i have this routine
whenever i ought to go out
the others get back to their homes
looking forward to relax
i go back to my own pit of sadness
a long, old friend
who waits with open arms, no pretense

it's like all the smiling i did just drains
and i stare at the hollow remains
a version of me that danced in light
buried now in soothing night

do i ever stop hating this self?
or is it a cycle, a slow-burning melt?

someone looked the wrong way maybe
or a phrase pierced through like it could slay me
i'm called dramatic
i'm told i feel too much
as if emotion's a crime
or a fragile crutch

is it too wrong to feel everything?
when nothing inside has clarity, only sting

maybe it's just me
wanting to be seen
beyond the mask
beneath the sheen
only if they read what i truly write
not skim the glitter
but sit with the fight

and no, i don’t have the charm or grace
i carry this weight in every space
like a broken doll
chipped and mute
hah—dolls, so fake
so absolute

porcelain skin, perfection’s lie
i’m the crack in that flawless sky

what do i fill this bottomless pit with?
when it breathes, when it lives, when it rips

swallowing joy before i even begin
and i’m so scared of ******* it up again
can’t even try to say it out loud
just too sad to cry
too lost in the crowd

will you please—hold me now?

it's hard to imagine someone could ever love me
behind what all i hide
and all that i wear
with all my insecurities
and everything i fear

hard to think that they'd see me
not as men usually do
but as a lover
with eyes as gentle as a father
and a faith unlike my mother
a lending hand like an older sibling
the caress of a grandparent—steady, forgiving

hard to imagine why anyone would ever love me
behind all the smiling i do
that they'd see how i cry the same nights too

and every time i look in the mirror
how i wish to skin me alive
how i listen to the same music
that makes me cry
how i sit in the dark with a straight face
train-crying in thought
'cause to do it out loud would disgrace

and how i press my hands over my chest
in a knot
hoping to find it was a hug
one i wouldn’t have to return
arms of someone who didn’t wish to heal me
just let me be
let me soak in all that’s wrong
and build me up again
not strong—just... me

someone who’d accept the exception i was and am
mostly broken, somehow functioning
reaching the ****** of feeling every single day
only to break down back again—no delay

someone who wouldn’t listen to what they think of me
would they have their own opinion, or just agree?

not judge me the way the jury around has done
forever and ever, verdicts spun
never has someone willed to seek behind the veil
and i don’t hide a lot
just the ugly truth of how i can be

will someone look at me
beyond the looks and their needs
beyond every reason why people usually look at me?
will someone... find me?

could i be someone's sunshine?
the one who makes their day a bit brighter
perhaps kind in a way—
i could help someone just by lending a hand
or bring down bridges
for them to cross the rivers?

the kinda sun that dries up the rain water
that's been stagnant in someone's life for years
or even better—wipe out the rain and the storm
and bring out a brighter day to their tomorrow?

could i be the sunshine—
or am i one?
'cause i've been trying so hard
then why do i get called out
as a pathological people pleaser?

i don't need no sunshine-cross-x-x-trope
but i wouldn't mind being the sun
in the life of the people i love
take away their clouds
bring them some fun

and if i could bring a smile to their face
have them bloom
like sunflowers do to sun's gaze
maybe—just maybe—my work in this life will be done.

the repetitive tasks are comfortingly funny
i'd hate eating the same meal for years
and yet
mixed up with others over days
somehow it's still years of the same taste

nothing really seems that repetitive
not like my sleeping schedule
all messed and stitched the same
or my weekdays in classes—
same buildings
same faces
same mindless chase

or even the harry potter movies
god, i’ve watched them on loop
again and again
like a hug from childhood

not to forget the books i've read
and the same kind of words
i've poured into notebooks and diaries
bleeding ink of similar sadness
with slightly different dates

i believe this repetitive life
might be the reason
the same old woes
hurt the same way
every time they boil over
the brink of my existence

and considering i've never broken out of this loop
not really
never run far enough
to feel new air

will i ever break out of the hollows
these same feelings and familiar situations
have brought me to—again and again?

I remain an iteration of past mumbles
No future do I yearn to.
I'll tell you about a "Once upon a time"
Instead of the coming blue.

In no present have I remained,
Only in "once" and what if
I sing of the begone days
In the tavern of lost grief

Here I pour wine to newer cups
Which time forgets to brew.

Never to be known,
a woman’s scorn,
how a man mourns.

Gone into the void,
Her being coy,
A boy becomes a man.

A pair,
to share despair,
from windows,
wiped clean,
from those,
who need to grow,
before they turn old,
and rot away,
bitter and cold.

The house that sees everything,

Still abandoned for little things.

No ghosts to roam the corridor,

Just empty silence that feels loud as a roar.  



Maybe someday someone will see it for who it is,

Not the stories echoed with myths.

Echos of the forgotten children
dance along the
breeze.
With tired eyes and weary smiles
as they
sleep along the streets.

No kind words or helping hands
from the strangers
passing by,
just echos of forgotten children
an
endless
hopeless cry.

Nowhere to turn, no place to run.
Just lonely
damaged souls.
They try to hide or numb the pain
of being left out
in the cold.

Years its been,
since they felt warmth;
most do not remember love.
So the echos of forgotten children
are quietly swept,
under
the rug.

Their tears trace familiar paths
across their
*****
cheeks.
The echos of forgotten ones
that sleep along
the streets.

Its cold its dark,
they are alone.
They fear the end
is soon.
So they numb their pain
in any way
even if it brings their
doom.

The echos of forgotten children
forced to grow up
much to fast,
dance their way
through lonely streets.
Reminders of
their
tragic
past.

I’ve only ever seen two outcomes
in terms of meeting people:
you’re either betrayed
or forgotten about.

and sometimes I’d rather take
the malicious stabbing of bad faith
over the slow waltz with the long knife.


that’s all.

they forget you fast.
faster than you blink.
like a dream that fades
before you can think.

you meant the world—
until you didn’t.
they said forever—
but never meant it.

you missed one call,
one laugh, one night,
and suddenly
you’re out of sight.

they move on
with brand new faces,
fill your space
with different places.

you were the hand
that held them tight.
now you’re the ghost
they leave at night.

no goodbyes.
no sorrys said.
just silence loud
inside your head.

they forget your voice,
your jokes, your name.
they play the part—
but not the same.

you still remember
what they wore,
the way they cried
behind closed doors.

but they forget.
and that’s the sting—
you gave them everything.

and they
gave you
nothing
back.

now you're the song
they used to hum.

a half-heard line.

a quiet
"what’s his name again?"

does our distance make you sad? 6.29.25 (6:45 pm / 18:45)
does our distance make you sad
or are you just forgetting

do you remember those days we had
sitting next to each other
small and smiling
carefree

do you remember meeting me
kindergarten classroom
i kind of don't
it seems so long ago
but i remember we were instant friends

do you remember every day
when i came into the classroom, always later than you
we'd run up and hug each other

do you remember how we loved each other

you act like you've forgotten
you act like we were never friends

love i know we were broken apart
but is that a reason to forget me?

i remember you
oh, you

[playing: somewhere over the rainbow - live from manchester by ariana grande]