Today we played, my friends and I,
In rain in the city streets.
We laughed aloud and teased our games,
Rendering our joy complete.

The sun came out and shared the town;
Seasons changed to warmth from cold.
Tomorrow, again I’ll meet my friends
To feel the water and the mood.

But tonight, I will dream of you.
To feel your voice in your breath,
And sense your eyes touch me
As I gaze into their thoughtful depths.

Moonlight plays in the city streets
Forming shadows as we run,
Confronting demons beneath the stars
While dawn in the distance reigns.

We dream we share our secrets
Indiscretions and hurtful pasts
Told as gilded tales
By immoral sociopaths.

I share to you with confidence
One of my poignant dreams.
A tale of stirring fantasy
Where images are not as they seem.

Passage waits beyond the gates
Its doors are silent still.
Before them lies with all its will
A sordid, chilling tale.

Cold snakes coiled on soiled paths
They spring in naked truth
Biting hard at every turn
Retelling their violent youth.

Poised to prove their stranglehold
On phantom victims’ crimes.
It’s here we hide the willing sin
We’ve accepted many times.

My days have served to comprehend
These cords of velvet sin,
Whilst night comes as a saving fury
To cleanse my soul within.

As dreams become reality
Our thoughts embrace their role
And we resist the curse of others
Playing mind games in our soul.

Within me stays this silent stance
A constant holding firm
Amongst the ever-changing days
And nightly dreams and thirsts.

In times of almost madness
We hear the willow’s cry,
From these nightly games of memory
When they’ve heard our apt reply.

My past I’ve viewed with broken heart
As I’ve walked the vacant streets
I’ve cleansed myself in daily rains
Praying for final release.

It is here I hunt for solitude,
And here I find my soul.
I search my heart within myself
To learn what I have always known.

If rain is baptism for repentance of sin
And sun the reward for what I’ve lost,
Stars know solitude only in silence
As dreams prove my freedom at last.

People think i’m sensitive
They don’t know my battles
They don’t know what i’ve been through and what i’ve emerged from
They don’t know how strong I am
If I’m sensitive
Then being sensitive is the strongest of all

Sometimes
you have to go—
take that step,
despite the fear,
despite the uncertainty,
and discover
that in the end,
we always survive
to tell the story.

I firmly believe that all the struggles we face
Help in building who we are today
The pain residing in previous versions of ourselves isn’t easy to erase
But I truly think that it’s better to acknowledge the past’s ache
Instead of letting it eat you alive
You shouldn’t live for anyone but yourself
Don’t just live in order to survive
Live on so you can realize that the old versions of you
Don’t erase the possibility of new, happier ones


-Currently listening to “Mr. Forgettable” by David Kushner.

Pain is not a fleeting shadow,
nor a thief that steals in the night.
It settles deep, like roots in earth,
clutching marrow, dimming light.

It speaks in whispers, sharp and raw,
etching echoes through the bone,
a language carved in silent cries,
a weight we carry, yet unknown.

Yet, even in its cruel embrace,
where sorrow stains the breaking dawn,
the soul remembers how to rise,
though weary, aching, battle-worn.

For pain is not a sovereign king,
though it may claim the throne awhile,
it bows before the quiet strength,
that lingers in a weary smile.

We learn to hold it, not to break,
to breathe through fire, soft and slow,
to meet its presence, eye to eye,
and teach it when to stay or go.

Through tender hands, through patient steps,
we weave our wounds with threads of grace,
allowing light to find the cracks,
where love and courage interlace.

For pain is but a passing storm,
it bends, it rages, and it sways,
but hearts that learn to bear its weight,
will find their peace in softer days.

So let it teach, but not consume,
let it shape, but not define,
for even pain, when held with love,
becomes a bridge from dark to shine.