(for the one who remembered)

She comes barefoot—
no veil, no deflection,
no incantations from the high places
to conjure what love has already given.

She comes with smoke in her hair
and ash on her cheek—
but it is not the ash of shame.

It is the ash of sacrifice.

The Asherah poles still burn behind her,
splintering one by one
as she walks away
from the counterfeit embrace
that always left her colder.

She does not flinch at the sight of the altar.
She runs.

And with both hands—
those beautiful, once-bound hands—
she grabs the horns.

She grabs them.

Shakes them;
not to demand,
but to worship—
not to protest,
but to pour out
what only now she knows she carried.

Because now she knows
she is Loved.
Not as a symbol.
Not as an echo.
Not as someone to fix
or someone to use.

But as herself.

The scent of her offering rises—
not of perfection,
but of devotion.

Not the blood of goats,
but the tears of a woman
who thought she had been lost too long
to be welcomed home.

The Lord does not turn His face away.
He draws near.

Because this—
THIS
is the aroma that pleases Him most:

Not the pageantry of idols,
but the girl
who brings her whole ache
and says,

"Thank you for loving who I am—
and for showing me that who I am
is someone to be loved."

The horns tremble
under the weight of such truth.

And heaven,
silent for so long,
weeps with her—

not because she was far gone,
but because she finally came close.

And dared to believe.

I'm living, loving like it is
first time happened in my life long ago.
Cheers, heavens—great like I always prayed.
They come in all sorts.
Happiness comes out of my throat—
giggles, laughs, all comes in different sorts.

Love in my heart.
It is my first time to live it true.
Life feels like flying—
like it's the first time
coming from above.

Bless us sometimes.
I live loving life.
I love it every time I feel alive.

This is my time to say goodbye
for all the cry,
the things drained me.

I'm in a fresh start,
hoping for love and best wishes—
hugs for me.

I want to finally live free.
See me come, go,
like I'm a float boat—
happy like insane.
Heavens blessed me.

Life do really care.

I only dream of reaching you,
Here grounded on this patch of Earth.
Yet all the same, I'm richly blessed
To see your beams of silver-blue,
And sights of all the landscape dressed
In brilliance that gives Night its worth.
What are the dark hours without you?

Before I was born

What was I thinking?
No, stop! What-was-I-really-thinking?
Perfection? There is no such thing here, this side of heaven,
Yet, I’ve spent my entire life trying to be,
More, hating who I was,
Striving to be more?
Was it from the trauma of my first surgery
To my brain at 11 months young, that then suffered, again and again, three times more?
Was it the generational trauma carried in my DNA? Unseen, unheard but screaming: you’re not enough!
Stop trying, give up!
Was it others taunting and teasing, yet in reality testing,
Testing what I would do with their jealous tirade?
What a waste.
That’s not how I want to live anymore.
I want to rethink, no, re-imagine a new reality, and step right into my innate creativity.
Breathed within me before I was born.
By YOU...

sometimes it’s piercing me how
people didn’t realize that
what they have easily are
invaluable luxury
something i can’t buy with money

oh if only
if only i’m in peace
with everything i have
value them as luxury
maybe my heart will finally be at ease

I'll cherish the sun
Wherever i run
I'll seek happiness
Guard myself from emptiness

I'll cherish the moon
Hoping to see it soon
Gazing on the stars
Forgetting my scars

I'll cherish the land
For helping my stand
Ever growing flowers
Helping many lovers

I'll cherish the oceans
For all the lovely motions
Soul soothing sight
Deserving its might

I'll cherish the world
For giving me these words
To express this beauty
Making running truly worthy

One cosmos,
Countless planets,
One hundred and ninety-five countries,
Eighteen thousand islands,
Seven vast oceans—

And somehow, I found you.

I’m not sure why I feel bad,
but I do.
A shy human,
I fear that my silence will speak louder
than my heart ever could.

I’m not ignoring those who liked,
loved, commented, reposted—
I see you, I do,
but my shyness keeps me
from finding the right words.

I should thank them,
but I’m stuck,
swallowed by my own reluctance.

I’ve been here before,
hesitant to share what’s not perfect,
scared it won’t fit the mold,
so I keep it hidden,
a secret between me and the page.

It’s easier to just press ‘like’,
to let my words stay trapped behind the screen,
than to find the right ones
that feel big enough to match their kindness.

I could message them, privately,
but that feels worse,
more intimate in its awkwardness,
and I’d only wish I could say it better
where they all could see.

So here I am,
apologizing in silence,
for all the gratitude
that never quite makes it out.