There’s a hollow kind of happiness
caught in the curve of an imperfect smile—
where soft lies rest gently on the tip
of a weary tongue.

To be truly happy is to risk the world
watching, waiting for your fall—
constantly crumbling on your knees,
like a prayer too faithful not to be heard.

Vows taste bittersweet, like knowing,
deep and quiet, that you’ll fail before you begin.
And still—you hold the hurt in your hands,
the same hurt that shaped you,
while denying how deeply it still aches.

But pain denied
denies you healing.

As you are still searching for yourself—
like an arrow already loosed, still chasing
its aim long after the bow has let go.

And maybe you won't land where you
thought—but you’ll find something solid
beneath your feet. And not every wound closes
clean, but even scars can trace a path for you
to follow.

Abuse, avoid, forgive, abuse, avoid, forgive
It’s never ending a cycle of stupidity I allow to continue
We talk, we have fun, but I must follow the script

A cycle of stupidity I can’t break free of
Oh, how family can cause so much pain
A crave for love, and a crave to love
And all they crave is to be on top

But it’s not my fault you’re not the favorite
It’s not my fault you’re lazy and dumb
But it is my fault I stay
Stay in this box, broken and withered,

I stay with hopes you’ll change
But it’s been 15 years
And your grip has gotten stronger
And your heart has gotten colder
As my heart falls further

But I crave for love and protection
I crave for normalcy, and to be able to confide in you
But you’ve left me to fall apart like a box in the rain

I see others and how they live
Their hearts full
Not like mine
Not like yours

Not like your empty, broken heart
That knows nothing other than breaking mine
Not like my broken heart
That knows nothing but to try and fix the pieces.

Oh, it’s truly a cycle of stupidity, and I want to break free
But I live in a world of abuse, avoid, forgive

and my question for you tonight
what are you most scared of
in the pale moonlight
when you're by yourself
and you imagine a life where there isn’t any fear
what do you wish you wouldn’t have to bear?

i’ll start, i guess—
i’m scared of loud noises
people screaming
put me in direct contact
and i’ll lose all my feelings

i’m scared of broken ceramics
violence, hitting, cursing, breaking
i remember tea stains on the walls
pieces of a once whole, beautiful cup
strewn about, broken everywhere

i’m scared of the heights
only on days when i feel just too light
that i might just let go
what if i fall and what if there’s nothing that’ll hold me back
or a ledge to hold on

i’m scared of the compact
too many monsters all at once
perhaps i’ll crack
a pressure, eyes upon me
i could disguise, pretend
but i hate all that i see

i’m scared of losing all this kind
of losing who i am
and this battle in my mind
going cross-eyed even as i write
i’m scared of failing, falling,
not being able to swim back up
simply drowning

i’m scared of loving too much
perhaps enough and never being loved back
and it could be a lie or an irony
but i’m scared of nursing a broken heart
or breaking one myself
for i wouldn’t want it
wouldn’t want to see the mess
but it happens, happens way too much
and i have to play pretend

i’m scared of speaking
of what if you see the hidden meanings
of what if you just don’t— and ignore me
what if i speak, and there’s nobody to listen
and even if they do listen, what if i burden

i’m scared of being lost
in the depths, in the lows,
not being able to express does that to you the most
and i fear losing
losing all that i’ve built
every step i’ve taken
every memory i’m sewn in
all the moments out of time i’ve milked
to the very last drop
feelings i’ve penned down, every last thought

i’m scared of— not being enough
perhaps i am not
but even so— i deserve to exist
exist without a doubt or second thoughts
and i shall revoke anyone’s rights
don’t make me feel like it might
be better if i ceased to exist
i fear it and i fear what if a day comes
when i can’t write, listen, see or speak

and what if i lose
lose you, and what if i get punished
for things i haven’t even done but simply being blamed for
and what if you see me with the eyes that carry despise
hatred perhaps, i fear what if a day comes
and i just don’t see you anywhere or here, in fact

i’m scared of a lot more
of being left behind
overlooked, perhaps thrown to the side
never healing from things i can’t even speak of
and perhaps staying the same
missing out, accidentally meeting upon accidents
that could become part of the worst nightmares or
failing, falling on dreams and been a betrayed chore

the list goes on
but i can’t speak it out loud
or answer it when i ask you all about
what are you scared of?
so i just say spiders, and move on.

Was it ever even real,
If the love was just a drug.
That I grabbed just to feel,
In the grave that you dug.

I really thought you were pure,
Wanted me for me.
Just to be each others cure,
But I didn’t see.

How bad it would **** me up,
The regret it would leave.
I’d be permanently marked up,
Pain that nothing can relieve.

You saved me and ruined me,
So can I really be mad.
You saved my life technically,
But I’m not even glad.

You should have let me go then,
And dissapear from everyone forever.
But then you wouldn’t be able to **** with me again,
So you kept bringing me back to ***** me over.

I woke up today feeling brand new
Seven years of hell
That you put me through
Today marks that day
Today i am new
No longer cursed by you

Today i would usually wake up
Feeling your hands on my skin
Behind my back
Like a heart attack
The torture
The fear
The guilt
The tears

This time
I'm new
This time I'm over you
My cells have changed
I am not the same
I'm stronger now
I'm no longer lost
But found

I'll never hit the ground
Screaming your name again
I'll still feel the pain
Behind my brain
Never in my skin
Never in my bed
You,
                          I have shed
Forever you are dead
And I am free
I can feel it in my body~

I keep throwing up memories
no one asked me to keep -
bruises shaped like questions,
the sound of my mother’s scream
lodged behind my ribs.

No one tells you grief can rot
when you don’t spit it out.
That love, untouched,
ferments into something sour.
I carry it all in my throat ~
half apology, half war cry.

You say,
“I want more of you.”
And my body says,
“Are you sure?”
Because more of me
means bloodstains on carpet,
means fists instead of lullabies,
means learning how to disappear
before I ever learned to speak.

I was fed fear in childhood portions,
taught to flinch before I felt.
I watched my mother
burn down her mind,
and still tried to build homes
in her ashes.
I held her wrist
when she begged me not to.
Took the pills. Took the gun.
Took the fall.

I was not built for softness
but I do crave it.
Every tender thing feels foreign,
like wearing someone else’s skin.
But you touch me
like I’m not ruined.
And that’s the part
that makes me sick.

Because what if you mean it?

What if love doesn’t have to be
a wound I pick at just to feel alive?
What if you stay?
And worse - what if you don’t?

This is my mourning sickness:
grieving safety I never had,
while choking on the possibility
that I could finally
be held
without having to shatter first.