back in time  to the stranger-danger eighties
  when you could really taste the concrete
and the end of the world really meant it
  (or that's what it felt like anyway)

I have these…childhood memories.
I remember;

Tears.
Fear.
Raised voices.
A broken windshield.
A singed curtain.
Broken hearts.
Broken vows.
And so, so many broken promises.

A room that was mine and also not mine.
A door that never felt like it closed.
Walls that learned to listen.
Drawers that held their breath.
I learned silence like a second language,
and tried to follow your lead.
Your voice became my voice.
I smiled when I wanted to frown.
I made myself smaller
in places that should have been safe.

                      “She’s my favourite.”

So I escaped
to where you couldn’t reach me—
in the corners of my mind,
to stories that never knew your name…
or your kind.
Places you could never follow.
Worlds that felt like mine.

                    I remember your hands—
                    not where I want them.

I remember the sharpness
of footsteps in the hall.
The sound of keys—
how even that
could make my stomach drop.

      "Is this going to be a good night,
                        or a bad one?"

And I remember his voice,
too close again.
I hoped, stupidly, he might’ve changed.

But he hasn’t.
He never will.
And when he spoke, I trembled.
Not because I didn’t know—
but because I did.

Because I’d heard it all before.
Those saccharine words,
dripping—
sickly sweet…empty.
"I'm sorry,"
falling out of your mouth
like it cost you nothing.

And I used to hope you meant it.
That maybe this time
you’d keep your word.

But you didn’t.
You never did.
Another promise,
broken.

I trace the shape of the memories
only when I choose to.
Some still ache when I touch them.
Some don’t belong to me alone.

But I am still here.
And this room—this one—
is mine.

You haunted everything.
But not this.
Not now.

This part of me—
is yours no longer.
Not in this room.
Not in these walls.
Not in me.

Family has always been  
a vague concept to me.  
You let me into yours—  
still, I didn’t feel at home.

It takes time to unlearn a broken mold,  
a family so heartless, so cold,  
to find one that truly loves—  
through thick and thin.

At your family’s table,  
laughter rings like wind chimes—  
familiar, effortless, soft.  
Your family leans in, passing bowls with ease;  
My family stands back—hands buried in pockets.

My family could never sit that close  
without shattering glassware,  
or silence heavier  
with every breath.

My family was meant to be broken...  
too many flavors of opinions,  
none who get along,  
forever far from resilience.

Even yours isn’t perfect,  
But their warmth comes so easily
Why does mine freeze at every smile?
You say your family is crazy,
but they show up—  
more than mine ever did.

Some remember me—  
a cousin, a daughter,  
a memory with laughter,  
on quiet Sundays  
when the kettle’s on  
and the world feels soft.  

Others keep me tucked  
in unopened branches—  
too polite to reach,  
too distant to prune,  
unbothered by who's missing whom.

But your family—  
they make it seem effortless,  
being together for a reason  
other than obligation,  
regardless the season.

They love openly,  
and welcome those who are new—  
an additional member to be let in,  
a new story to be explored and loved.  

That’s never how my family was.
Just hands in pockets,
and doors half-closed.
Not even close.

And somewhere along the line,
I must've lost time,
When the room gets cruelly bloomed,
And it's not my fingers but yours,
Holding down the last sip of the night

I see her
The way she stands
The way she smiles
It angers me.

Why won’t she listen
Why won’t she quit
She’s mine and should-
Always listen,

It makes her think I’m cruel
I’m cold and incapable of love
But I gave her all and everything I had
I install her with fear, for the world-
And all that’s around her
I truly love her, but wished she’d disappear.

She wants to make her own decisions
Fine go be your own grown up
And find out the world can’t take you
You’re too much until you’re too little
She’s the thread, and I keep pulling
Why does she want to leave…

They’ll eat you alive
I’m just trying to help
Even out of spite,
So when she breaks-
At least I warned her
She’ll never make it alone.

True love for me,
It wasn't when we kissed deeply.
True love for me,
It shouldn't feel like a duty-

When you put just enough effort to keep me around blindly.
True love for me,
Now I see clearly,
It was not when we didn't care to change for it.

True love for me,
It was when my mom still made food for me,
After seeing her husband's toxicity.
True love for me,
It was my mom when she still helped
The late-night assignments with me-

Even when her red life juice spilled on the floor,
After he crushed her skull to the moldy rotten door,
Only for she didn't feel like pouring her love,
Into a person full of violence and gore-

Who can't even consider his son watching and hearing the storm.
When he just needs to be four.

no one’s eyes made me write—
my life did.
the things I’ve endured,
the family I never had,
the trauma I carry
turned me into a poet.

it forced the ink
out of my veins—
red, yet black,
like the blood
still coursing
through me.

I bleed onto paper
without a knife,
just wounds that never heal,
just pain that never
learns to stop.

it drains me dry—
and yet I stand,
barely.

begging to be taken,
begging to vanish,
to disappear
from a world
I was never meant
to be born in.