Here, I’m still waiting on the rising,
But again, I go fading out of sight.
I guess, to you, it must be surprising,
How I was gone before sparks ignite.

Blowing- free flowing- in your direction,
Cut short by a sudden change in wind,
Gusts trade vision with my projection.
Reversing in confusion- now I rescind.

For it’s you who holds my attention,
But by a selfish means of protection,
Had me leaving before a storm began.
I can see I was creating a rejection
But there really wasn’t even a plan.
My patterns of impulse and projection
Regrettably have led to your doubt,
And damage to a wholesome connection.
I admit- I reeled you in, I spit you out.

But I didn’t mean to be deceiving-
I’m just a little abandoned and abused
Was never good with people leaving,
Sorry I left you bruised and confused.

naive as a dog,
I opened my heart to my God

my heart was broken, so i inverted reality,
didn't want to die yet, wanted to be good enough for her.

i dreamed in the hive of the sweet nectar of unconditional love

instead coldness dove into this heart, had to throw away that probability.
my blinds could see how fearfully we worshiped her.

no more hope, we abandoned self care.
my safest space became fantasy.
**** was ecstasy,
where this addict could dare.

don't mean to blame my bully for my choices
but something had to be done about the emotional taxing

wouldn't hold her horses,
so we validated her darkness through our habits.
now safer from the devil's approaching,
distance, a decade without her soul poaching.
now free from her torment, i frolic with the rabbits.

success I have created for myself,
free from the inner critic personified as herself,

I transform my pain into art.
I dug out everything that was in my heart.
I now know I really exist,
in this new love bubble FINALLY nothing to fix.

from wholme, i sadly understand my first bully.
mother wasn't taught less than being unruly.
i feel her drowning in her demons truly,
all she could do is clench onto my radiance poorly.

in my own castle panting, still my heart beats for her newly.

She who is afraid of sharp things
Who's afraid of needle
Who's afraid of being physically hurt
Who's afraid of getting cuts
Who cries on the smallest invisible cut
Who tries to protect herself from getting hurt
Who can't stand blood
Who's afraid of dying
Who wants to live
Who wants to explore
Who wants to be lively
Who wants to be happy
Who finds happiness in the smallest things
Is now c*tting herself
Just to know that she's alive
Just to know she isn't dead
Just to feel relieved
Just to escape her life
Just to bleed all the pain out

I crave for their affection
I crave for their love
I crave for their appreciation
I crave for them to love me back
I crave for them to be there for me
I crave for there to notice me
I crave for them to listen to me
I crave for their time
I crave for them to stop comparing me with my brother
I crave for the things i know I'll never get
To atleast be happy with me
But it's not gonna happen
I know it won't

So your sitting there talking on the phone
but in your statement your standing all alone

You can’t play the game of a one time mistake
you’ve done it before, so we know it’s all fake

A defense against an attack never made
you were the one who started the charade

To pin the blame on those that you hurt
put all those around on heightened alert

A stalker, a hater, a bully and the like
the names you called, putting a friendship on strike

But it never seems to be that you think it through
cuz every single one only applied to you

Another year older,
Another month tugging at the heartstrings.
So many emotions.
Happy, worried, sad, anxious, and happy again.
Everyday a toss of the cards.
I avoided the storms,
Wished upon a few stars,
And prayed to God with all might.  
I watched the movie screen and cried at the scenes.
Missed a few people who have gone on,
And looked back at the last few decades.
My life isn’t perfect.
But why would I want it to be.
At least I’m still here.

when you trim your ***** and your mustache with the same pair of scissors
when you hand over your entire paycheck to the bartender of doom and glee
when you write a bounced check at the grocery store
when you sleep with a girl who isn’t clean
when you’re young, lost, broken and poor
when your childhood runs hard and your luck runs out
when your best friend is dead and your other friend is ******* your girl
when your dog sleeps in the afternoon and dreams of the neighborhood *****
when your nutrients gets replaced with Xanax bars over the one who just left
when your tired eyes meet the brick & mortar of strenuous labor
when the smile is so fake that it appears genuine
when you go all in on someone you weren’t 100% sure of
when you wait on bleeding knees for the unreliable god
when you bet on the boxer that crashed to the canvas
when the interest is high and the banks are closed and the creditors don’t care about grace periods
when you understand very little and you expel a whole lot
when the cord of anxiety strangles your very essence
when you turn out to be just as everyone expected

don’t worry

it’ll all turn around

and find you again

someway

somehow.

They say I’m lucky
to be here.
Boarding school.
Safe.
Fed.
Books in my hands,
a roof that doesn’t leak.
But luck feels like a cruel joke
when you cry in a bed
no one tucked you into.

My stepmom’s voice doesn’t need to travel far—
it lives in me now.
“You’re too much.”
“You ruin everything.”
“No wonder your mother left.”
And I hate how fast I believe her.
How deep those words go.

Because my real mum did leave.
Not by accident.
Not by death.
She left because she didn’t want to be a mum.
Not my mum.
Not with me in the picture.
Fifteen years old
and I still wonder
what it was about me
that made her walk away.

Was I born too loud?
Too soft?
Too inconvenient to keep?

She sends postcards sometimes.
From places I’ve never been.
Smiling in sunglasses,
signing with love
like she remembers what that means.
But love doesn’t show up twice a year
and forget your birthday.

So I sit here,
in classrooms where no one knows
why I flinch at kindness,
why I don't raise my hand.
They don’t see the girl
who keeps herself small
so she won’t be sent away again.

I imagine the van sometimes—
that guy with the dog and the dust roads.
I imagine running,
not toward something,
but away.
From the house that wasn’t mine.
From the voice that broke me.
From the silence my mother left behind.

But what if I never run?
What if I just grow older
and colder,
wearing a mask that looks like success
but feels like surviving?

What if I stay here—
the girl left behind twice,
too scared to dream,
too used to being unwanted
to believe she could ever be more?

What if I don’t make it—
and no one notices
because they never expected me to
in the first place?