Flipping through a bundle
of identical sheets
I realise there is no difference between us

I, like the sheets
Hover the earth with no specific goal
Waiting for someone to scribble
an endorsement

But no-one comes
Because I am the paper and the ink
My experiences are my art
freely given materials

With which to bless,  beautify and build

She wanted to blow a hole
Inside the temple of tomorrow,
Ripping the facade of false hope,
Shattering dreams she cannot borrow.

"Tell me! Accept me! Forgive my weaknesses!"
The screams of a soul torn apart,
A monster forged in the furnace of hatred,
Their abuse painted across her heart.

Only the burn of chemicals calms the beast,
Trapped in the past, never released.
Another hit to muffle the cries,
But demons resurface as the high dies.

Death whispers with a silencer's breath,
Golden child lies in the shadow of death.
She, the unwanted, she, the broken,
Rage withdraws where words are unspoken.

He never fought them, never stood tall,
Just smiled as she crumbled, watching her fall.
"Look in the mirror, who will save you now?"
Her reflection screams, but she doesn’t know how.

Comfort carved in the lines of her flesh,
Destruction's lover, her only caress.
"Don’t leave me all alone!" she cries,
Echoes of pain through empty skies.

A child estranged, silent and cold,
Unaware of the horrors untold.
She bears the weight, the scars of despair,
A temple in ruins, no one left to care.

So she screams to the void,
To the gods of tomorrow,
Take her sorrow, take her sorrow!
But they leave her hollow.

No soft lullabies for this rage,
no bedtime tales for the scars.
Her rebellion, a waltz in combat boots,
spiked with grunge, venom, and a scream
that split the dawn like broken glass.
No lowering of voices—
it was them who whispered ******
while she carried the weight of silence,
their pills clutched in cold fists.

Madness was no surrender,
no white flag to psychiatrists
and their bottled truths.
She danced instead,
barefoot with demons that knew her name,
their laughter a dirge,
their touch as real as chains.

Words slithered into mirages—
truth, lies, all indistinct,
a love once pure now shadowed,
a muse now bound by sleepless nights
and post-traumatic hymns.
Our Lady of Sorrows bled for a flock
that prayed in her shadow,
kneeling in borrowed guilt.
But when she bled,
no one looked.

Plans drawn in whispered ink—
a razor’s edge,
a promise of release.
Love, a phantom now,
its face distorted with time,
matured, stretched thin by distance.
The scream of silence grew louder,
and demons conversed until the sun rose,
its light bruising the horizon.

She was no saint.
She forgave no trespasses.
But as the dawn burned anew,
there lingered a pulse,
a faint rhythm of hope—
love not redeemed,
but waiting,
coiled like a spring
for the next dance.

Scattered snakes
A leap of faith
A vacation from self
Into void

Two doors
Open Eyes
A descent
Into what we avoid

Constant sounds
Crescendos
To proximity
Of now
Meditation breaks
Then reforms

Foreign Sensations
Cell surge
Heavy heart
Static dreams
A pit opens
In consciousness

Destruction of silos
Synthesized parts
Hypnotized whole
One moment
Breaking into many

Weight of being
Sinking into flesh
Falling through mind
Flying past thought
Floating in awareness
Light as emptiness

I want to hold onto my memories
Like water in cupped hands
I fear entropy taking them away
Bit by bit, byte by byte
I am attached to them and I love them
Even as they change me
I see life through them
Through dreams that dream me

Webs of Stories form beliefs
Influencing actions
Creating concepts of me
Until me becomes myth

A synthesis of cells
Speaking electric tongues
A possession of matter
By patterns that think
Through a brain and a spine
And everything between
Resulting in unity
Of scattered fragments

Interactions forming bonds
All the way up
All the way down
Outside and within
Culture eating society
Society eating self

Self eating body
Body eating mind
Biology consuming chemistry
Chemistry consuming physics
Down to quantum foam

Relationships and interactions
Observation collapses waves
Into singular moments
Of existence

Embodied interactionism
Where Brahman meets brain
Where infinite touches finite
Where I dissolve
Into we

Forming beliefs
From scattered signs
Influencing actions
Through quantum dice
Creating me
From cosmic debris
Until individual
Becomes universal

Travel an emotion
With lots of happiness and Hopes
Either crossing timezones
or to the nearest city
Either Holding hands
or setting yourself free
Exploring the essence of
New Place, People and Culture
Travel could find your true self
making it the best refreshment
Keep travelling!

I am confident because I am a woman,
Not a reflection of someone else’s desires,
Not an object to be shaped by their whims,
But a vibrant force, grounded and inspired.
They think they own my beauty,
As if it’s theirs to claim and consume.
But I’m the storm that shakes their ground,
A force of nature, bold and unbound.
Each scar I bear tells of my fight,
A testament to strength and might.
I rise like fire, daring and bold,
Defying limits they’ve tried to mold.
I honor the woman in my own mirror,
Her spirit unbroken, her vision clear.
If my independence stirs their unease,
Let my truth rise like a tempest, swift as the breeze.
I refuse to fit into their narrow confines,
Living authentically, where my spirit shines.
As free as the winds that weave through the trees,
With aspirations that soar beyond their pleas.
When their illusions begin to crumble and fall,
They lash out like shadows, but I stand tall.
Their approval was never my measure of worth;
I’ll reflect on this journey with pride and mirth.
Finding strength in each “no” that I dared to speak,
In every chain I shattered, in every dream I seek.
My path is my own, uniquely defined;
I am here—embracing the fire in my mind.
With courage as my compass and hope as my guide,
I’ll honor my story, with nothing to hide.

She peeled her oranges today,
actually for years,
but this isn’t about oranges.

She holds things together,
piece by piece, peel by peel,
grown used to her hands
and the strength they reveal,
but this isn’t about oranges.

It feels strange when another
reaches out, offers to peel,
to see past the layers,
the parts that are real,
but this isn’t about oranges.

She learns self-reliance,
but maybe it’s true,
that letting someone help
doesn’t make her less, but new,
and again, this isn’t about oranges.

So here’s to the balance,
to peeling her own,
yet knowing it’s okay
not to do it alone.

Because, in the end,
this isn’t just about oranges.