Ripped jeans,
Stripped means,
Why is it you want me
But only in the evening

I dress up I play nice
I smile wide, my lips say "sure"
But you bend my spine a little more
Is this living, or is it war?
And what am I even fighting for?

Am I just the price tag for love?
A discount in the corner of the store,
The half-off story of love you never pay the price for?

But now no more,
No more half-love store
No more spark to take-
When the lights are low

Enough of your mouth-
Whispering your empty heart
I'm no longer your midnight show
The use of my skin you always tore,
I don't want the 'maybes' anymore.

I'm done being the puppet,
Put on the shelf, with a disguise
Not really a lover but not a stranger
I'll take what mine, I'll speak my truth
And from here on out
I am the only one dependent of my mood.

Almost saying sorry again

Not always it has to be me
the one to set her pride aside
to endure and forget
at the same time
to do it your way
or lose all love and attention that day
can’t talk with you
what should I do

A hurting heart
but a strong mind
I refuse to settle for a love
that isn’t lovingly and kind.

L.C.

Look to the sky — each cloud is forged alone,
Yet from afar, they wear the same white throne.
  They drift like thoughts, alike yet set apart,
  A testament to nature’s restless art.

Likes and unlikes — such is the nature’s lore,
Be the seed that breaks its shell and grows once more.
  Stand firm and nurture all you hold inside,
  Your voice, your shadow, your unpolished pride.

Never let fear hush the thunder in your chest —
Speak storms of truth, though silence might seem best.
  Tongues will wag like branches in the wind,
  But roots run deeper when they don’t pretend.

Most trade their colors for another’s hue,
They wear borrowed skins to seem brand new.
  Yet stand apart — like a lone tree crowned in flame,
  Unafraid to bear your honest name.

You need not twist your soul to be untrue —
Be your own sky, be your sun and morning dew.
  For it’s enough — this flawed and fearless star —
  To live unmasked, to be just who you are.

My sisters don’t answer their phones
if their boyfriends are asleep-
hardworking men with shifts in the morning
and reputations to keep.
Lunches to pack, clothes laid out neat,
and they do it all willingly,
from a place of love, how sweet.

I did these things too,
once, long ago.
I gave up my needs
for the good wife show.
But if it’s midnight and I want to speak-
I don’t give a **** if that man is asleep.

When’s he been gentle?
When’s he cared back?
I go to work too-
Where the hell is my slack?
A woman stays quiet to keep a man’s peace,
but is that really worth it
when a part of you dies piece by piece?

I treat myself with a little more respect each day.

A pistol tucked inside my heart—
memories of old dreams echo like bullet
wounds. Freedom comes, quietly, when
I finally let myself be known to myself.

Lips are like public transport;
they carry heavy loads:
sometimes love, sometimes doubt.

But the private lifts? Those are the words
we whisper to ourselves when we’re trying
to lift ourselves up, above our own doubts.

What loads are you carrying? Will your
transport make...or break someone?

Because belief in your own worth is such
a heavy load. And no— it’s not something
you should carry alone.

The weight of any load feels lighter when
the ones you love—and who love you back—
don’t just stand beside you; they help you
carry what you were never meant to bear alone.

There’s an outfit for each kind of day,
one for work, and one to play.
One for silence, one for charm —
I dress to keep their peace from harm.

I match their tone, their pace, their cue,
become the me they’re walking through.
A shifting shape, a face that fits —
but never quite the one that sits.

I dress in layers not for style,
but just to wear a safer smile.
A thousand looks, a thousand designs —
but none align with what’s in mine.

And every mirror looked back at me
But none of them knew who to be
I learned to read the room so well,
I lost the voice I used to tell.

But fabric wears, and so did I,
the cost of always living shy.
I’ve worn their sizes, played their part —
let fashion hide a restless heart.
But now I pull the stitching tight —
and walk in clothes that finally fit right.

What’s the worst that I could lose?
Just myself, and that I choose,
Again, again, I set the stage,
Then hand the script to someone’s rage

They smiled, I bent, I let them take,
Till I was hollow for their sake
I stitched my wounds with quiet grace,
And wore the pain like silk and lace

What harm could saying “yes” have done?
Just one more time, then I’ll be gone
But patterns loop like haunted tracks,
And every step just pulls me back

A softer voice, a trembling hand,
I thought that they would understand
But wolves, they come in human clothes,
And kindness is the path they chose

I saw the signs, I knew the script,
Yet still I let my edges slip
And in the name of “keeping peace,”
I fed the beast and called it “lease”

My heart was built to house a storm,
To twist itself in every form
And though I tried to say goodbye,
I let them in, I don’t know why

The bruises weren’t the kind you see,
They grew like roots inside of me
But I have learned: I am the gate,
Not every guest deserves my fate

So if you knock with hungry hands,
Expect to meet someone who stands
No more of me will be poured out to fill
The hollow space of someone’s will

I see the narcissist in you                                                              ­                       so strategic in your moves                                                            ­     manipulated I Love You's                                                            ­                 used to pull me closer to you                                                                             So many secrets you couldn't tell                                                             ­      kept them hidden very well                                                             ­          While I was busy weathering the tide                                                                 it had kept the enemy by my side                                                             ­         You loved me from your ego and pride                                                 knowing I was your ride or die                                                                             I had to pull back on my emotions                                                         ­          step out of that turbulent ocean                                                            ­        God had blessed me discernment                                                      ­     pulled me from the riptide current                                                          ­   Regaining control of the true me                                                             opening up an ocean of possibilities

It’s often said that men must stay strong through even their darkest battles. But what’s forgotten is that strength still lives in hands that tremble when reaching out for help. Women are told to remain soft, as if softness alone could prevent pain. Yet, when forced to pretend they aren’t breaking, time and time again, they begin to fracture, leaving behind sharp edges. Everyone hurts, even in languages they haven’t learned to speak. I’ve been offered love before, never whole, but in pieces people were willing to share. They loved the version of me that smiled easily, the one who folded herself small to fit neatly into their comfort zone. But I don’t fit. I never have. I test people, pull them from the safety of what they know into the wild of what they don’t. I don’t want love that arrives with a rule book. I can’t follow a checklist forged as care. I want to be truly seen. I want my scars to be tended to, without needing to be justified. I want to speak when I’m ready, and still be chosen in the silence. I want someone who stays when the hope is gone, when the quiet stretches too long, when I’m more tangled than anyone should ever be, when the walls I built to survive start to collapse. What even are humans without love? Just husks, souls trapped in bodies carrying stories no one will ever read. Screaming into a silence we’ve mistaken for normal. I don’t want a love that turns my bleeding into some symmetrical artwork to be analyzed. I want someone who sees the mess of my mind and doesn’t flinch. Someone who hears the tremble in my voice and leans in closer. I want a love that fits mine, not perfect or polished, just real. Just present. One that calms the noise I carry. I don’t want to earn love through performance. I want it returned, not earned, not bargained for, just given. Freely. Fully. Unconditionally. I need someone to hold me like I’m everything, especially in the moments I feel like nothing. That’s all I’ve ever searched for.