I'd tell you I wanted to be the love of your life
I'd whisper it softly, hoping you might feel it too
Maybe you would laugh
Bt I'd bite my lips and try hard not to cry.

Bt I never told you
And maybe I  never will
Because some truths are too tender to offer
To hands that never asked to hold them.

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.

A musician strums a sorrowful song
chords ringing loud enough
for his little girl,
who sleeps in the earths embrace,
six feet deep.

A woman files paperwork,
answers relentless emails,
and even stacks her grief in neat piles,
but it’s only her distraction
from nine to five…

A girl avoids mirrors
because it hurts to see
how she traced pain
along forearms and thighs
‘damaged’ ‘ugly’ ‘ruined’, she thinks,

A mother screams
about clothes on the floor
and unwashed dishes
because the silence of her broken home
scares her more than feigned anger.

A writer spends endless nights
scrawling lovesick thoughts,
and morose notes
on scrappy, tear stained paper
no one will ever see.

A teenage boy, never at home
swallows pills like promises
whilst he loses himself
in the haze
of a swirling smoke room

An old man looks out the window
of his care home
and names clouds after the ones he loved
while he waits for someone
who will never come.

If you look close enough-
Everyone is in pain.
And that’s the truth,
the real, visceral truth,
but we carry on.

We all stand beneath the same sun’s glow,
Its light unites us, high and low.
No matter where our worlds may be,
In every heart, equality.

Differences fade in morning’s light,
No need for shadows in our sight.
For under the sun, we’re all the same,
Equal in hope, in love, in name.

Why is peace a dream so far away,
When the sun’s rays could unite our day?
Perhaps our worlds are too far apart,
Burning in different fires of the heart.

But if we look beyond the night,
And see the sun’s eternal light,
We’d realize that all are one,
Beneath the same unending sun.

your own demons
give you strength
when there’s no one
to hold onto
that’s why they’re
so hard to let go.
your demons reek fire,
and your energy flares to life,
angry hatred is stronger than ever.

I see some kids heading home from school,
bent over from the weight on their backpack.
In Palestine, children bear the politician’s schemes on their backs.
And bend further down,
grieving their parents’ lifeless forms.
Children, who used to be whole,
have their limbs torn off,
skin hanging from their faces and hands.

On my visit to the shop,
I see a kid throwing a tantrum over not getting sweets.
In Palestine, children hear cries of the wounded,
screaming for help.
While the world stands silent, aid delayed.
Red capes, a stone in their hands and a imaginary knife in their
teeth, they die as martyrs.

Politicians, no way you’d wield ruthless might,
If they were white children in your sight.

It doesn't matter what I say,
You won't read it anyways.
But you don't hurt me,
You make me happy.
What makes me unhappy isn't you,
It's when you push me away,
Please stop icing me out.

The choking vines of the wine yard,
Wrap around the souls of the somber.
Staring off into space,
While a chemical feeling seals their fate.

Do they feel happy yet?
Something more than the happiness they lost,
Was it right, to push love away?

In replacement they have a craving,
A welcomed feeling of demanding.
Their kisses curdle into bites,
Ripping chunks out of who they love,
Tearing holes into their head.

Tell me that you hate me
Say that you find me upsetting
Get angry, get spiteful about it
Block me from all of your socials
Erase the photos and my number
Tell me that you'll never come back
Throw it all back to my face
Please tell me that you hate me
Otherwise
I would still have hope