It starts like static-
a flicker in the dark,
a shift in the air
before the collapse.

I'm washing dishes.
I'm crossing a street.
I'm laughing-
and then I'm not.

Something small tilts the world.
My chest tightens,
my skin doesn't feel like mine,
and the moment swallows me whole.

I hate how they still live in me-
their voices in the corners,
their hands on the memories
I never wanted to keep.

The anger simmers
under every surface.
For what they did,
for what they didn't,
for how they shaped me
without permission.

I trace the outlines of what could’ve been-
a word spoken,
a door opened,
a version of me
they never got to break.

But the past is a house
that locks from the inside.
I scream through the keyhole
and call it healing.

Some days I am a person.
Some days I am a symptom.
I carry both
without dropping either.

I live with tremors.
I move through fog.
I smile like nothing cracked,
and shake
when no one is looking.

And still-
somehow-
I stay.
I breathe.
I come back
to myself.

Again.

woke up  
on tuesday morning,  

one foot  
in front of the other.  

no rush,  
no hurry—  

just me,  
blue and under  
the weather.  

i used to find  
sunshine  
in so many places,  

but i lost  
the best  
i’ve ever had—  

and now,  
the sun feels  
a little colder
now.

i wonder  
whether  
it gets better.  

i used to be  
a goal-getter.  
now i’m in overdrive,  

short-term PTSD—  
nerves wrecked,  
spirit stretched.  

so many days  
crying,  
wondering if  
this ever ends—  

’cause i’m tired  
of living  
a bittersweet story,  

and tired  
of being  
down bad.  

you were  
the best—  

the best  
i’ve ever had.

Sun's out, the water gleams,
A vibrant lure of summer dreams.
But in the closet, hangs a dread,
A whisper from inside your head.
The bathing suit, a tiny span,
A mirror reflecting a flawed plan.
Each stretch mark, every curve and line,
Becomes a subject, far from divine.
The whispers grow, a judging choir.
Unable to do what my heart desires.

the feeling of a paused
explosion, breathe in- out.
only the smallest spark; yet
I feel like I've been
electrocuted.

the clock marks twelve with a
hollow chime.
in its wake, the air thickens, heavy
with absence.
shadows ripple across the walls,
shifting like thoughts half-formed,
dark and untethered.

the corner stretches, widens,
becomes something deeper,
a mouth that might swallow me
if i meet its gaze too long

the ceiling groans softly,
its beams contracting
as if under the weight
of something unseen.

i sit still, breathing shallow,
watching the shadows watch me,
and wonder if the clock
will ever strike one.

I'd breathe, with fear of losing
all this air I've held in
for so long

I'd walk, with fear of flying
away from the ground I cherish
to float 'till I'm missing

I'd gaze, with fear of longing
and nothing looking back
at this insignificant me

I'd build, with fear of breaking
even myself under the cracking
weight of my tinkering

I'd write, with fear of silence
when the scribbles become wordless
only echoing worthlessness

I'd love, with fear of rejection
from expressions told too loudly
and brazenly

I'd live, with fear of death
that comes not from an end of an age
but from the motion stopping

I'd step back, with fear
of being forgotten
and lose the universe
I used as a canvas
to build systems,
write worlds,
inspire lives,
shoot frames...
and finally—
sleep

The nervous flicker of the candle's light
Dances wildly in my glistening eyes.
Feeling the cold night's tight embrace,
I quietly watch as the candle burns away.

Then I glance at my own guilty hands,
Smoothest skin ending at bitten down nails.
While my frenetic heart slams against my ribs,
Loud and clear, over and over again.

I had a thought —
it slipped.
A line to speak —
just clipped.

I meant to say
what’s wrong,
but maybe I
came on too strong.

My chest said go,
my mouth said wait.
My throat just held
a heavy weight.

I wrote it down —
then backspaced all.
It felt too weak,
it felt too small.

I wish I could
explain this fear,
but words run dry
when you get near.

So if I stall
or start to shake —
it’s not a game,
it isn’t fake.

It’s just that when
my mind gets loud,
my voice gets lost
inside the crowd.