my soul cries,

and i know, i know souls cannot cry, but if they could, mine would, forever,

and always,

the wind brushes the soul that cries, and my face wets with the invisible tears,

for my pain is deeper than water, deeper than sand, it is the pain we all hold above us,

i hold all their pain.

It’s crippling
Breath trembling
My pain is paining
My body is falling
No one’s calling
The ambulance isn’t coming
There is no running
Just tumbling
The ground is falling
Beneath my feet
It’s dropping
My body is trembling

It was never that bad —
until it was.
Until I tested my luck
and didn’t pass the spoon.

I wasn’t the “good girl”
I had to be.
And it cost me — heavily.
You say I made you.
I knew the rules.
I broke them.
That's how you want me to think, right?

But I know the truth.
You’re a polar bear
to the unaware.
With your crisp white coat.

But even they slip —
leave blood on that coat.

You forgot to check my phone.
I have a video
of you preying on the weak.

But I won’t show anyone.
I won’t fight.

That’s the difference —
between me and the prey.
The prey doesn’t feel bad
for the hunter.
The prey asks for help.

And I?
I stay.

Your coat stays white.

Just hoping you leave me
alone to fight.

A child who always
longed for heed,
affection and concern,
But left the world with
a quite ache unseen
by her beloved world.
Once, with a bright smile and an unblemished heart She was attacked by
a tragic backdrop.
She believed, and was
deceived,
She devoted - and
was betrayed.
Her agony turned it
into her final day.

The words claw themselves
through miles of skin
and bone.
It is a path carved
of blood and tissue,
a journey made
in the silences
between sentences.

Gagging, coughing
up my thoughts
until I am a mess
of misspoken words
and unfiltered thoughts.
It is a sickness,
and the journey’s end
is a death sentence.

my heart
coils and quivers
grotesquely,
reaching out and
stretching the taut skin
of my limp body,
until it bursts
in a frenzied explosion
of stardust
and flames:
a fire, set ablaze
from within.

We deserve the one
who helps hold the tremble in our hands
like it’s something sacred –
who doesn’t flinch when our shadows rise,
but welcomes them
as old friends with tired eyes.

The one who sees
Our silence not as stone,
but as a room echoing with stories
too heavy to speak.
And still, they stay.
Still, they listen.

We deserve the one
who is afraid to lose us –
not from fear,
but from the knowing,
the deep, bone-etched knowing
that love like ours
doesn’t come twice.

They see the ruin as we hide behind smiles
and say, “This isn’t broken.
This is art, mid-creation.”
They trace our cracks like constellations,
naming galaxies where others
only saw damage.

They see the storm
and don’t run.
They pull up a chair
and offer tea,
while the thunder rolls
and our heart remembers
how to soften.

They know
the mess isn’t malice,
the outburst isn’t betrayal,
the retreat isn’t rejection –
just pain,
spilling out of places
that never learned
how to bleed quietly.

And we,
for once,
do not shrink from that love.
We stand in it.
We breathe in it.
Let it echo through by our ribs
until it becomes ours too.

Because we deserve the kind of love
that sees all of us–
and stays.

I’m not asking for your apology
I just want silence, even if it looks like pain.
I just want distance, even if we’re still close by.
And you?
I don’t really care to know.
I’ve poured all I feel into verses laced with ache
about someone whose name I no longer whisper in prayer,
someone who chose to betray both himself and those who loved him.
Chance;
a single word,
yet it holds so many meanings.
If given a chance,
I would never have chosen this person to lead a family.
If given a chance,
I would’ve spared a mother the weight of a wound she never voiced.
That is what “chance” really means.
But everything feels so easy
when we live in “what ifs.”
When all seems fine on the surface,
but underneath—
a deep, dark hole waits,
never fully seen.