Today the weather mirrored me—
gray thoughts hung low, heavy and wide.
I lay in bed, heard leaves brush secrets,
heard the wind howl what I hide.

I peeked through blinds, saw flooded walks,
rain pouring like it never ends.
A world soaked through in quiet grief,
no rush to break, no need to mend.

I stepped outside—my shoes went dark,
each step a soft and sinking sigh.
My hair, once dried from morning’s rinse,
now clung like truths I brushed aside.

Cold traced fingers down my neck,
the air was sharp, the silence loud.
But somehow, soaked and shivering,
it felt like standing in a crowd.

It hasn’t rained in far too long—
just like I haven’t cried for days.
But now the sky and I agree:
we flood in our own sacred ways.

No night is longer
                     Or shorter
No day Narrower
                     Or wider
No interval between
                     Then and now
Your'e a constant
Within thought
Within experience of unconditional love

i have not written
for days,
and it makes me feel
cursed!
Sick!


my head tilting,
dizzy with vertigos,
a nauseous  stirring
with words churning -
trapped.
what was that?
a sound?
a gasp, a sigh or a scream
or the desperation to bleed
words -
unless they break free from this prison
in my head.


the air lacks -
maybe some oxygen,
maybe some space,
despite deep breaths,
a familiar feeling -
the air being swallowed whole
before it can settle,
or submerging my face into water
bursting bubbles to fracture the silence.
maybe they are taking it all
maybe the 'words' are still wondering
if it's worth leaving,
if it's worth  escaping
a place that feeds them




how much do they need
to spark a flame -
burn
a wildfire in my head,
to set themselves free,
or carve open a wound
to spills through veins,
and smudging their escape
on parched plain  papers.



how many more days?
scraping tally marks on cemented walls
impatiently relying on these slow
screeches between seconds.

Confused soul.
A little sad, kind of bored,
still catching sparks in my head.

Twenties feel strange
especially twenty-five,
like I’m walking in shoes
that never really fit right.

Sometimes I wonder
why I think a guy could shift my world,
when most days,
I can’t even shift my mood.

It doesn’t make sense.
Maybe it’s not supposed to.
But who cares,
it’s not even realistic.

The feeling comes in waves:
quiet, weird, a bit silly.
Like I miss someone
I’ve never even met.

I’ve given myself
all the right speeches
be strong,
be your own person.
you don’t need anyone,
just live your life.

But then I think of him.
Whoever he is.
And it all feels soft
and silly again.

Like maybe I’d kiss him,
then laugh,
because it’s all so
embarrassing and human.

I ask the universe, softly,
show me the way.
Maybe I’m not lost,
or totally lost,
just letting
the quiet moments hold me.

I held my tongue when you walked away,
Told myself it hurt less not to say.
But silence only made it burn—
Some lessons, you don’t choose to learn.

I rarely cry, I play things cool,
But you broke through that guarded rule.
A bed, a hand, a whispered truth—
Then nothing. Like you’d just cut loose.

You gave me hope, then took it back,
Left me questioning what I lack.
I wasn’t some girl passing through—
I was a friend who cared for you.

No closure came, no words to mend,
Just quiet from someone I called a friend.
So here it is, my final line:
You hurt me—deep. But I’ll be fine.

My hair was always dark—
A quiet oath to who I’d been.
It clung to me like truth,
Framing features I had learned to love.
Even as a girl, I wandered shades—
But the dark always called me home.
Strangers knew me by its wave,
Its certainty, its ease.
It was mine.
And it was enough.
Until you.

You liked bright.
You liked wild.
You liked her—
The red that lit your eyes.
So I told myself,
Maybe if I bled the dark away,
You’d see me with that same fire.

So I sat beneath the light and bowl,
Watched bleach strip years from my strands,
Watched red bleed into who I was,
Not because I loved it,
But because you might love me.

You said you liked it.
So I added more.
Layered hope on top of damage,
Waiting for your heart to catch.

And it did.
You liked me—or at least the version
I burned myself to become.
But now, in the quiet of my mirror,
I meet a stranger with copper strands,
Not the girl who knew her worth,
But one who traded it away
For something small
And fleeting.

I miss the girl who never asked
If she was enough.
I miss the dark.
I miss the strength.
I miss the truth
That once lived in my reflection.

And now I know—
Love that demands you change
Will never hold the parts
You buried to be chosen.

I should’ve never gone red.
Not for you.
Not for anyone.
Not at the cost of me.

I gave you my heart
You gave me indifference
I gave you love without condition
You gave me ultimatums
I gave you reality
You gave me fantasy
I gave you fairness and understanding
You gave me barriers and jealousy
I  willingly gave to you myself in the most difficult time of my life
You demanded from me in the most difficult time or your life
I built your confidence
You tried to rob me of mine
I gave you predictability
You gave me impulsivity
I gave to you what I hadn't given anyone else
You gave everyone else what you couldn't give to me
I gave you tenderness, affection, and chance upon chance
You gave me labels, name calling, and disdain
I gave you open spaces
You backed me into a corner
I gave you honesty and trust
I listened to you and tried to understand your perspective even when I disagreed with you
You complained that all I did was argue while often putting me in a defensive position
I left the door open for possibility
You slammed the door in my face
I tried to hold on to you for dear life
You pushed me away and discarded me as one would of trash
I lost
You won
Congratulations

Yesterday you walked across my face,
Something runs down my back.

I don't know how many verses I can use,
to describe what I felt.

My soul fell at risk,
from nostalgic memories.

A whirlwind in my heart,
and a curiosity of my soul.

The beauty of the past,
and in the desert, neither shadows nor water.

Just a little love,
and memories of fairy kisses.

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?