I don’t thirst for the sun when it’s gone

When the moon’s hue is shining above
The blue light is blinding my eyes  
It’s gentle when burning my skin
It’s warm for the coldness inside

The darkness fits me like a glove
It smoothly cuts all of my ties
It’s tenderly hiding my sins
I blindly made it my own guide

It’s buffering all of my screams
I cannot recall brighter times
As far as I see in my dreams
The sun has been out of the skies

There’s an outfit for each kind of day,
one for work, and one to play.
One for silence, one for charm —
I dress to keep their peace from harm.

I match their tone, their pace, their cue,
become the me they’re walking through.
A shifting shape, a face that fits —
but never quite the one that sits.

I dress in layers not for style,
but just to wear a safer smile.
A thousand looks, a thousand designs —
but none align with what’s in mine.

And every mirror looked back at me
But none of them knew who to be
I learned to read the room so well,
I lost the voice I used to tell.

But fabric wears, and so did I,
the cost of always living shy.
I’ve worn their sizes, played their part —
let fashion hide a restless heart.
But now I pull the stitching tight —
and walk in clothes that finally fit right.

© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma

Your face is a stone slate
I feel my heart begin to palpitate.
A swing of a fist,
the crashing of metal.

My eyes are black.
Not like the night sky, speckled with stars
or like obsidian.  Just black.
Just mine.

I try to follow yours
To track your mind,
but the clocks look wierd and time seems to bind.
A dream like trance you've locked me in blind.

The things you have done in your life.
You may have never noticed my strife
or affliction by caused by your carelessly swung hand.  
or maybe
you had me at your feet
and you never looked down to see

It pains me to not be understood
but I niether care for being percived.
And part of me must always grive
for the girl that could never be.
  
But please,
Don't look me in my eyes,
for you may see what you pretend doesn't exist.

I’ve stood at the edge
of so many beginnings—
just close enough to taste them,
never close enough to stay.
The door always slightly ajar,
never open.
I want to be more than a shadow of almost.

People call me potential,
but never presence.
A promise, not a person.
Their faith feels like fog—
thin and disappearing
the moment I reach for it.
I want to be more than a shadow of almost.

I speak like I know who I am,
but the echo doesn’t agree.
My words crumble in my mouth
before they ever build meaning.
Even my hope sounds rehearsed.
I want to be more than a shadow of almost.

I dream in color,
but live in grayscale.
My hands stretch forward
but always fall short—
of the vision,
of the version
of me I thought I’d be by now.
I want to be more than a shadow of almost.

So I write.
I bleed ink and silence
trying to draw a shape
that feels like truth.
And maybe one day,
I’ll look back
and see I was becoming all along.
I want to be more than a shadow of almost.

Let us stay a little while,
midst the light and bloodied bile,
let us see what we can see
with our deceiving eyes.

The mother feeds their child,
and the scorching sun rises.
The lakes glisten like stars
and the birds sing again.

They're playing soccer.
And talking.
And having fun.
With eachother.

The plants move and twist,
and the tide ebbs and flows.
The grass is emerald.

They invite you in.
It just isn't for you.
If only it was.

The sky is an ocean of blue.
The birds fly like scattered sand.
  
You start doing your homework.

You like it.
You love it.
It's great.

It's fun.
It's so, so fun!
So fun...
that tears run down.

Yet your eyes are hollow.
Your head is full of soot.
Why?

i have realized i can't stand being touched.
not after him.
i crave the warmth of another soul,
but i flinch, i shrink, dread settling in.

breaths ragged like the flowers
i once placed in his hair.
a scream claws at my throat,
i can't stand to be here.

release me from his phantom jaws,
let me force life back into my lungs.
his behavior never gave him pause,
i can't stand to see what he has brung.

i need to be held, to be warm.
to be safe and nestled by your form.
so please be patient, and never ask why
i cry when you graze my scars
with nothing but something truly kind.