“cool, calm, and collected”
that’s how i get described
im so self aware
but how self aware is a girl who’s ripping out her hair?

i’m cool but i feel the anger
it burns and festers deep in my soul
i don’t know what to do with it
if i let it out i’ll be seen as something different

i try to stay calm
but i’m fixing to crash out
i don’t know how much more i can take
before i make this a room to rage in

i’m full and collected
i’m full with an ache and deep sadness
i can not handle or describe
i collect all the pain and agony
push it deep inside

so mature for my age
but i just want to kick and scream
have a full grown tantrum
to put myself at ease

i have myself together
but i dont know who i am
i haven’t known for a long time
that girl from 2017
i don’t even recognize

at least ive had a few glow ups
but those still aren’t enough
to satisfy any of the boys i wish i could love

“cool, calm, and collected”
fully self aware
mature for my age
fully put together
a glow up here and there

but how self aware is a girl ripping out her hair?

Living the good life,

ruminating lush grasses --


in the shade of trees.

she calls me by my name,
and i answer without words—
only an offering:
a silent prayer,
bare skin,
a breath held,
a promise kept sacred,
to worship her.

she calls,
and i answer with stillness.
like dusk slipping
into the night—
utterly, completely—
pulling me apart
under the tears
of moonlight.

she calls
even as i soak
in her waves,
as they kiss my collarbone,
make heaven blush
when i fall to my knees,
laced around her soul.

her intention to claim me
was there from the start.
written in her whispers
******* my thoughts.
she never asked
what broke me.
only reached with rippled hands
to take my weight,
press it into the riverbed
like something malevolent,
already forgiven.

I was told frowning caused wrinkles
When you were sad
Your childhood was wasting away

But now I know all emotions have a cause
That crying is only natural
Sadness isn't what makes our world turn gray

When she was the one who loved me, she asked:

"How can you be some calm?"

Less of a question,
more of an accusation,
as all arguments possess.

I found it interesting.

I'm sure at the time
my answer was melancholy
Sad, even.

In truth, I couldn't answer.
Not properly.
Not in the moment.

The reason is simple.

I think there is something
inherently beautiful
in being a person born
from violence,
rage,
hatred.
Evil.

And through all of that
being someone who
until their last scrap patience
will choose a path of calm,
peaceful,
gentle.
Sadness.

It is easier to be angry
than it is to be sad.

I would rather be sad
than point the anger I bury
at you.

I deserve peace and calm and I am able to refocus my attention.

The heat of midday has passed
giving way to a cool evening breeze.
The Sun is slowly falling into the horizon
and its beams cast lengthening shadows.

Other than the gentle rustling of the trees,
as the wind breathes over the leaves,
the only sounds are the trilling of insects
and the glorious birdsong
sharing the warmth of a summer’s eve.

We sit in silence,
letting the warm rays caress us,
basking in the tranquility of the scene.

I feel my eyes growing heavy
as a calmness envelops me
and a sense of joy
washes away my cares.

You whisper,“Look!”
and opening my eyes
I catch my breath as I view the sky
turning vibrant orange and red
as the Sun touches that distant horizon.

Sun-blanketed sheets,
a crumpled map of us,
our bodies
a single braid
beneath.

Yesterday’s coffee
- cold -
but still enough.

Dust waltzing
in the slanted light,
each one
a tiny planet
taking flight.

Your breath,
a slow rhythm
on my skin,
quieting all within.

No need for words,
no need to see—
just this
slow
breathing
symphony.

my room --
it's away from the people,
the anxiety, 
the problems,
my grades,
my friends,
my co-workers --
it's just my room.
my sanctuary.

i can move things around
whenever i please,
shift the space
to make it more me.
it's mine.
and its peace.
it's my sanctuary.