ink flows out of my brain
through my blood vessels
to my soft fingertips.
my hands curl into fists
as I crumple a sheet of paper.
a corner lightly cuts my finger,
and the ink flows onto the page.

this day weighs the world down
as we hold a collective breath,
waiting for the future to reveal itself.
we pray to every deity,
toss every coin,
and carry love in our hearts
for all who are suffering.
we are here to lighten the load
in any way possible.

when the world within me is loud -
constant cacophony, clanging, clashing -
I hastily throw pieces of my soul
into large, nondescript bags,
and I take a trip outside of myself
as my heart races and my legs shake.

but when the world is soft -
silent, somnolent, soothing -
I arrive home from the trip
and slowly unpack my bags.
I take deep, cleansing breaths 
as I put my soul back together.

a frosting-filled slice
eaten one day is a treat -
fluffy, sweet, luxurious.

eaten every day -
nails encrusted with frosting,
cloying, drained, decayed.

before I step out into public,
I lock my opinions in a safe
that resides deep within
the ridges of my brain.
I wear a sweet smile
to mask the dull pain
radiating throughout my body.

but when I enter my safe space,
I strip myself of that smile,
and look my pain in the eye.
I dig into the ridges of my brain
to grab and unlock the safe.
I welcome my vulnerability
in all its undisguised nakedness.

she ran a hand over her heart.
the tip of her finger got caught
in a small stitch tightly sewn
to keep her heart together.
but in that fateful moment,
the stitch quickly unraveled,
loosening her still-beating heart
until the pieces could do nothing
but stumble around each other,
crumble into soft, maroon dust,
and settle into her weary bones.

slash their words by
demanding obedience.
burn them by
shaming their dreams.
cut them to the core
by belittling their feelings -
say their feelings don't matter
as much as yours.
the result?
doubts bring them
to their knees,
constantly questioning
others and their motives.
they wonder if they're
too much and not enough,
if their feelings are valid.
their wounds scare them
into submission.
authority is not an excuse
for abuse.
nothing is.

my eyes were downcast,
never meeting my reflection,
my body shrunk into itself
when shame embraced me.

I straightened my shoulders,
and shame got out of the way.
I kept my arms out, forming a bubble
that shame could never, ever break.

and once I did that,
I greeted the mirror,
and my reflection smiled
for the first time.

a person with a mind and soul
made of colorful, vivid ribbons
quietly walks through the world.
she expects to feel the warmth
of their smiles on her face.
their eyes softly crinkle
when they're with each other.
when they walk toward her,
they grimace - every single time.
their voices fade until
she can only hear the sound
of her loud breathing,
feel the chill in the air,
and blink the tears away.

for the first time in my life, I'm not hiding.
I stand with my walls down and my heart open.
my legs are shaking, and my breathing is shallow.

he wraps his arms around me to keep me steady.
my head rests on his chest as he strokes my hair.
I close my eyes for a moment, finally able to rest.

I look at him carefully, and I see no armor.
his walls are down and his heart is open.
his legs are shaking, and his breathing is shallow.

we hold each other until our love grows roots.
then we let go, and our smiles illuminate the world.
he takes my hand in his, and we walk together.

the minutes roll past her like tumbleweeds
as her eyes meet the melting, setting sun.
but in the blink of an eye, the night falls
and the hour wraps its arms around her,
keeping her warm and safe in time's embrace.

fear is a tiny seed
planted in my lower belly.
my thoughts fuel the seed
to sprout with gentle ease.
its roots are finally free,
wrapping around my feet,
never letting me flee.
it grows into a nimble tree
whose branches strangle me.
the tree wears prickly leaves
that sting my aching body
until my eyes succumb to sleep.

as I'm living in my peaceful world,
an unfamiliar person enters.
he looks small from where I am.
"it looks like he's glaring at me."
"he seems like a bad person."
"I'm way better than him."
the thoughts hit the ground
as solid, heavy bricks,
and my heart pounds in response.
more bricks form a disjointed wall.
I step on the bricks as I climb.
I peek at him over the top
as he approaches the wall.
I notice his soft, kind eyes,
and his soul warms me up.
I slowly descend the wall. 
the bricks start to fall,
landing right behind us.
my heart stops pounding,
and it gently whispers,
"those bricks never fit together."
I give him a tender hug,
and I let him into my heart.

a little simile here,
a splash of metaphor there,
all carefully folded and mixed
to form a delicious souffle.

it goes into the oven
at the perfect temperature.
the souffle begins to rise,
the sweet aroma engulfs the room.

but the timer chimes early.
they take the souffle out,
and it sinks within itself,
forming a deep, large canyon.

but this souffle is different.
they put it back in the oven.
it bakes longer and longer
until it finally rises again.

it let the bird fly,
learn, grow, change.
but when the bird falls,
stays the same, decays,
a thrill climbs up our bones
as the crack of the wishbone
echoes in our expectant ears
like a loud, resounding gong -
as our supposed fate awaits.

my soul is a chamber
in which a candle sits.
a strong flame burned,
which kept me alive.

however, week after week,
the water filled the chamber,
putting the flame out,
leaving me cold and lifeless.

the water would dry,
and the chamber was empty,
except for a single ember
that glowed in the dark.

I lit matches every day
until I saw a spark.
now it fiercely blazes,
stronger than it's ever been.

it presses my shoulder blades,
ties my neck muscles into knots,
then settles deep within my chest.
the pain is the first sign
that my body is haunted.
it then puts my thoughts
on a hamster wheel.
they run in circles
without an escape.
this is the second sign.
but my heart takes control.
it voices my thoughts
so they can be seen and heard.
it stops spinning the wheel,
slowly comes out of my chest,
unties the knots in my neck
and lets go of my shoulder blades,
and my body does not feel its weight.

it climbs up their thin veins,
worming its way under their skin,
until it digs into their vulnerable minds,
controlling them from the inside out,
until they twist the life out of others.
the prey become the predators.

I walk along a trapeze,
palms sweaty, legs shaking,
refusing to fall either way.
to go left is to fall into a fire
for a life which burns my bones.
the people will smile upon me,
oblivious to the ash surrounding them.
to go right is to fall into soft trees.
the leaves caress my skin,
but the people vanish like smoke,
and I fall to the ground.
the exact middle is survival
until I reach the other side.

as her glass heart beats,
it cracks little by little
as her chest caves in.
she closes her eyes.
her deep, slow breaths
restore her aching body
as her chest straightens.
the cracking suddenly stops.
her soul glues the cracks
and her heart is whole again,
stronger than ever before.

she studies his soft features
with furrowed eyebrows,
catching every detail
in the palm of her hand.
the palm lines show their story.

the feelings became an engraved key chain:
its grooves were made just for me.
I hid the key chain in my back pocket,
shielding it from the side eyes,
but when the people saw it,
they took out their own key chains,
and the designs were very similar.
now my key chain is in my hand,
and I show it whenever I want.

a statue quietly lurks
in the corner of my mind,
waiting until all is calm.
when the dark shroud
falls over the blue sky,
the statue comes to life
as a vicious, fang-bearing,
red-eyed, gnarly demon.
the demon pulls a dream apart
with its long, pointy claws,
injecting the shreds with poison
until they tangle up in each other
to become a tight, infectious knot
that can only be untangled...by waking up.

my love carries
the scent of vanilla perfume.
it drifts through me,
then dances with the wind
until it finally reaches him,
the man a thousand miles away,
and brings us closer together.

his words are stitched
into the fabric of her soul.
her smile is here to stay.

I walked around, arms always crossed,
never speaking until I was spoken to.
I kept my head down, subservient to a ruler
who knew and preyed on my every weakness.

Lately, I've been fighting back.
My arms are outstretched, accepting what comes.
I released the anchors that sank my heart for years
without waiting for anyone's approval - only mine.

My head is held high.
The ruler can't weaponize the truth anymore.
My acceptance drained the poisonous power
of the ruler's previously potent weapons.

Now I am not ruled by anyone.
Try as they might, they'll never trap me again.
I'll never let them for as long as I draw breath,
and my spirit can finally soar to the greatest of heights.

they may carry children
with cotton-candy-tinted glasses,
or adults who nudge the world
to align with their visions,
or the elderly who see a path
of golden light ahead of them,
or animals who always beam
around their fellow humans,
and...
they carry children with shoulders
that know the weight of the world
or adults who see their dreams shattering
all around them like a broken mirror,
or the elderly who can only see gray clouds,
wondering when the darkness will lift,
or animals who are suffocated by the noise
and crave the fresh air and blue skies.
these vessels carry more stories than
the number of stars in this infinite universe.

a memory wrapped its cold, rough hands
around my throat, squeezing it tightly.
as I tried to walk away, the memory
stuck its foot out, blocking my path.
I could only muster a pitiful squeak
as I fell face first onto the ground,
and the memory fell on top of me,
effectively holding my body hostage.
its hands were still on my throat,
but it was invisible to everyone else.
they only saw me fall to the ground.
they asked me what was wrong,
but I did not have air that could
breathe life into the powerful words
that were begging to leave my mind.
a sheet of paper suddenly appeared
underneath my right palm,
and a pencil rolled my way.
I gripped the sturdy pencil with
every ounce of strength I still had,
steadying the paper with my wrist,
and I wrote the words I couldn't say
so they would stop begging to leave,
even as the memory gripped my throat.
as I kept writing, I noticed the memory
stopped feeling as heavy on my body.
it was getting ****** into the paper.
it resisted at first, but after a while,
the memory slowly let go of me
and relaxed into the pencil marks.
when I had no more words left,
I picked myself up off the ground,
placed the pencil above my ear,
took the paper, hugged it to my chest,
and walked away with a smile on my face.

fear is a tiny seed
planted in my lower belly.
the seed sprouts suddenly,
its roots extending toward my feet.
my thoughts are consumed by the seed,
which grows into a strong, sturdy tree
whose branches wrap around me,
paralyzing my whole being.

she becomes a cherry blossom -
blushing, shy smiles,
bursting with life.
her petals soak up the sun,
leaves hungry for more -
whenever she's with him.

whenever she sees him,
the corners of her eyes
crinkle into intricate origami.
if anyone looks closely,
they'll see a soft glow
and maybe even folded hearts.
that's her love for him.

blades of green lightly stab your feet.
the cool breeze caresses your arms
as the sun enhances your radiant face
you are at peace in this moment.

that day broke me.
a part of me left.
I don't know
if it'll come back,
if I'll be me again.

but I'm trying.
I'm picking myself up,
taking small steps,
looking for the missing part.
I hope to be me again.

whenever I stumbled and fell,
instead of helping me up,
they pushed and berated me,
knocking me down even further.
safety was never a guarantee.
I take each step carefully - too carefully.
wondering who can see my trembling hands
and feel my heart pounding in my chest.

now when I stumble and fall,
I push the helping hands away,
even though I want to feel
a hand in mine
more than anything.
I've come to expect sharp,
grating words from everyone,
even though not everyone is like them.

I pick myself up and hide
waiting until the storm settles.
sometimes when it all dies down,
I'm still not convinced that it's over.
I step out of my hiding place
and wait for the thunder.
I jump at every noise,
and I wince at every touch.

I want to have spaces in which
my body can relax instead of
looking for the next threat.
in which my hands are steady,
my heart takes a leisurely stroll,
and I don't have to hide.
in which I can tell myself,
"I am safe," and fully believe it.

after a long monsoon,
the sun dries the cloud's tears.

he glued down a blue, square tile
to the bare, boring floor.
my purple triangle moved in
right next to the square
like it was meant to be there.
our hands kept the tiles in place,
then we took a step back,
and his arms surrounded me.
we did this every day
until the pattern became
our solid foundation.

life, for her, was a masquerade ball.
her purse was full of colorful masks.
each mask was carefully crafted,
designed to impress everyone else.
she was always watchful
with one hand in her purse
so she could switch masks.

he walked into the ballroom,
slowly approaching her.
she took off her mask,
fumbling in her purse
for a different one.
he caressed her arm
and shook his head.

the breeze tickled her face 
for the first time during the ball.
he quietly gazed into her eyes,
smiled to calm her racing heart,
then pressed his lips to her cheek.
they danced for the rest of the ball,
and her masks were never seen again.

even as your heart drags you through the circles of hell
and your knees buckle under the weight of life,
a soft, confident voice rouses the parts of your soul
that nudge your spirit back into its natural rhythm.
you slowly rise, feeling the ashes under your feet.

I am complete -
with or without him.
he is not the glue
for the cuts
on my heart.
instead,
he stands by me
as I heal them.