All adults were once children
There are no exceptions
And that's what's truly heartbreaking
Villians are made, not born
At least not always

Every angsty drug dealer
Every teacher
Every depressed poet
Every grave

When you see a homeless person
Do you ever wonder what their life has been before?
They were just a child
With hope
Hope which died along with their innocence

Through pain and hardship, strength is grown,
Where courage blooms from seeds unknown.
It’s easy to forget the fight,
That forged their hearts within the night.

The strongest souls bear hidden scars,
Their battles waged in silent wars.
Yet walls are built, and hearts made true,
With every storm they battled through.

Now confidence, like stone, remains,
A quiet fire, fed by pains.
From broken ground, they rise and stand—
The toughest hearts, the gentlest hands.

I long to be silent in silence,
so that a magnolia tree may bloom in my mind,
warmed by the hands of God.

Today I met my biggest fear
My younger self,
Her sparkling eyes in despair
Asked me if we have reached there.
I, ashamed of myself didn’t looked into her eyes.
I stared hard at the ground, hoping it would open and make me sink inside.

She didn’t said anything for a moment then cried out loud.
Her cry pierced the air,
Raw and broken as if all her hopes disappeared
“I knew this would happen, I knew we would loose again,
All is my fault, I shouldn’t have dream that in the first place.”
Her voice sent a shiver down my spine, I trembled down to my core,
I looked up at her and noticed how desperately she wanted to restore.
I knew we had progressed, but right now only the outcome mattered,
We had failed once again and it seemed all our dreams got shattered.
She didn’t said a word after that and left quietly.
I was left again alone, lonely.
I stood their for some time
and then went back to study.

she catches constellations in
her dreamy eyes.
in daylight, she runs through
tall grass, clovers, cattails
she searches for sunbeams, for
a speck of hope to satiate
her appetite. she
dresses her spiral curls
in dandelions, lilacs,
whatever lives in bloom.
she carries daydreams,
among wounds,
bathes in the creek,
alone, washes them clean.
every muscle untensed,
every fear released
when she walks in a room.

Who needs sleep?
Not me.
When silence
Cuts deeper than
Any other knife.
My thoughts
Are pounding
Twisting and turning.
The weight I carry
Unseen ,untold
Grows heavy
In the midnight cold.
The restless fire in me
Too big to hold,
Keeps me awake
Till I shake.
Who needs sleep?
Not me.
Not now .
Tracing the lines
On my thighs
That no one shall
See.
To silence the pain
That I keep deep within .
Even in the dark
I know it's clear,
The path I walk is
Paved with fear.
Who needs sleep ?
"ME!"I scream ,
Gasping as I
Let my mind run
Free...

The sky, gloomy and cloudy
Flowing tears, loud and mighty
So strong that trees sway,
So strong that bees scatter away

For this was not a cheery moment;
Leaving the lands in such an oddment
The violent wind is preying on the dwellers of this region,
Making them wary of the fuels they hold in their possession.

Should we stop? They mutter
Of course not, leaving this land to suffer
The sky in grief morphed into anger
Sending the lightning to strike like a dagger

The great night’s storm won't go away;
Causing this phenomenon to enravel today
Leaving its fingerprint on display
Letting the world know who to blame  

One by one, they pray for the storm to pass
But the storm always finds its way back
Back stronger than ever and ready to attack
Seeming like the world in on a precarious track    

The birds intend to go south
Only to realize they are headed north from their seasonal oust
For they had no sense of direction
Due to the north being the warm south's reflection

Leaving the world in some kind of dystopian imperfection
Driving the polar bears near to extinction
Day by day, ice melts into water with sorrowful sighs
Just as water is tainted from mankind's mines

Exchanging the atmosphere for oil
Making the corruption seem like soil
Allowing the planet to get rotten and spoil
Leaving mother nature torn and toil

For this is not the final stop;
The days of final destruction are approaching;
The days of final destruction are approaching.