There’s a hollow kind of happiness
caught in the curve of an imperfect smile—
where soft lies rest gently on the tip
of a weary tongue.

To be truly happy is to risk the world
watching, waiting for your fall—
constantly crumbling on your knees,
like a prayer too faithful not to be heard.

Vows taste bittersweet, like knowing,
deep and quiet, that you’ll fail before you begin.
And still—you hold the hurt in your hands,
the same hurt that shaped you,
while denying how deeply it still aches.

But pain denied
denies you healing.

As you are still searching for yourself—
like an arrow already loosed, still chasing
its aim long after the bow has let go.

And maybe you won't land where you
thought—but you’ll find something solid
beneath your feet. And not every wound closes
clean, but even scars can trace a path for you
to follow.

You never said more than ten words to me                                                               ­                                                      and  that's just a **** tragedy                                                     ­                   You had a hard time showing your love                                                      made  me feel not good enough                                                           ­   You  never said I am proud of you                                                          so  I  stopped trying to prove  it to  you                                                          ­  You  ignored me most of my life                                                             ­      and that cut me like a knife                                                            ­       Old woman take a look at me                                                               ­   I'm  more than you'll ever be                                                               ­          Now I look at you with pity                                                             ­        I  didn't need you to validate me

Let me feed you, they say
When they really want to sell
My teeth are barcodes
My bones are meals

Let me heal you, they say
Then they take yet more
Though Im not slowing down
(You can't when you're poor)

Let me show you self, they say
And pawn their own breath away
Enlightened in pure white light
Blue eyes of divine right

Let me educate you, they say
From the vacant room never left
Of fathers' touches never kept
And dog-eared pages of contempt

Let me, let me, let me
As if I am able to escape
Push me, push me, push me
As if its only my hand that shakes
Violently, violently, violently
In a regime ripe to break

The cosmos breathes through your silken thread,
A shimmer stitched where starlight treads,
Each breath you take, a hush, a spark,
A song begun within the dark.

You walk, a lantern born of flame,
Yet hold no boast, nor cry your name;
The hush of galaxies leans in,
To hear your soul’s light stir the wind.

You are not small, though stars are grand,
You are the pulse in the sky’s own hand.
A symphony that dares to rise,
From silence, into sacred skies.

Let morning crown your brow with fire,
And let your gaze the heavens inspire,
For God in shadow, dust, and hue,
Finds voice and rhythm, here, in you.

What do you see
When you look at the mirror
Is it the pain and sorrow you have
Masked by a big smile and cheery attitude

Or is it your eyes that lost all life within them
And yet live on in delusion that
Things might get better

Is it your arms that have lost their strength
But have to carry your burden
That is filled with suffering and regret

Or is it your legs that can't walk anymore
But still run in an attempt
To get away from your mistakes

In the end, what do you see
When you look at the mirror
Is it the fact that the mirror is shattered
And is reflecting a broken version of yourself

Or is it the fact that
Even if the mirror was fixed
It would never fix...

The part of you that is already broken

As she walks around, tiptoeing about,
Judging herself so filled with doubt.
Conform, compress, and pay the dues—
The audience smiles at the pointe shoes.

The air felt warm on a tightened chest,
Urgency excused the hurt she pressed.
Forced to step and leave a mess.

The stage creaked with every leap,
Cracked and crumbled, she let pieces seep.
When souls so kind are forced to break,
the warm air shakes in a state of quake.

Oh, am I the cause of these broken boards?
Or was it rotten wood no one restored?

Toes blistered where the thought fell by
The aching hush of silent cries.
The pointe shoes take their final steps.
She only wished to see the stage rest.

But still, the pieces kept on falling.
It was never her or even the crowd calling.
Oh, it was the rain above and warm summer air
That left the stage in a state of despair.

A soul no longer trapped by the crowd ahead
Or being the cause of the stages death—
Hearts move on to carry other burdens,
How will she think for herself with no more curtains?

I emerge
Reformed from old
Rebuilt anew
Transmogrified
Revitalised
A new body
A new mind
What once was, altered
Adapted from past lessons
To build on
To be better
The catalyst?
Self-reflection