Within a book, she keeps each hurtful deed,  
A catalog of wrongs beneath each name.  
Her wounded heart, a garden choked by weeds,  
And every page ignites an inner flame.  

She reads their sins in ink that does not fade,  
A testament to pain she cannot shake.  
The trust she gave, betrayed and left unpaid,  
Becomes a chain of bitterness to take.  

She fears the world, where lies and shadows play,  
Believing none are true, that all deceive.  

Her heavy book has left her heart in gray,  
A life too bound by hurt to yet believe.  

If she could set the pages all afire,  
Might love, not anger, rise from such a pyre?

Come bring the bad news.
And tell me all the ways.
You've been feeling blue.

Rest your head upon.
My shoulders.

As we gaze up at the moon.
The night is dark but there's,
Still light to be seen.

You've got a lot of living.
Left to do.

Can't leave your life.
Up to fate.

Hoping you can change.
The chances of the game.

Your life is in your hands,
My dear.

Like the dark it can play,
At being a trickster too.

For a little while you can.
Rest your worries here.

Underneath the stars so bright.
Till the morning light comes through.

Only then when it appears.
I hope you don't feel blue.

If somehow you do.
I've got enough warmth.
For two.

It’s a longing that runs deep
It’s a fire that lights it
It’s a blaze that you seek
It’s a desire that falls neat
It’s a blush that you heat
It’s a lust that you whip
It’s a whisper that feels cheap
It’s a lump that you dip
It’s a tear that you lick
It’s a feeling that leaves quick

It’s a Lover who felt sick

To me, a hug is the most intimate thing—
more than a kiss,
more than words whispered in the dark.
It’s the silence between two heartbeats
when walls collapse
and breath is shared like trust.
I don’t let many near,
don’t crave the touch of just anyone—
but with you, I caved
like I’d been waiting
my whole life to be held.

Our hearts were the closest
they will ever be—
not in conversation,
not in memory,
but in that breathless pause
between your arms wrapping tight
and my worries letting go.

I’ve been so touch-starved
I daydreamed of what you gave so briefly.
You held me like I was meant to be there.
And then you left—
not knowing you took something
I’d barely just begun to believe I deserved.

I still call you just to say
the most ordinary things—
a song I loved, a thought I had,
a funny sign on the side of the road.
Your voice still reaches me,
but through miles that stretch like oceans,
and it’s not the same as having you here.

I still go to the places we planned,
but your absence echoes louder
than any crowded room.
Even the puzzles sit unfinished,
pieces scattered like remnants
of a life that once made sense.

You were my safe place,
the steady ground beneath me,
and now I walk unsteady,
reaching for something
that isn’t there.

But soon—soon, you’ll be here.
And for a moment, I’ll breathe again,
watching your smile fill the spaces
that have ached for too long.
I’ll memorize your voice,
trace the feeling of belonging
before it slips away again.

And then, you’ll leave.
And I’ll know the weight of missing you
before it even begins.
Because this time, I understand
how deep absence cuts,
how cruel it is to taste love again
only to have it torn away.

I don’t know why life did this to me,
why I can’t just sit in your presence,
why I have to learn to live
with only shadows of what was.
But if I could freeze time,
I’d stop it the moment
you walk through that door—
before absence has the chance
to find me again.

Some poems
                     Offer reflection
                     Memories
                     On still water
                    
Some poems
                     Become the water
                     Converse
                     As ripples
                     In a breeze

Some poems
                     Become infectious
                     Inflame emotions
                     Penetrate your skin
                     Have a half life
                     That lasts generations

Coughing,
grasping for walls
and promises I already broke.
Said I’d quit—
but tonight,
I wanted silence more than strength.

Panic hits,
then slips.
Your name dissolves
with every breath I steal from my lungs.
I wave off the world,
sink into smoke,
and call it peace.

One star streaks
across my high.
I don’t wish.
I just watch—
hoping morning forgets
like I finally did.

The Haze I Chose

Coughing hard,
palms flailing,
grasping at a wall that won’t hold me.
My lungs burn with the lie
I swore I wouldn’t tell again.
Not to them—
but to me.
I said I was done.
That I’d stop chasing silence
in the smoke.
But silence was sweeter
than the echo of your name.

I turn to my side,
curled like the child I used to be
before I knew how sharp love could feel
when it leaves.

I wanted to drown it all—
the hope,
the dreams,
the memories I hate that I still replay.
Every time I screamed,
“You’re so mean,”
and every time I didn’t say it out loud.
Every time I let you win,
pretending it was okay
to be invisible
in your arms.

I set the clock
before I forget the day,
before I lose the minutes
that once held meaning.
My phone buzzes.
I try to reply.
My thumbs miss the words,
and even my autocorrect knows
I’m not making sense tonight.
Messages opened.
None sent.
Just more unread chaos.

My roommate’s voice cuts through the fog,
a soft,
“Are you okay?”
I lift a hand,
wave her away.
That’s all I have to give.

And then—
panic.
It crashes like a wave I didn’t brace for.
Heart racing,
thoughts spiraling.
I feel like time has shattered
and left me in slow-motion shards.
Until—
it doesn’t hurt.

Suddenly,
it’s gone.
The ache,
the scream,
the version of me that begged to stay clean.
Vanished
in a single, glowing ember.

That first inhale warned me—
told me it wasn’t worth it,
told me this isn’t how you heal.
But she was drowned out
by the next wave,
a softer voice
that promised peace
at any cost.
She took my hand
and led me far,
far away
from the girl who used to care.

My mind,
now unburdened,
floats above
the ruins of what you left behind.
No fear.
No grief.
Just space.
A quiet room to feel… nothing.

And that’s what I wanted, right?

To never again remember
how it felt to be in your arms
and still feel so alone.
To never again wake up
wondering what I did wrong.
**** doesn’t fix it.
I know.
But for now—
it blurs the frame
where your face used to live.

I gave you everything.
So what’s left to protect?

I scribble thoughts
in half-sentences
and broken rhymes,
hoping morning-me
will find something honest
in the mess.
Some version of me
worth keeping.

I pull the blanket close,
tuck my knees tight,
as if I could disappear into cotton and warmth.
The ceiling fades.
I’m watching stars now.
They twinkle just enough
to hold me.
One shoots,
and I pretend it’s for me.
A wish I can’t say out loud.

And then—
I drift.

Will I wake
and see the sky
or just the lie I told myself
as I faded?

Either way,
I won’t see you.

Not tonight.

I wanted to speak,
to tear through the lies.
But He was there—
He saw through their eyes.

So I stayed quiet,
though it broke me in two.
Sometimes the loudest defense
is knowing He knew.