If weeds could thrive—
Grow under duress,
Withstand the stomping,
Cling to minimal breath,
Evade the storm—
Then I want to be one.

No—
I am one.

But the downfall,
It’s a weakness:
Weeds get wiped out faster.
They welcome death
By choking what breathes beside them.
And so do I.
I realize.

I thought my forte was depth—
Roots dug well.
But now it’s dried, cracked,
And starting to burn
Others with it.

I write stories in my mind—
illusions spun to keep the darkness
in my head at bay.
Stories of victory,
of rising,
of finally seeing.

I write poems that shred my soul,
words spilling raw from the wound.
Each line a whisper
to quiet the screaming child
that still lives in me.

I write songs that bloom with joy,
for others to sing,
to make me feel whole
if only for a moment.
Songs to hold the depression
just outside the door.

I write the words my heart exhales—
laced with pain
and bitter delight.
Each one a scream
disguised as verse,
so I can cry
without making a sound.

Everything hurts.
My face scrunching up as the tears burst out of me
The lump in my throat that prevents me from speaking
The thoughts I'm forced to face now that feel never ending.

No one thinks the unbelievable will happen,
Until it simply does.
and the responses I have in the moment-
make me feel incredibly ****** up.

Shock is more numbing than the walk in freezer at work.
It's as if I were reading anything, not her actual words.  
I don't know who to blame,
or maybe I do- but that feels worse.

Pain hurts, no?
Then why is this one comforting?
It helps keep myself in check, and stops from disappointing.

It hurts like hell, but I know no other.
It stuck with me through bad and good, while all the others smothered.

It stops me from getting mad and pointing the finger at others.
Instead I blame myself, and I'll kindly suffer.

It's my best friend, it never leaves my side.
Its everlasting, and it shows.
It doesn't even let me cry.

It's all I've ever known.
I couldn't love another.
Please don't take my pain away, and kindly let me suffer.

I am a sinner,
A sinner who dared dreamt of love,
A sinner whose only sin was to be hideous,
A sinner who did not know it was a sin,
A sin to not be perfect as the world wants.

A beast who never got the beauty,
A dwarf in love with the sleeping beauty,
A frog who did not turn into a prince when kissed,
A Bluebeard without the forbidden room,
A beast who was never a cursed prince, never blissed.

So I tear away pieces of myself to be perfect,
To be someone, not bound by their looks—
The polite boy, the helpful friend, the good guy,
The martyr, the forgotten, the soldier of a hopeless war.
Only to be reminded I’ll always be the loveless one.

Beauty and the Beast, sounds so lovely, doesn’t it?
But I never wanted to be the beast.
It never sounded hopeful or enchanting in my abyss.
All I could hear was pity and sympathy,
Mixed with my demeaning and desperate pleas.

Is love such a luxury,
That one needs to be perfect to reach it?
Or is it just the case for me?
I see everywhere people have it and are happy—
Why are they nowhere close to the ideals burdened upon me?

So I weep and weep without cries and shouts
I weep for one to love me and only me unconditionally
To drown in me as I would for them—
To love me as deeply as I love,
But no one ever does.

How could I love like that again
When I pour all of my heart into you
How could I love like that again
When I wasn't enough for you

You've caused me pain and disappointment,                                            
                                                                ­                                                    
     time and again and in that
 moment,                                                        ­                
                                                ­                                                                 ­       
  I want to hurt you and see you writhe,                                              
                                                                ­                                                  
  make you feel no one 's on your
  side                                                          ­                                          
  Walk away when you reach out to
me,                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                   
Bare my teeth and make you bleed                                                            ­          
                                                                ­                                              
Show you my love
inconsistently,                                                  ­                                          
                      ­                                                                 ­                             
let you feel how you treat
me                                                               ­             
                                                                ­                                            
Ignore you when you try to
engage,                                                          ­                      
                                                                ­                                               
stomp my feet and not act my
age                                                              ­                  
                                                                ­                                                 
      Point my finger at you so I can
blame,                                                           ­                                         
                                                                ­                                                  
tell everyone so you'll feel
ashamed                                                          ­                      
                                          ­                                                                 ­     
Give you nothing but take all you
have,                                                            ­                                          
                      ­                                                                 ­                           
tell you you're weak because you feel
bad                                                              ­                    
                                                                ­                                          
Destroy your trust and your will to
live,                                                            ­      
                                                          ­                                                        
  take all I want and all that you give

Life is pain.
That’s what they say.
Pain—
physical, emotional, mental—
it touches everyone.
So mine is not unique,
I would say.
Pain is life.
Life is pain.

But endless pain—
that is a different animal.
It never stops.
It slinks beside you,
sleeps in your bones,
a feral thing
slithering through your soul,
feeding on your light.

It steals.
Dreams.
Desires.
Hope.
You begin to speak
of the Time Before Pain
like a lost country—
a utopia
you once called home.

Now the present is war.
Every day a siege,
every hour
a whisper of resistance:
beat it
conquer it
survive it.

This pain lives off you.
It eats your basics,
hollows your core.
You stop wanting love.
You stop wanting wealth.
You want one thing only:
the cessation of pain.

And the future?
A fog, a flicker—
maybe there,
a life beyond this.
But now—
now, pain fills you,
poisoning your soul
against the fragile thread of hope.

It fills you
with anger,
with emptiness,
with a raw and aching need—
the need
for someone
to see you.

To see beyond
the red, raging storm,
past the mask,
into the trembling self
still curled
in the heart of it all—
and simply
see
you.