If I never get to be as beautiful
as all the pretty girls around me,
at least let me be

the scattered breeze ruffling your skin,
the scattered wind carrying whispers from the mountains,
the scattered sunlight illuminating cracked walls.

If I never get to be as graceful
as all the eloquent girls around me,
at least let me be

scattered like desert sand
all over your landscape.
At least let me be

scattered like drops of water
coloring the morning leaves.

Scatter my ashes, aghast, into ocean water,
because—

if I am never pretty enough for you,
at least let me be...
at least let me be,

who I am in reality:
a scattered mosaic
with missing pieces....

Did you even hear me?
   I heard every single me, humbled?

Like a bird with broken wings,
I look on with eyes full of envy
as all those around me take flight.
Held down by my own chains,
Left alone, aside from the emptiness;
The hollow realization
That something is missing,
But never knowing the slightest sense
Of what that something is.

I wake water steeping me,
A sleeping foam of rolling sea.
Each little island long washed,
Day by day, slowly sushed.

The grains of time ever fleeting away,
It ate my island, slow decay.
It is hard what I was.
It was hard to alas.

Now I am in water,
Light so bleak.
It is eating all matter,
Darkness will seek.

I succumbed time of break,
Gone of world, Earth that quake.
I not removed my last eye.
For all, it is lastly I.

Mouth empty,
Feast for entropy.
Lastly sigh,
Of I.

Life feels too heavy.
Too many worries.
Too many pressures.
Too many responsibilities.
Too many hardships.
Pain.
Despair.
Hope turns to despair.
Happiness turns to numbness.
Calmness turns to pain.

Too fast.
So bleed.
Bleed.
Bleed.
Till everything is silent.
But it’s not silent.
It’s not working.
Making me panic.
Why isn’t it working?

Lines marked so neatly
Parallel to each other
On my leg horizontally
Each of them redder

Like pencils lined up
Neatly in a row.
Without any breakup
All perfectly so

Some are faded
Some fresher
Some lighter
And some harsher

Drawn carefully
To bleed and stain
Makes me have safety
To feel the pain

I am not a writer, I 'm a prisoner in my head,                                              
                                                                ­                                          
compelled to think, to write, what is being said                                                             ­       
                                                                ­                                                
Feeling too much, it comes pouring out of me.                                          
                                                                ­                                            
bleeding onto pages, demons exorcised from me

Oftentimes I wonder what I look like through their eyes.
Do they see the same cracks I do?

The quiet hesitation, shattered by restless thought.
The way my hands sometimes tremble, much like my voice.
The way my eyes water when a burden bears much weight.
The flaws etched deep into a body I struggle to love.
The weight of hopelessness pulling me deeper and deeper.

Or is there something more-
Something I've forgotten how to recognize.

A light that doesn't flicker even in the most powerful winds.
A smile that brightens the day of others caught in the dark.
A loving person who yearns for the heart of their own.
A hardworking partner who they can rely on.
A shoulder steady and strong, always there when needed.

Oftentimes I wonder what I look like through their eyes.
And maybe- just maybe,
It's time I learn to see myself like that too.