So many can never find the words, the feelings,
because if they speak, what they know
It becomes a solidified highlight reel,
and not just a spiel, a tale told in the confines of safety to a person with a ticket that transforms them into the audience.

They devour the reel of desperation and despair,
The hurt child deep inside that starts through the mind, and leaks through the pours of your adult body, it paralyses you with fear, ruins your relationships, destroys the peaceful nights and waking moments.

It slaps you with a ghost hand and phantom pain, reaching from the past to remind you in the present that it still lingers,
they are still there  and they always will be, that it is their job to inflict pain.

Just one moment, one semblance of safety, is when the person with the ticket shows up to your screening, reaches for that ghost hand, and instead of twisting and pushing it away like you always beg, plead and scream to do
they grab the hand, hold it and say:

"This trauma is real, not a show, not a highlight reel, I will guide your scenes, your desperate cries and pleas, and I will help your child heal"

never find it funny
when my dad does it
but I pray to God that
he will never stop joking.
Cause by the time he's not here,
that jokes will mean everything.

“If you want to talk about it, I am here for you. Just like old times or new times, I don’t know. But I am here for you.” Cancerous words he spilled onto the screen, for they just multiplied the happiness that now sparked within her. Brewing hope and burning her eyes with emotions that flowed her eyes, leaving her mind fuzzy with joy. They finally opened their hearts to one another; a raw, vulnerable, authentic conversation after years. It was a conversation where she was drowned in the most beautiful-devastating of ways. A conversation she never wanted to end for the words seemed infinite and emotions seemed everlasting. She held onto this moment as perfect as it was as her eyes slid go sleep.

Here’s to the ones who opened my mind to various other world that existed. Here’s to the ones who’s deep conversation enriched my mind, soul and heart. Here’s to the ones who kept me sane. Here’s to the ones who did constant grammar checks. Here’s to the ones who accepted my insanity, weirdness and quirkiness and stayed. Here’s to the ones that offered their ear to listen and hand to hold. Here’s to the ones who loved me the days I didn’t love myself. Here’s to the ones who believed in me the days I didn’t believe in myself. Here’s to the ones who would check up on me, just to see how am I doing. Here’s to the ones who sparkled my day with their random acts of kindness. Here’s to the ones who made me laugh a ton at their lamest of jokes. Here’s to the ones who built houses in my heart and kept it warm. Here’s to the ones who made my dark days bearable and this year extra special by being themselves.

the world so big
overwhelmed of it
wanting to grasp a lot
be tangible part of it
makes me so petit
unable to change a bit

watching those
not only wanting or doing
but those
who have done
who have built
who have lived

seeing this all
you were born
to the wrong place
given no space
giving up the chance
to blossom in your way

I see you big
and followed
I see you walking steadily
people calling to you by name
**** if loved or hated
I see you black in colors

comes the time to change it?
I wish you cloud
I wish I could make you would
and would you make me could?
please grow for me
for you