This day’s solemn grace,
In shadows deep, in sacred space,
An eternal tale of sacrifice told,
Whispers at ancient, mysteries unfold.

Through darkness pierced by light divine,
A pathway to redemption and that very sacred sign,
In blood and tears, in love profound,
Hope rises from the buried ground.

The veil was torn, the earth did quake,
Yet in the silence, a promise awake,
Resurrection!  New birth!
Good Friday's sacred space.

My mother talks about you
a lot
almost worships you like
a god
Heard her talk about you
on calls
Always screams in my face
telling me to be a lot
like you
But listening to her
talk
I don't think I really like
you.

Do you know
how butterflies come to life?
It’s more frightening
than you might think.

Born crawling
a caterpillar,
close to the ground
naïve to the sky
simply existing,
tasting the world
leaf by leaf.

And then
it begins.
A hush inside the body,
a quiet undoing.
Behaviors shift,
instincts sharpen,
the soul sketches its wings in secret.
The old self unravels.

Did you know
that little caterpillar
melts into goo?
Not a creature in waiting
just formless, floating cells.
And from that
a butterfly emerges,
grown entirely
from what was already there.

I’ve been stuck in that goo
the nowhere between
trauma and metamorphosis,
neither alive nor lost,
just suspended.

But this summer
brought tears as ink,
and from the scribbled ache
came liberating wings
fragile but certain,
drawn from silence.

I've started flying.
But I still glance down
when I shouldn’t
afraid that my pride and joy
will be mistaken for arrogance.
Yet I’m proud
proud that I can love again.
Proud that flying
feels so familiar.

I like to land
booping noses of dogs
showing up beside strangers
on quiet benches.
To hear their voices
for the very first time
to sense the tremble
of their own becoming.
And when I look,
I see it:
a shimmer in their stillness,
a whisper in their pause.
The butterfly
still hidden in its goo.

And I hope
they’ll pass it on
this softness,
this seeing.

That ripple we call
the butterfly effect

Behold this life! Live it and be strong.
You have to make your own way forward,
Even if you don't belong.
This is it! Seize the day!
It matters not what others say.

You will not be here forever, but one thing is for sure
Pushing forward with good measure-even with
Your pain and problems you must endure.
Don't let anyone tell you there is nothing you can't do,
Whether you live your dreams or not
Is up to nobody else but you...

They ask, “How are you?” I say, “Good,”
as if one syllable could
undo the unravel,
as if calm were a place I could travel
just by saying so.

As if good meant whole.
Not hollow. Not holding. Not holes
in a voice note from days ago,
when goodnight meant don’t go,
and goodbye meant I already have.

See, “good” hides in the corners:
in tired good mornings sent across borders
where time zones tangle like limbs once did—
I say good,
but I never meant for this.

Good grief is grief in a Sunday suit.
A tidy way to name the mess.
A eulogy wearing perfume.
A fire dressed up like a candle.

We stretch it over pain
like bedsheets that don’t quite reach the edge.
We say it for comfort. We say it instead
of I’m lonely, or I’m losing,
or I’m learning to lie to myself gently.

There’s good in goodbye,
but only when you don’t look back.
There’s good in goodnight,
but only if you’re sleeping side by side.
There’s good in being good,
but only if no one asks too much.

So no—
I’m not good. I’m practiced.
I’m polished.
I’m passable at pretending.
But ask me again,
and I’ll still say it.
Because it’s easier than explaining
what "good" could never mean.

Feed your demons,
don't starve them,
but don't stuff them with food too much neither.

Find a balance, keep them satisfied.
That's how they will remain in the line
and obey you.

Love them to some extent.
Never show them
that you hate that they hate you.

Fear is the key, Fear is the key
Fear is the key to unlock all the doors
Fear can make you stand still, rooted to the ground
Like a giant oak tree which has stood unmovable for decades

Fear can also give you a turbo-boosting propulsion
Like a rocket launching into space  at supersonic speed
Fear can lock the propulsion inside of you, hidden all along
Like a giant mass of icebergs beneath the ocean

Fear nothing but fear itself
Fear is good, Fear Is Bad, But Fear Is Necessary
Fear Is Necessary For Your Survival, Know Danger
For If You Know Not Fear, You Know No Danger

Know Fear, Understand The Fear. Embrace Fear
But Do Not Let Fear Control You, Rule You
Fear Is An Insidious type that can Creep Up Behind You
Always There Lurking In The Shadows

𝙰 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎
𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎
𝙰𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎
𝙰 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝙰 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎
𝚅𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜
𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜
𝙰 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚣𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 "𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚞"
𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜
𝙰 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝
𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝

𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎
𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗
𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎'𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜.

Good and bad —
Light and darkness —
Day and night —
I've tried to be divine,
And I've run from evil,
Or so it seemed...

But the evil within me —
Wouldn't leave;
I pray,
I repent,
I accept shame
as my cloak;
I shrivel the goodness
Unseen...

I split,
Disconnect;
Become a kaleidoscope
of regret.
Days lost
in a fruitless
quest —

Isn't it easier
to just
Embrace the evil within me?!