I am a candle
burning past hurts
craving new air
reaching to the sky
leaving a mark

I am stronger than my scars
wiser than my mistakes
more capable than my
insecurities

I can only be me
I will only burn brightly

Life kicked me,
even when
I was already down.

It left me so many times,
alone,
thinking no one cared.

I had so much love to give,
but I wasn’t the most beautiful
for those who sought it.

They mocked me
for being strange,
when they were the ones who didn’t understand.

I trusted those who swore to stay,
yet behind my back, they laughed.

I lost myself,
becoming
what others wanted me to be.

I loved who I shouldn’t have,
trusted who I couldn’t,
fought battles that weren’t mine.

Tired of the shadows,
I became light.

Until I learned to play,
to laugh,
and to love.

What did I learn?

Lost.
Every child is born lost,
Every child is born alone.

We enter this world crying,
Small hands reaching for warmth,
A warmth we cannot create alone.

Stumbling, falling,
Too weak to stand on our own,
Helpless, dependent.

Molded by voices not our own,
Taught what to say, how to be,
Following paths laid before us,
Doing as we are told.

But as we grow, we begin to change.
We learn to rise without trembling,
To speak with voices that are now our own,

To walk where our hearts desire,
No longer imitating,
No longer afraid.

Courageous, independent,
Becoming our own saviors,
Because we no longer need another to be—
Found.

To be loved by me  
is like being held underwater  
and expected to learn how to breathe.  

I don’t feel like I’m from here—  
from this planet.  
To love me is inhuman.  

I’m a creature of the night.  
Don’t get too close,  
or you might cause me a fright.  
But if you get just close enough,  
we can have conversations  
that last all night.  

To be loved by me  
is like being drowned…

You lose yourself in me.  
I lose myself in you.  
It’s not just a pattern—  
it’s painted in the stars above,  
the ground below.  
You know we’ve all seen this show.  

I either make landfall  
like a hurricane,  
or like the rain  
that was supposed to come today  
but never bothered to show its face.  

To be loved by me  
is like being drowned…

It’s not that I’m unlovable…  
It’s that I might be intoxicating.  
And you know how it goes  
with toxic things:  
you either can’t put them down,  
or you know better  
than to ever pick them up.  

To be loved by me  
is like being drowned…

But what if I’ve never been those extremes?  
What if that’s just how you’ve chosen to see me?  
What if loving me is not like drowning?  
What if I’ve just been watering your seeds?  
What if we look between the stars and the ground?  

To be loved by me
Is like being drowned?

Is there a different story to be found—  
waiting to be painted  
by someone who can see  
both the stars above  
and the roots beneath the tree?

at the end of the day,
with my illusions at bay,
when bound to obey
a truth so gray —
i travel the depths
with sondering footsteps,
to see if they help
or merely cast a vignette
of eclectic readings,
and years of heeding
the lives preceding;
still bleeding —
like a pair of lips,
torn at the tips
in sorrow’s grips;
hardly equipped —
to deal with ‘the self’
blowing dirt off bookshelves,
too dry to spell  
the thought of oneself.

I want to make sense
of the life we had,
of the fight we fought,
of the battles we braved,
where grief stood like a wall
too high to climb.

I want to make sense
of what we went through—
the endless nights that stretched,
the days eating felt like a chore,
something we forced upon ourselves  
to survive.
And our laughter vanished
into the cracks of silence.

Were we too fragile for the storms?
Is that why we chose to let it go,
leaving behind the pieces of her?
Do they not matter to us?
Or are they too heavy for us to carry?

I want to make sense of all of it.
Because if I can’t,
then all the miseries go to waste.
Why did we take such roads
that led us to destinations
we never planned to reach?

Why did we fight so hard?
Did we hold on too tightly,
only to end up making ourselves bleed?
Was it grief?
Were we trying to find echoes of her voice,
trying to keep her alive
in the ways we thought were right?
Were we trying to build a house
out of her memories?

I want to make sense of all of it.
My head hurts, my heart aches,
because now it feels like a big waste.
We went all the way
only to end up leaving it all behind.

Why didn’t we accept it sooner—
that home wasn’t a place?
It was her.
And when she left,
home dissolved like a dream
in the harsh truth of reality.

Were we too slow to accept
that the waves had already swept her away,
taking pieces of us with it.

I want to make sense of all of it—
the goodbyes,
the lost connections,
the betrayals,
the broken promises,
the pieces of our hearts
we lost behind
in search of meaning.

Will I feel at peace
if I can just make sense of all of this?
If I untangle the knots of grief,
will the ache in my chest finally lighten?

Will I sleep again,
or will I carry her absence,
a weight that feels lighter
but never disappears?

He is her mirror,
The one she stands before
Whether things are good or bad.
Until she walks away,
She doesn’t understand
The cracks spreading
Across her face,
Ignoring the obvious
She applies more makeup.
Though she’s gone,
Her presence lingers,
Soon to follow.

In front of her mirror,
She could speak as freely
As she wanted,
Be seen for who she is.
In front of family and friends,
She’s quiet,
Acting out of appearance,
Ignoring the space, she thought
Was empty.

She doesn’t think about it
Until a friend brings it up.
Talking about her own love life,
A place she feels secure.
Her friend’s smile, big and bright,
While she speaks.
She thinks of him,
Her mirror.
No matter how bad she feels.
He finds a way
To make her feel better.
If something is off,
He’s quick to point it out.
He’s always there when
She needs him.
She never had to speak
To be seen when he was around.
The only place she only felt whole.
The cracks on her face shows