the great thing about Bic-Round Stic M is that the ink doesn't bleed through the paper.

singing all day - will the willing to write songs and produce a great debut album.

where do i stand? anywhere—

where are you?

babe…

why must you ask such trivial questions?

then again, i grapple with an external validation problem,

curbed by a body—my own diary.

andy denson's diaries, tales—sweet.

thoughts flutter like moths to a flame,

yearning for the light of recognition,

yet finding solace in the shadows.

the pages absorb my musings,

ink drying without a trace.

Who am I …
the awakening perception scratches at me,
it's the splinter that hides beneath skin,
the melody that returns when it's quiet,
a mirror that only reflects in fragments;
scattered and shattered.
I am the curve of my father's chin,
my mother's discerning eyes.
I exist as a collection of meaningless comparisons,
yesterday's frustrations stitched into today's ambition.
Milieu named me "as expected,"
folded me neatly into a box labelled convention.
Murmuring voices pressed into me like a blanket,
coercive in reasoning, yet silently limiting.
I bent to the familiar until I no longer asked …
Who am I …
Growth is a kind of breaking,
expanding ideas form subtle questions,
like shedding old skin that has grown too tight,
tearing up roots that have withered in difficult soil.
I planted myself somewhere new and foreign;
I sprouted tender and green in the dew of awareness,
basked in the sunlight of small victories.
Who am I …
I am not the answer; I am the question.
I am the canvas unfinished.
I am not who I was, nor yet who I will be.
I am an earthquake
whose rumbling reshapes the world around it.
I am both the seeker and the treasure,
both the map and the journey.

Obscurity is a quiet violence—  
not sudden, not sharp.  
It seeps.  
Tilts the world by degrees  
until struggle feels like balance.  
You stop reaching for air.  
You start pacing the silence,  
memorizing its corners,  
finding comfort in its ache.  
It does not shout;  
it hums—  
soft, constant,  
like a thought you can’t unlatch from.  
And in the famine of recognition,  
you stop needing to be seen.  
You fold yourself into the absence.  
You name the ache familiar.  
You name the silence sacred.  
You call it love.

You bleed over my lashes, blurring my vision.
I see only what you let me.  
Is there an escape, or is this all I've ever known?

You slick down my skin, coiling around my neck.
Heavy and gilded, you press and press.
My pulse hammers against your walls.
How do I breathe when every inhale feels like suffocation?

You seal my lips like an amber muzzle,
gluing my tongue to silence.
I scream, but my voice dissolves into you.
Do you hear me, or is my silence sweeter?

You creep over my limbs like vines,
dragging me under and I am clothed in your ruin.
I claw at the surface but my fingers slip.
You fill my lungs and run through my veins,
flooding me with no resistance.

I let you take me, let you coat my ribs.
Merged with you, will I ever be free?

Was I ever mine to begin with?

Show me you care,

So I don't have to press my fingers against my throat
To feel the pulse of something real to remind myself,
"I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive,"

And not just a shadow cast in the shape of you.

She smiles because she's your go-to child
The one that gets all the praise
The one who accepts all your rage
Even as she's growing
You won't ever know it
Because hormones are bad
And mood-swings won't ever be had
Even though she hates it
She smiles as she fakes it
Her facade or innocence
Is quite actually painfully brilliant
She has everyone around her finger
Though the tightness of it always stings her
She smiles as she's called sweet
Kind and lovely
Smart and hardworking
Honest and trustworthy
Strong and preserving
Beautiful and genuine
Because she's not she's
Mean and unlikeable
Dumb and lazy
A liar and unhonest
Ugly and fake
But somehow no one sees
Her broken and horrid self
Through her sickly sweet
Kind and innocent
Full of joy and love
Fake facade

Romance it was,
when I thought
that in this country
I would feel at home.

When I boarded that plane,
headed for the future.
A promising future,
full of trials
and many successes.

I crossed borders,
both physical and emotional.

I never thought my life
would fit into a suitcase.

In my suitcase,
only a few clothes,
but filled with everything
that pushed me forward.

The rest was in my mind:
the embrace of my mother and father.
Will this be the last time I see them?

Longing and nostalgia,
a feeling in my chest.

I don’t know if it’s sadness or love,
pride for doing
what many cannot,
and yet, I dare.

Now I find myself here,
I am the different one,
the one who speaks with an accent.

Strong in life,
wondering what I’m doing here,
searching for my path.

Not for an earthly purpose,
but because the universe
needs me here.

It seems like a terrestrial journey,
but it is an astral journey
to another reality.

Many times I cry,
other times I comfort myself.
I am no longer from here,
but neither from there.

When I say,
"I am from the world,"
I find myself.

Standing up front
Watching the  eyes
Looking in depths
Deep inside,
Finding meaning
As to nothing ,
Exploring with hope
Core to those eyes ,
Found the reflection-
The reflection of mine.

The strange curious eyes
Of mine watching the eye
To those of mine and
so to ME
Exploring the self  into the
Core ,
Like a boat amidst
the sea .
I asked the mirror what do u reveal
"In response it just reflected me" .

The question that is ,going through me
When I was a kid or  when I am grown up
the thing which resides within ,the one who grants it
I don't know whether it's me or someone ,
Full of truth or lie whichever is it  Just tell me
What am I?

It's not real ,it's not fake ,
Curious for world nearby lake
Thinking in nights ,dreaming in day
Whether it's me , my soul or someone else
I don't know what i take it as a role or just a lie
Whichever is it Just tell me
What am I ?

Existence , persistence, patience not so be true to be truth,
The things I know ,why nobody knows?
Feelings, strength, emotions ,dreaming about it but what takes
Us to exist and extinct if we don't know the relation,
The relation of being in reality,or rather in fake all around it ,
Everything till now was just a fallacy , us to smile or just cry
Whichever it is just tell me
What am I ?