i promise that
when the wind blows
i'll think you're there

when the sky cries
i'll think you're there

when the leaves fall
i'll think you're there

every holiday,
every dinner,
every family gathering,
i'll think you're there

how can my own home feel like jail?

the windows are always open but i
can see the bars that trap me inside
my own mind, hold my lungs tight
to stop me breathing,
there's always fresh air entering
but when it comes near me it becomes
rancid and putrid, choking me
and tearing me up but i will always
end up inhaling the matter or else
i won't survive

the rooms are filled with ornaments
from different countries,
little souvenirs that we were there
but even with the furniture
i feel secluded, my bed is not
only my resting place, but it
sobs as i rest my tired eyes,
hoping that even in this darkness
of my room, where i can hear the
shallow breaths fill the air,
perhaps the light that escapes
between these walls could
guide me and send me a halo

the clothes that hang solitary
waiting to be reached towards,
they only cover me from this
world that i live in,
these clothes do not liberate me
but they protect me from
anything worse than this jail
in which i know i shall rot
ever so slowly but until then
i shall pray that it won't be
due to my sadness or the fact
that i can't stop worrying and
stressing about the future

if only these walls, this jail,
stopped my mind from wandering
into a state of freedom,
aching to be heard,
screaming at whatever chance they have
but this voice will never escape
as i am made of steel,
my bones are my cage and
this body is half-alive

hold-me, could i dare to ask?
hold-me, in this jail as i
fall into deep sleep,
pray that i won't wake up
hold-me as i soften my breath,
i'd finally feel the rain
as it patters onto my face
but i'd look up and see no sky,
no clouds and no heaven

they say blood is thicker than water but haven't they heard
of ichor?

ichor;
the deep felling within, when you sense that something may
go wrong but let's set that thought aside because you don't know
what happens when the blood boils of gods and goddesses
or when the hues of gold and silver yearn for solitude as they
transform into something new; more precious, more expensive.
falling from the slick blade of a hero, poison to any mortal. but us-
humans- are wicked. if that blade falls into our palms, we'd corrupt
the world by spilling ichor for our mutual misunderstandings. so
we let ichor fall back into history- a curse for the reader- hoping one day that it'll fall into innocent hands so that once again,
unleashed from it's chains, would come Hade's hounds coming
to get you.

we don't even realize
how quick like
a sharp breath,
a lunge in the ocean,
a ***** of a needle,
a shot of lightening,
is how fast our
lives boil with our
deeds

suppose you've done
all that you've wanted,
but are you ready to
go to sleep?

perhaps in this life
our soles never touched
the same ground
but the next time
our souls will

i will love myself forever, i promise.

there used to be
a time in which
i didn't pour myself
into my poems
but everything
changed when
i felt my first
betrayal,
sadness
and anxiety

as time went by
i spent countless
hours, focusing on
miniature poems in my
mind and actually
having the courage
to post some of them,
that was the moment
that was worth
living and existing for.

my poems have been my best therapy