it doesn't sound as terrifying
if you split it into
a million deaths,
a million lives, lost individually.
we're wasting our humanity
on empty background noise.
we're forced to lock our gates,
avert our eyes,
pay mortgage with our souls.
it doesn't seem quite as finite
if you just take your pills
and track your progress,
while they wash all the blood
off of the hands
that hold our future hostage.
a million deaths,
a million possibilities,
surrendered individually.

We are never born hating anyone; we are taught to hate.
We are never taught to love, yet somehow, we love.
We don’t choose expectations—they are placed upon us.
We were born to spread happiness, but the world taught us how to be hated.

Devils are not born; they are made.
Everyone hates the villain, yet no one knows their story.
We are all responsible for the wrongs in the world—
because we failed to build a better society.

Change is never made by one alone,
but be the one who begins it.

I always find it funny,
How some people relish judging,
Others, when their own lives aren’t,
Perfectly pristine.
Would it be so hard,
To keep those thoughts within?
Instead of putting another down,
With foolish whims.
Who are you to decree,
What’s morally okay,
Or what’s socially acceptable,
When you’re broken in your own way?
Stay in your bubble,
Sometimes it’ll keep you out of trouble.
If your life is a mess,
Then I don’t need you telling me how to live mine!
But, I digress…

Shadows dissolve where silence takes hold—
So do people,
tamed by the dark,
ghosts draped in marigold.

Chains of humility, lacquered and new,
Disguised as virtue,
cling like dew—
shimmering, choking,
beautifully untrue.

Beware the gold-plated gospel they preach:
Their words are mirrors,
sharp at the breach.
They buff your shackles 'til they gleam—
And call it freedom,
call it dream.

Are these the mourners with practiced sighs,
Wringing grief from unopened eyes?
They spray on sorrow like perfume mist,
Never flinching
when your shadows kissed.

And you—yes, you—celestial flare,
A signature soul,
singular, rare.
Who are they to judge your flame,
Then vanish,
maskless,
without name?

This life is no script, no dainty refrain—
It’s cliff-edge breath,
storm-fed pain.
Let them twist and trace your form,
But know:
your chaos is your norm.

So rise—not gentle,
not as planned.
Unwrite the laws they understand.
You are the wild the world can’t mold—
A truth too loud,
a myth retold.

I hear them—
the sheep in their scripted refrain:
"Lower your gaze. Stay in your lane.
Blend with the flock, bury your flame—
No need for thunder. No need for name."

But I remember the ones who walked unbowed,
Eyes like storms,
souls too loud.
They taught me not to kneel, but rise,
To tear the silence,
to scorch the skies.

Don’t flow like water through cracks they choose,
A shape that fits
is a self you lose.
Be wind—ravenous, rough, untamed,
A force with no leash,
no master,
no name.

If they seal you in a space too tight,
Too small for soul,
too dim for light—
Split it open. Let rage ignite.
Turn your whisper into a war-cry flight.

This is your voice:
not meek, not borrowed.
A sun that sears
through every sorrow.
If breath still burns within your chest,
Roar, rebel—
be nothing less.

Carve your path through dusk and scar.
You are the blaze.
You are the star.

To my memory, I've fallen down the stairs twice
Once I was taken to the hospital, at an age when I wasn't aware of the word fright
The other when the sound of footsteps was taken over by the laughter, while I looked down and silently cried

The first time, there were tears, but there was no shame
I could see the blood, but there was no pain
When my head was wrapped with something white with red blood stains
The other time, it was different
It was the viewers' entertainment
It hurt me more because
As a kid, I've been too used to the sweet words and helpful hands

I decided to wait for someone who's worth the breath I'm saving or stay unloved
So I've seen those hands clapping together but I've also seen my fingers hanging in the air untouched
Because I wasn't looking for a pretend, a friend till it's all said and done
So I've had those empty so-called "stick-around" hugs

I've even tried to be a single person's pleaser
But the tailor never stitched me to be entangled with people
Sometimes the colour doesn't match,
Sometimes the needle picks out the bonded thread
And sometimes I didn't waste my days to find out the reason

Maybe the incidents where I couldn't sleep even in my own house
Or where I couldn't dare to stand alone in the outside crowd
The one which I still can't speak of to myself
Are the reason why I think that "believing in someone" is the shortest route to hell

I am sure everybody has had hard times
And I am not giving the importance to myself
I am not making it all about me
But there's no one, and to you, I'm justifying myself
You can tell how vulnerable I feel

To my memory, I've bought a rose twice
Once, it was never sent; in my hand, it slowly died
The other time, the rose was picked up
But it was sent by me, so it was disliked

Memories don't always bring the joy; sometimes it's best folded
And I'd say to every old me, who's been "never chosen," "left hurt," and "self distorted":
Don't blame your legs, because you couldn't run
Don't blame your hands, because you couldn't paint
Often days, your body will feel burned
Don't blame yourself, if you'll ever faint
Maybe what you've dreamed, you might not get
But a good girl always lives along and appreciates what's been served on the plate

I see the world through fractured light,
Where justice begs beneath the weight,
And silence feeds the lion's bite,
While good men turn their eyes too late.

I feel the urge to take the flame,
To burn away what should not be,
Not for glory, not for fame,
But for the ones who cannot see.

If change must come and no one stands,
Then I will rise, with shaking hands—
Though power bends, and giants fall,
I'd give my breath to heal it all.

Let it cost me—let me break,
If breaking builds what fear forsakes.
Let my name be washed away,
If brighter lives can bloom one day.

I don't need thrones or thanks or gold—
Just truth, and courage, brave and bold.
And when I'm gone, if good remains,
Then let me vanish with my chains.