Don't really know what I'm feeling
I'm probably feeling too much
Don't know why I feel so lonely
When every day I get your touch
Don't know why I feel numb
Numbing is a strategy
Thoughts these day get so tough
Having a heavy melody

Destiny of our souls?
Where is it written, show me,
My mind is desperate to know,
Where all this is gonna lead me
I am not ready yet
To give up on every dream
I know I keep steady
In times like these
I'm moving slowly

But with connected hearts
Art is not a real choice
It's a remedy
The only place that restores
My inner voice and my integrity

Does that mean I lack authenticity?
Maybe, out of necessity?
Maybe it's my conditioned brain,
Always wired to simply be afraid.
I've let confusion lead the way
In many of my decisions,
I've let anxiety lead me astray,
Make me lose goals and precision.

Now I am here and typing
Words in my phone from
The heart.
And I rejuvenate my core,
Feeling it's warmth,
Health being restored,
Every tiny step counts...

There's no way this depression
Will feed itself off of me.

Knowledge only takes you so far;
Authenticity reveals your complexity,
Humility accepts your vulnerability,
Surrendering accepts the hand of the one
that is all things: knowledgeable, authentic, humble,
and submitted to the ultimate power in the universe.

She is not the reflection they painted,
nor the role they assigned.
She is the breath of the earth,
the roots and the bloom,
both soft and unyielding.
She carries worlds within her—
and owes nothing to anyone.

I’m weird,  
for dreaming in broad daylight,
for speaking in riddles,
and letting my silence speak louder than words.  

I’m weird,
because my thoughts spill out in silence,
hovering on my lips like secrets,
and when I speak,
the world looks away,
as if the truth in my voice
is something they’re not ready to hear.

I’m weird,
for finding beauty in broken things—
the fragments others throw away,
and in the bruises I hide beneath my skin.
They whisper stories,
reminding me of the pieces I hold together in myself,
stories (that) only I seem to understand.

I’m weird,  
because I laugh when I want to cry,  
and cry when no one else does—  
my tears fall for the stars,  
and my heart breaks for the moon.  
I feel too much,  
love too fiercely,  
as if my soul was made  
for a world too fragile to last.

I’m weird,
for I don’t fit in the spaces they give me,  
so I carve my own,  
even if it means standing  
on the edge, alone.

But if weird is what I am,  
then let it be,  
for I’d rather be this beautiful ache,  
this painful bloom of something true,  
than fold myself small enough  
to fit into a world  
that never made room  
and never will.

I’m weird,  
and maybe that’s the best thing I’ll ever be—  
not perfect, not easy to understand,  
but real, raw,  
and unashamed  
of every odd, jagged piece  
that makes me whole.

I am enough as I am.

I don't need to impress. I don't need to entertain. I don't need to please. I don't need to satisfy.

I can just be what I feel like being.
I can just do what I feel like doing.

She is the poem I never wrote,
but always wanted to write.
The poem I’d sit down with,
every intention of writing,
but could not come up with
the right words.
Sweet, but fierce.
Discarding perfection,
only asking for presence.
A flower that learned to survive
in a drought.

She is a poem that takes
the pieces of herself and
arranges them in love.
Not the loving pieces easily
found in the light
that’s too easy.
But the pieces that accidentally
wandered in the dark and got lost.
The pieces of herself she forgot
were there.
She takes her time,
finding these pieces and putting them
back where they belong.

When she speaks,
her tongue is like a hammer,
hammering every nail that needs
to be put into place.
Even if she misses and, instead,
hits her hand,
she doesn’t tear everything down
regardless of how much it may benefit her.
She repositions herself
and starts again.

She is the poem I never wrote,
but always wanted to write.
As hard as it is to start again,
she’s never afraid to start again

There are many clothes in the world
that you can try on today
be it designer brand name or not,
that can fit on a clothing rack.
Just because something is made
doesn’t mean that you must fit it,
or the expectation of wearing it.

Not everything is going to fit.
Not everything is going to be your size,
including emotions.

Nothing good comes from waiting
for someone else’s approval.
If someone sees you,
let them see you for the remarkable
beauty that you are.


No matter if you mix and match,
or if you have on the full set.
Even if you see someone wearing
their emotions, and it’s the type of person
you want to be,
there is nothing wrong with trying something on.
But don’t get mad if it doesn’t fit.
It may not be the right time for you right now.

There is power in letting go.
There is also power in walking away.
There is no need to pretend that you’re less than
trying to keep up with a trend.
There is a lot of power in letting go,
and finding all the beautiful things
that you were meant to be