We built our love on fragile ground,
Too young to see, too proud to bow.
We held on tight yet let it fade,
Both too late, both afraid.

We spoke in riddles and taped our cracks,
Got lost in echoes with no way back.
We needed more but feared the cost,
Each unsure of what we’d lost.

The weight of silence and words unsaid
Turned love to pain, to regret instead.
You turned away, but so did I,
Too weary to even question why.

We sought out space and stood alone,
Yet too stubborn to survive on our own.
We fought our battles side by side,
But never once as unified.

You said you left to find your way,
But were you ever going to stay?
Or was it just a softer end,
A way to leave and not pretend?

Was it easier to walk away,
To tell yourself we’d had our day?
Did love dissolve, or did thoughts betray
The part of us that begged to stay?

Or did you outgrow the life we knew,
Or maybe outgrow the me with you?
Yet now I stand, a different man,
The one we needed, heart in hand.

You lit the spark that set me free,
A fire you may never see.
You pulled away but left behind
The very strength I had to find.

You told me once to face my past,
To fight my demons, make this last.
And so I have. I’ve bled, I’ve tried,
But did you ever step inside?

I see it now. You needed space,
But also a hand you wouldn’t take.
You left to find yourself, and yet,
Are you searching? …I forget.

But what if we had stayed, had tried,
Faced the storm instead of hide?
Not just alone or side by side,
But hand in hand, as unified?

Or did we need to break apart,
To lose it all, to face the dark?
To fall so low, to drown in pain,
Before we both could rise again?

You shattered me, but I see now,
I let it happen, still, somehow.
I hope in breaking, we both grew,
Despite leaving behind what we once knew.

If we had fought instead of fled,
Faced our fears, spoke words unsaid,
Would we have found what now is mine,
But shared it, side by side in time?

You shaped the change you’ll never see,
Helped draft the blueprint that’s made me, me.
And though I’ve built what we once dreamed,
It belongs to me alone, it seems.

And now I have the love we lost,
The kind we needed, at any cost.
Yet the cruelest truth remains unspoken:
We never tried, we left it broken.

Soft hands once held tight,
small fingers grasping
strings of laughter—
bubbles of wonder.

Now, steady hands weave
threads of her own,
spinning life’s fabric
with quiet resolve.

Footsteps that still dance
through sunlit sand
also press firm paths
of wisdom and grace.

Her voice, still a song
belting with fervor,
speaks with echoes
of strength and love.

Mischievous smiles remain,
tempered by time,
yet still lighting the room
with their knowing glow.

Bright eyes, still seeking,
but also seeing—
a future shaped
by hands once guided.

Trusting, complete love—
a father watches,
holding tight to pride,
as she floats beyond—
on threads of time.

It’s been a long time since I touched pen to paper,
Lost in the rhythm of endless, mediocre days,
Each tomorrow arriving void of hope or wish,
A quiet drift through time’s indifferent haze.

I have known joy, but never at its peak,
Felt sorrow, yet never plunged into the abyss.
I have wondered what I’ve missed,
Haunted by scars left by malice and neglect,
Each mark a whisper of what once was.

Chasing highs, avoiding lows,
I ran so far ahead, I left myself behind.
Did I do so unknowingly, or what I thought of my worth that led my steps astray?
I sought love in fleeting moments,
Connection in safety, sameness, the unknown—
A restless wanderer grasping at ghosts.

Trapped in the solitude of my own mind,
I called it freedom, mistook it for strength,
Blissfully unaware of how unhappy I was—
A prisoner who had long forgotten the cage.

Yet without purpose, I finally found myself.
I found strength through impotence, peace through turmoil, and abundance in desolation.

I have walked through evenings bent with silence,
where the hush of the streetlamp hums my name,
a hero, perhaps, in the whisper of one,
a villain in the frown of another.

I have been carved in shadows by the wary,
painted golden by the kind.
To some, I am a tempest in an unmade room,
to others, the hush of rain against glass.

Was it not yesterday I was brave,
standing tall in borrowed boots,
tilting at windmills with a fool's delight?
And yet, in another's eye, I trembled,
a thing too soft for the weight of days.

Oh, but how I have been too much!
A song sung sharp at the wrong table,
a fire burning too close to brittle walls.
And yet, to some, I have been warmth,
the quiet pulse of a lighthouse on tired waters.

I have been named.
Carved into stories I did not write.
Draped in colours I never chose.
Told where to stand, when to bow,
but the stage shifts beneath my feet.

The world is a house of mirrors,
each face a different truth,
each window another version of me.

So let me laugh at the fickle tide,
let me dance in the winds of contradiction,
let me live - oh, let me live!
not as the world sculpts me to be,
but as the wild, wandering shape of my own heart.

I have been redrawn
My old rendition replaced
With bright new colors and shades

Beneath the veneer
Traces and rough outlines
My foundation sketched in time

The graphite, my blood
It was poured onto the page
Many times it was erased

Unsure who I was
Sketched again and again
Eraser shavings of shame

I was blind to see
These sketches were exactly
who I needed to be

Before I could paint
I needed a rough outline
Before I could find my place

And when I did
The shame was swept away
The brush swiftly hit the page

No longer a sketch
But a beautiful display
Of bright new colors and shades

I have been redrawn
My old rendition replaced
By a colorful bouquet
And there’s still room for change

I hate this hunger, gnawing loud,
a whisper turned into a crowd.
I write for peace, for truth, for light—
yet crave the echo in the night.

A thousand eyes, a million hearts,
I want the world to know my art.
Though kindness rains and love is near,
still something selfish stirs in fear.

Why isn’t enough just enough?
Why does praise feel like fragile fluff?
Why do I ache for louder cheers,
when gentle voices ring so clear?

I count the stars, but chase the sun—
forgetting how the moon has won
my poems over with her grace,
while I still seek a grander place.

I loathe this thirst I cannot quench,
this greedy pull, this inner wrench.
Yet deep inside, I see the root—
a child who just wants to feel absolute.

But let me learn to love this pace,
to write for stillness, not the race.
To hold each word, each soul, each view,
and know—enough is something true.

Don't stay there alone,

just come out and show yourself --


show all your colours.