You wanted a woman, full of love’s embrace,
Unscarred by doubt, in a gentle space.
But not one wiser, shaped by her fight,
Learning from truths that emerge in the night.

You sought a woman with eyes that could shine,
Yet never imagined they’d see through your lies.
Not just a listener to every word spun,
But one who speaks boldly, knowing she’s won.

You demanded a woman, strong and refined,
But not one to build a life intertwined.
Just a rare jewel to keep on display,
Reaping the labor you forced her to pay.

Yet here she stands, like a fire untamed,
Refusing to dim or be easily claimed.
Her spirit forged by moments unkind,
Each scar a story, each story aligned.

She no longer waits for approval or praise,
No longer trapped in your self-serving maze.
Step by step, she has found her own path,
Unafraid of her power, unscathed by your wrath.

Accepting no less than the respect she deserves,
The kind you give freely, but she now reserves.
She now sees the heights she’s destined to reach,
Aware that your ego can’t bear her to breach.

Her self-assurance glows like the sun’s warm rays,
Marking the end of your manipulation days.
And perhaps that’s why—deep down, we both know—
You never took the time to see her grow.

You ignored her strength, overlooked her pain,
Blind to her progress, immune to her gain.
But now, as she rises, unyielding and true,
She steps from your shadow into a sky wide and blue.

How far she has traveled, how much she has won,
No longer tethered; she’s embraced who she’s become.

His whole life unfolded like a well written manual, everything was planned, his own design,
In a search for feelings lost in time,
His own guidance was the anchor that kept his ship ashore,
One day he had planned to not guide himself any more,
To reel in his anchor and float into the deep sea.

One day he had planned to let himself be guided by the darkness that swallows all,
His death was all but accidental,
His death was all but unplanned,
He wanted control over his entire life and so his death was a part of that.

He had written his letters,
Though he doubts the words will ever seek to be read,
He had cast aside the schackles of his labor,
The one thing where he had no control, And he had sold his house to a newlywed couple,
They had something he had never planned on achieving.

Now he had taken a lift up 9 stories high,
Up a building he had always admired from afar,
A piece of architecture he could always appreciate.

He stands with his toes over the ledge,
Most hesitant when faced with a leap this far,
But he had planned to make it quick,
So he jumped and fell,
He had planned for it to be cold,
For it to be fast and swift,
Yet he could've never planned on,
The view from halfway down.

As if time had stopped,
All the feelings that he thought he had lost reveal themselves stronger than he had ever planned on,
He didn't want his life to be over,
He never planned on this feeling.

And before he could exclaim to God for mercy,
Just as he had planned, the concrete made him meet his end.

Lingering pain

I yearn for comfort, and relief; help and refuge.
But to no avail.
My pain lingers, and it hurts -- discreetly. It is unbearable.
But with time, it passes. Not in a good way. Gone and dormant for now. But will torment you again, and make you sick. A virus.
In fact, now that i've mentioned it. It's gone again.

Essentially depending on the hour, three to four or even six in the morning, I roll down my sleeves and allow my scars to breathe.

The scars on my arms that mark and resemble emotional pain. They themselves take deep breaths, just like I.

But. No other hour I allow them to, for they must be concealed and hid from the many monsters that roam and universally rend me in particular.

Though, it's nice to know I am not alone. I love my scars, even if I cut and deliberately open them on purpose. They are almost reminiscent of a friend you know is too good for you, too kind, too selfless and too patient.

Like a wonderful friend you adore, taking the form of a cut on your arm.

Two Sides. One which aims to please, obey, reassure, hide and convince through the pain they bear.

And the other is defiant, livid, refusing and careless - thundering very often, reminiscent to be of an angry and stormy sky! Though this one also bears pain...

Did you notice something the two have in common? Yes, that's right! The both of them bear pain - a mutual pain despite how different.

This Is A Trauma Response. Two Sides that are moulded and melded together against my will - the two children trying in their own ways to protect me: undergoing psychological abuse and neglect from strangers which claim to be paternal figures.

Sometimes, the obedient child forces my face a smile when facing the monsters, an attempt to deceive and simutaneously protect me.

Not only that, but the noise of footsteps against creaky floors, presumably to be the monsters approaching my room, the child will forcefully pull my head under the blanket, an attempt to fool the monster that i'm sleeping...

Though this action isn't consistent.

Sometimes, the naughty child snaps with rage and defiance! Running their mouth, slamming doors and even shoving. This one is fed-up. Fed-up of the mistreat I receive universally.

If anyone dares to oppose this one, or get close to me, they'll lunge forward with snapping jaws full of hate. Further hinderance can elevate the words, soon into violence they crave and harbor.

But deep down, the children, myself included, wish for harmony and peace. All these aspects which will never be requited...

I earned this status in a very vulnerable and upsetting moment in my life.

Of course, it was exploited and took advantage of. Me.

I served as an inside joke, a clown for others to get a kick out of, free use and laughter for others.

All whilst patronising me! I was oblivious. This, accompanied by other hardships, continued for a ruthless and renting four years, until it ceased.

The joke had gotten old, and they let me be.

More or less, this goes to show what true reality is like. Vulnerability is what monsters prey after! Like a shark huffing the scent of blood underwater, they prowl.

It’s been enough years now,
Enough years for me to let you go from my mind.
Yet each time a sad song plays,
Your memory returns, and tears fill my eyes.

Was it really that difficult for you to love me?
Am I just a fool to still hold onto the memories?
Everyone says you didn’t deserve me anyway,
But all I feel is I was the one who didn’t deserve to be loved.

The brown eyes I fell in love with,
They’ll never change.
I searched for that warmth in others' eyes,
But left them cold and estranged.

I tried to find what you once gave,
But only left them torn,
Passing on the heartbreak you left me,
In eyes just like yours, forlorn.

I feel like a ghost
I’m neither here nor there
Always within that in between

Filling up some unused space
Creaking floorboards beneath my feet

I’m that chill in the air

Barely there

A soft whisper