What happened to those
beautiful days?

Even though I know the answer
but my heart keeps denying
that painful phase;

Silver lines are strained, have framed my time and brain's an age.
The novel way it's colours fade, settled in for a third or fourth phase, this comfort zone presides.
Collectively we bind, struggling in life.

How can you sleep knowing that you can easily hurt someone close to you?
Easy, it's because they don't know you're hurting
You put up all these walls to the point that saying "it's fine" is the verge of tears
You know you're not fine, but you push through it all
Trying to stay focus on one project a day gets harder as days pass
You just wish for someone to ask if you need help with any of your projects
...but no...no one ask, but it's fine
It's fine that you can silently cry and no one will notice your puffy red face
It's fine that you had to suppress emotions to make your friends and family happy
It's fine that your parents haven't seen you have an anxiety attack
Wait, no...change that, to the fact that parents think my anxiety is part of a phase
If it was a phase, I would like it to be over already
A phase is what my parents were thinking when I wanted to dye my hair
A phase is what my friends thought when I realized I liked girls
But hey, it's fine
Generally okay with the fact that I will rarely get support from family
But it's fine because my "family" that I have created thanks to some loyal friends will be there holding signs, screaming my name louder than everyone
It's fine that I can barely speak about myself without getting mixed up emotions
Emotions that have been hiding under my bed with the monsters that stopped existing
The emotions everyone clearly don't want to see with me...so then I put up more walls
Each wall stronger than the last one
Using all kinds of materials for each wall
But its it's okay because I think it's fine.

It is true pain changes people.
But you know what pain also does;
it hurts you,
it breaks you,
it drains you,
it disconnects you from the
people around you at times.

It sometimes makes you feel
like giving up on your life.
But maybe that's just a phase.

Maybe we have to break to heal.
Maybe we have to fall to rise.
Maybe we give up to fight.
Maybe we have to make mistakes to learn.
Maybe we have to tear to be courageous.

Maybe we have to go through chaos to find peace.
Maybe we have to feel weak to be strong.
Maybe we have to get messed up before we step up.
Maybe going down was a part of the plan of rising
up once again better.

Pain brings out the worst,
the best and sometimes
it is just different.
And you get to choose
who you get to cast yourself as.

You get to pick up those pieces
and place them the way you want to be.
Sometimes it isn't bad, it isn't good,
it's just different.
And that's alright.

Another year and look where I am
Hands deep in my pockets
But no longer depressed
I haven't cut in forever
No painting myself red
I haven't hated myself
Hated my name

I left all that behind in 2018

You didn't.
You stopped in 2016
Dead in the phase when we all were trying to find a reason to live.  
You really did die
When we all were pretending to be
You didn't leave the phase that left me
In 2018

Call me naive.
Blinded by a honeymoon phase
and sickly sweet jest

Because I want to keep
this blindfold
pulled down over my eyes.

I don't want to know
what time it is—
day or night, stars and light —
but this comfort
wraps my body and glues me to my bed.

He likes me
He likes me, not
the me I always try and hide behind
but the me that's real.

And he's honey sweet
and golden feat,
how I managed to find him
I'll never know.

He tells me once
twice and again, actually,
that they couldn't have made
a better half for him in a lab
if they had tried.

I'd lift my blindfold to see
you and your gorgeous honey blue eyes
shining through the dark like a moon,
and what we bake together
might just be the most delicious cake maybe ever.

If my words were sugar
I could have told him then
and there, his lips on mine
tasted sweet.
Like everything he says to me.

But I'm bad at baking cakes with no sugar
and all the store had was keyboards and pens
so I wrote him this instead;

To my perfect other half,
Each joke you make resounds
laugh for laugh, I sculpt you a present
epitaph commemorating you... for you
with words, to say

I think...
I might love you?