I woke up before the noise,
breathed with the trees,
walked with the sky.
The sun hadn't yawned yet,
but I had — twice.

Back home, I made coffee
strong enough to slap me awake.
I whispered to my cup,
"Let's be productive today."
It didn’t answer —
but I believed in us.

I sat down with math—
chapter four, page full of promises.
I underlined the heading,
adjusted my pen cap five times,
then sharpened a pencil
I didn’t even need.
Pro-level procrastination unlocked.

Midway through one sad-looking equation,
my phone lit up—
first a comment,
then a reel,
then a cat dancing to lo-fi beats.
Fifteen minutes later,
I knew three dessert recipes
and forgot the formula
I never really knew.

Suddenly, a line hit me—
not from the textbook,
but from somewhere softer.
A poem idea.
Just a line, I thought.
A quick jot.
A harmless verse.

But the line grew limbs,
called in stanzas,
and started demanding metaphors.
So I gave in.
I gave it my quiet,
my hours,
my last sip of cold coffee.

A crow watched me
from the window grill
like it knew
I was failing both maths and time.

And now—
the sun is long gone,
the sky has tucked itself in.
The poem is finished,
polished and breathing.
But that chapter?
Still untouched.
Still waiting.

some mornings I pretend you're here,
walking with me to the gas station,
for a Red Bull and Snickers,
but only buying one for myself.

some afternoons I pretend you're here,
sitting with me on the damp grass,
watching as the cars pass by,
wondering if you were in one of them.

some nights I pretend you're here,
I whisper that I love you,
and tell you about my day,
but not hearing about yours in return.

In a fallen state.**

Looking at friends and family—
Seeking guidance in their daily lives.

They struggle with losses they are too ashamed to
share all because of their psyche.

If I interact I am nosy.
If I complain I am stubborn.

I can't mind my own business because of our connections.
————————
I investigate relentlessly and ask nothing but questions.

In my own world…
I spend my time in a delirious state—
Some would describe it as a ticking time bomb.

Like trends that never end.
Better yet addictions.

Some days are like picnics with an abundance of food—
The rest of the week is comparable to dew coming as a signal to the crack of a thunderstorm, soaking everything in water.

I stretch my youth out in limbo.
A perfect pause for—
“The Scream.”

I writhe in my downfalls with droplets of rain devising my tears like water going through pipes.

I can say…

Many of you suffer the same way and are confused in your youth.

With feelings for one another.
Our sympathy does not support the struggles of being different.

As it is now…there is a distance between you and me.
And there is nothing more to do than wait for your brush to be revitalized.

Your strokes would radiate the board with colors, colors so vibrant they make a pedestrian walk back the second time.

Knowingly, I cannot watch over you….
So I will look you directly in the eyes as I will tell you this.

everyone tells me the same thing,
"remember why you two split",
but how am I expected to think of that,
when all I can see if my perfect fit

how could you look at me,
with your bright green eyes,
yet so dark,
and so addicting,
and act like that look,
wasn't the very same look,
that you'd given to me,
when we were in love?

I knew that you planned to leave,
after all my text were left unread,
And you'd stop calling me every night,
it spoke the word you were afraid to,
so I did for you,
asking you why,
what had gone wrong,
And if it was my fault,
but you apologized,
and said it was you,
not me,
which I knew was a lie,
but you just didn't have the heart,
to tell me what we both knew was true.

All I ever did wrong,
was truly care about you too deeply,
thinking about you while listening to any love song,
I treated you like a key to finally being a human,
but I realize you never were the key,
instead you were the whole lock,
The law to the door that would have told me.

maybe it was me,
was it my very presence,
stopping you from light,
The light that gave you reason,
to finally live.

I miss your warmth,
but not only the physical warmth,
that boil under your skin,
like it was made to warm me in cool nights,
but the warm thing your smile,
in the words you spoke to me, too,
but I'm not supposed to miss your warmth,
since you are the one to catch me fire