

Overwhelmed, the context assaults me.
Darkness lances into me.
I yell. I writhe -

in my bleeding innocence, await salvation. “Saviour!” He escapes me.

“The light of day will save.”

I see the purity ****** itself down in beams.
I see the warmth on my body.
I see the good people.
But still, I see no succour.

I decide not to see, but to look.

I look for the humanity in purity, only blemishes are forthcoming.

Humanity, you have failed me.

Her fingers caressed the ivories
So very lightly.
The tunes that played
Echoing sweetly.

Nuvole Bianche,
Ludovico Einaudi
The title, she said,
means white clouds.

To her,
this song
captures the feeling of utmost sincerity
that exist in the purest
of her heart.

To be able to stay soft,
even after passing through cruel hands of the world.

To be as kind as you can,
even if the world will not pay you back.

To go out of your way for others,
even if it will never be enough.

To be genuine until the very end,
even when the whole world is against you.

To be soft in this cruel world
might just be the strongest power
a human can possibly possess.

Everyone talks about depression as if they know it.  

But what they don’t know is that depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway,

it’s feeling the blood dripping down your skin and having the sick thought of  “Oh, look how beautiful the red is” (they always say red is my color).

Depression is lying on your bed for hours on end, salt tracks lining your face like the scars on your ankles, staring at your ceiling tracing patterns in the paint and accepting death in life with this hole in your chest because death is a reward, an escape from this pain you deserve to feel.

Depression is writing sick poetry on skin and publishing it with scars, cutting on ankles, not wrists because you’re scared you’ll get in trouble but you so desperately need to be seen, and never are.

Depression is writing the word “alone” and seeing the word “home”, accepting the pain like a gift because you deserve it.

Depression is admitting suicidal thoughts to paper and not to people, and loving the broken things, hoping to tie them together, thinking maybe things will get better, but knowing that’s just wishful thinking.

Depression is hearing your mother call you monster and disgusting through the too-thin walls of your door when she thinks you can’t hear, and then telling you to your face that you have no right to cry, as if sadness is a privilege and you’re so pathetic that you don’t deserve it.

Depression is shutting yourself up in your room and hearing your family laughing downstairs because you feel like you can’t be a part of them and learning at a young age to love family always but that family isn’t always love

Depression is wanting to take love and your heart and break them into tiny little pieces and throw them into waves, to throw them away

Depression is a foot when the shoe hasn’t been broken in yet, is you when you haven’t broken life in, is seeing happy people and thinking they all look the same, like the front covers of magazines with smiles reaching their eyes when yours can’t.

Depression is wishing you could package your smiles into tiny little piles and hand them to people more deserving of them because you know you’re wasting them with half-assed lines of “I’m fine”

Depression is having to view your past as if it wasn’t yours, because to accept it as reality is to accept finality of your life through suicide.

Depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway and when you close the door out of fear it keeps pounding, possessive, ******, and when you open the door out of anger you shout, “I’M SCARED” to thin air but your voice comes out as a whisper.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

They used to ****** people that look like I do
They do ****** people that look like I do
They've taken away my freedom and put my mind in a cage
No use to fight the bloodshot eyes
Stained from the tears I cry
Our cries for justice and equality they are trying to hide behind bars
because they know that nobody dares to read between the lines of white lies
They are trying to silence us
Keeping an entire race from the ability to arise

When blackbirds die, why can't we ever hear their screams?
Maybe that's why they never hear our screams,
For black lives to actually matter

Injustice has grabbed us by the hand with a grip that we can barely withstand
We cannot break free from what our skin defines us as
They say be afraid,
I'm just another face in the crowd of a picture of silenced serenity
Because dark skin is really just a picture of crowded statistics and percentages
We stay in the shade because that's the only place we seem to fit in
Maybe that's why we seem to be walking in the dark like zombies
Killed by the sweetness of black suicide , genocide
I'm tired of trying to put my sorrows aside

Our children love to play in the rain
Dark hearts
Dark souls
Dark minds
Seem to come along with having dark skin
The rain finally gives it a companion
Our little boys can finally find a release
Cry the tears they always held back
Because they were taught that real men don’t cry
But the rain
Protects him from criticism
He asks
“If I cry alone,
Will heaven still accept me?”

Let us pray
‘Our father who hide in shadows
Humble be thy name
Thy love will never come
Thy affection is solely done

trust
trəst/
Noun
1. i know i don’t need anyone to make me feel better, that i can handle these things on my own. but speaking to you makes everything seem so much quieter.


2. there is me with tears streaming down my cheeks like rain. i cry all the time because i never cried when i was younger. there is you, with fire in your veins and hands dusted with the ashes of what is left of me.


3. you speak to me like i'm a person, like i have value and that you believe in me. you’re an entity and i want nothing more than to live in your heaven.