I was born
with questions in my mouth.
Why do wolves howl?
What do bees dream?
Will I ever be held
the way that the ocean's depths
hold secrets?
*
I pressed my hands
into the cool dirt of every mystery,
removed them to find earth under my nails,
ink on my palms,
and a smile I still cannot explain.

They tried to tell me:
not everything needs to be known.
But how could I keep from exploring
when every whisper of the wind,
every caw of the crows,
every daisy's petal,
tells me there is more.

They tried to tell me:
Pandora's jar is just Eden's apple
wearing a new name -
blooming only sorrow,
but can we really know the light
without the dark?

Hope was the last thing breathing.
She was caught in the looking glass,
unable to speak,
and I thought her reflection
looked an awful lot
like me.

Who hasn’t wanted to stop time for just a second?
Something fleeting — a moment, pure and simple.
The peak of life should be something we could wrap up and keep safe.
Everything passes — and most of the time, that’s a good thing.
But sometimes, it’s heartbreaking.
Not everything should slip away.
Some moments are so rare,
they feel heavy in your hands, like you could actually catch time.
But you can’t.
It always slips through — and like I said, everything passes.
A tiny fragment of time.
From Latin momentum, meaning the power to move, to shift.
And it’s that weight packed into small, passing moments
that keeps us moving forward.
Everyone has a moment they’d live in, if only they could.

You’re about to give in
You’re collapsing
The walls are surrounding you
It makes you think
About life
Your past
The little details
Then you grow claws
Long mangy things you cannot control
They’re not part of you
But they have become you
It's not the end of the world
But it could be the end of you
You try to scratch at the walls
Bend them
Claw their insides out
But will it stop the walls?
Can they come to a complete standstill?
It is not you against the walls
It is you against time
Because in the end,
We are all up against the passage of time.
Don’t worry about the walls
Worry about the claws you make
Because each one defines a part of you
As they come from you
You make them what they are
And you can control that.

You look better when I close my eyes.
Because I’m a horrible person
a horrible person who still thinks of her when I’m with you.
Yet again, when I’m with her, who I was gets lost.
because honestly, I was broken
—She broke me—
I am broken, but you’ve seen me as whole.

crash and slam---
into the silver reflection,
where
I see myself
on the waters,
my thoughts
go astray
and begin
a riot in
my mind,
shattering
what's left of me

The moon, in its monolith state,
watching the earth as it torments itself alive.
The flames, sprinting house to house,
building to building-
cleaning the flesh and bones of the fleeing,
while it feasts on their names.
"Father! Father! Why are they doing this to us?!"
"Son...because we... are aliens..."
"Father?..."
...
...
...
Chains are put on,
running through generation to generation,
feeding on revenge, rage, and trauma-
down to the ancestral, cultural r’üts of the race.
Until then, the oppressed stares into their ancient scars.
Only seeing their own hands
dripping with fresh bludhymn
for the actions that are not
yet-
committed.

Clouds pass overhead.
Time grows ancient.
"Is it because we are devils?"
-centuries of clouds pass-
"... because we are robots."
-centuries of clouds pass-
"They imprisoned - the humans."
-centuries of clouds pass-
"Why am I born as an angel?"
-centuries of clouds pass-
"Why am I... different?"

These voices echo throughout the sky-
into roots that remember
every life they've ever swallowed,
into blood that refuses
to forget a single drop,
into threads that
can never unravel,
into...
upon...
its own...
endternal...
reflection.

Thus, built upon oppression,
                                        after oppression–
                             after oppression–
                    after oppression–
          after oppression–
after…