I am the soul who piled darkness in the divine’s realm.
It grows well within the ribs of mine,

Alongside anger and disgust,

Reaping in every inch of glass reflection.

And I sow sorrow freshly in the fields of life,

Acknowledging my own sin

Within the punishment that blow-dries His blessings.
I wake with fresh morning hatred.

Rage, shame, and anguish are friends of mine—

They sleep between my eyes,

Sneaking in during moments of daydreaming.
But His blessings are infinite.

Through every inhale I take,

God’s grace shows me mercy and miracles.

And I catch myself holding the point—

Of becoming nothing through death.


Stopping is not the answer;

And so I keep moving,

For the sake of life
And the gentlest death.

Am I in league with Hell?
Or is that just how it feels?

Am I truly evil?
Is it my ideals?

Is it my rage alone-
That electrifies the eels?

The fear inside
It petrifies and reels

Pulls me back and forth
Conceals what's truly real

The reaction I can give a thing
Is not always how I feel

And past the stars and burning eyes
The truth can finally be realized
If it was overkill
Or if it was justified

im so angry
my emptiness
my loneliness
my everything
all my emotions
boil down to rage

why must i have such high expectations
of myself, and why must other have
such high expectations of me?
im not built for constant brain tearing,
splitting, spearing forwards, to stab the wall
with the sharp edges of my frazzled mind

im a live wire
fizzling against the ground
begging, reeling, praying
for someone to touch it
to spread its angry, fizzing electricity
through someones heart.

as i continue down this path
drinking and smoking and pushing myself
to death
the teenage dream
my rage will push me to new heights
pull me up to great things
just to spite those who wronged me.

He said I always make things worse.

I traced our last conversation
inside my lip with my tongue,
until it burned like citrus.

My teeth still taste like that night—
miso soup, metallic coffee, a dare—
and the word “almost” said until it split.

I don’t start the fires—
I just know how to fan them
so the smoke spells mine,
so the ashes spell proof.

“You’re welcome for the mirror,” I said,
then, “You flinched first,”
like scripture I was tired of reciting.

He called me a problem
and then prayed for something exciting.
Well, God listens.
And she’s been on my side lately.
(And sometimes inside me.
And sometimes wearing red.)

You say I write like it’s a weapon.
But you brought a sword to my poem.
You heard me speak—and called it war.

I’m not the plot twist.
I’m the motif.
I’m the whisper that keeps showing up
even when you don’t name it.
Especially when you don’t name it.

You wanted a girl who could break
without getting any on your shoes.
Who called it miscommunication
when it was a massacre.
I called it Thursday.

I made you feel.
You made it a crime scene.
Now every sentence tastes like sirens.
But sure—blame me
for the blood in your mouth
when you kissed me wrong.

So yeah—
maybe I do make things worse.
But worse is where the story gets good.
Where you start reading slower.
Where your hands start shaking.

It’s not that I ruin things.
I just ask questions
that don’t look good in daylight.

It’s not that I mean to wreck things.
I just don’t know how to leave a room
without checking every exit
twice.

And labeling each one ‘almost.’

You ever love someone
so hard you forget to be charming?
Me neither.

He thought he was the mystery.
I’m the red string
and the corkboard
and the girl in the basement
with the map of everything that never happened.

You didn’t fall for me.
You fell through me.
That’s not my fault.
It’s gravity.
Or girlhood.
Or God, laughing behind her hand.

Say it again. Slower. This time, with your hands in your pockets.

Am I only my body?
Did he have to have *** with me to realize he did not want me anymore
Or did he already knew?
Was the question
“Can we do it raw?”
Because he knew it would be the last time?

Why did I do this for so long?
For him to love me?
For myself?
For the last bit of hope?

I hope no one has to suffer like I did

I kinda wish he was miserable too
To feel at least  a bit of regret
A bit of sadness
I kinda wish the world screws him
Just a bit more
So is ego is crushed

He does not have my respect
Because I do not think he respected me anyways
Or atleast
Not my body

A beautiful day to get lost,
Following the traces of you.
The sun kisses my skin—
The way you used to.

Fingers drift through blades of grass,
Remembering how softly they touched you.
My love, my other half,
That grounded me to this earth.

Eyes wide open,
Memories find you to share this beauty.
I find myself standing in an open field,
Blue skies unraveling to gray—
Billowing clouds travel like words unsaid.

Your kisses pull away as the light fades out.
A familiar distant thunder crashes into my bones,
Moving the earth beneath me.

Seconds between raging lightning,
Splitting through the skies.
The keeper of my dreams,
Before the tempestuous sky became your eyes.

The tremors break.
The storm is coming.

I steady this heart—
Shaped like my tired, breaking body.
With fury and wind,
The cold, heavy rain finds me,
Burning like embers escaping a blazing fire.

I wrap my arms around myself,
Whispering:
Did I deserve this?
Did I create this?
Did I make this worse?
This is my fault.

But before the thoughts can comprehend,
Before my mind can settle in,
The rage retreats,
The storm fades—
As quickly as it came.

The rain, it gives.
The clouds shift again.
And the sun warms me,
Wrapping its arms around my cold, soaked body—
The way your arms always did.

For a moment, I clench my eyes,
And your gentle love is with me.

And I love you—
Again,
And again,
And again,

Without armor.