I’m just the dreamer, lost in the static of the world—
a perfect schemer trying to carve a shape from shadows,
trying to make something of my own in a place that feels
prewritten. But who really knows what it means to lose a piece
of your ******* soul—

not metaphor, not poetry— but that quiet, splintering
ache when belief begins to bleed.

And that’s the cruelest part: when the dreaming continues,
but the dreaming itself feels so ******* lonely.
When every idea echoes in an empty room, and you realize
the silence is louder than your hope.

Still— you dream. Not because it’s easy. Not because it
makes real sense. But because what else is left when the
world stops listening, and you still believe? A piece of
that dream!

To the girls who grew up too fast,
now women who cling to hopes of magic,
I'd like to propose a toast and raise a glass-
the reality we escape from is tragic.

Whether your vision is a knight or prince,
or even a jester at times,
I want you to know I feel less alone,
drinking tea and reading your rhymes.

To the ones who whisper to stars at night,
who still make wishes when clocks strike eleven- eleven,
we may not have fairytales etched in gold,
but we scribble our own versions of heaven.

To the ones who carry too much weight,
and still find time to dream,
here’s to healing in fragments and poems,
and patching our hearts at the seams.

I really don't know what to call this....
but you'd glance my way and this feeling would wash over me
like you had set a cage of butterflies free inside me
your eyes made me beyond nervous
they were so deep, intoxicating
I wanted to drown in them and run away all at the same time
this does not make sense because you are you and I am me
a boy and a dreamer
you are like the ground, steady, stable, always there
you sleep at night and work in the day.... nothing about your vision is blurry
sleep and myself are enemies, dreams consume my day and night
my heads spinning and nothing makes sense
you my love are perfect well I'm a paradox
hold me close.... for another second just incase my illusions come true....

Used to walk through life
Nose stuck in a book,
only saw the world
in periphery of pages.

An artist of escape,
a dreamer in your youth.
Fleeing reality through stories
in all ages.

Looking up, growing up, into
something of your own.
Writing new worlds,
stuck exploring, dreams grown.
Like you did, now see
beauty in periphery.

An escape artist turned explorer.

The stars hold tight to threads of night,
burning with secrets forged in light.
Comets, like wanderers lost in time,
once bound by fate, now break their line.

One by one, they blaze and fade,
each carving paths the heavens made.
And I, adrift in hollow space,
watched my UFO embrace the chase.

An oracle whispered, bold yet true,
"Their light is theirs, but so is yours too."
It led me where no trail was drawn,
but I alone chose to go beyond.

I would not follow, nor outshine,
but forge a path that felt like mine.
Not just a spark in endless blue,
but fire that burned with something new.

there were worlds in my eyes that no one else could see....
they called me a dreamer, the way I would imagine the world not as it's truly seen
I was anything but....
I was set apart
always running in circles as they all think it's so easy
but I was living in a non reality
my mind spoke to loud
they have no idea how everything is so hard.

When the dream ends
And the dreamer dies
Would the world stop to mourn
Or would it continue its revolution;

With neither an impressive gun salute
Nor just a simple cry of sadness
How long until the warrior's song fade
Into the reality's cruel silence;

When the dreamer dies
He dreams of an eternal edifice.