If I were a stone
I would not believe
that the medow
looks after the rose.
To be hardened
is to be muted.
Any stone that
does not tumble
will not shine.
The truth is that
freedom comes from
aching hearts,
and full moons.
Lonely roses hidden
behind tall blades
of grass.
It's so good
to see you thrive
where you thought
you might not
have survived.

Whats Scarier?

The snake you can not see? Or the snake that let you care for it and hold it, then it attacked you without warning? Its not the trust that is broken, but now the fear of the unknown. It’s the pain of the betrayal that is scary. The open and willingness you once had and now is blocked by the walls that are present. These walls that will forever stand as a reminder of the beautiful snake you once trusted and cared for, that so quickly turned against you.

There once was a boy who had it all in his eyes,
A loving and caring Girlfriend, A best friend who would always hear him out and help whenever she was needed, a part-time job that he loved, and a friend who would always discuss strange and interesting topics.
In his eyes, he had it all, and in a matter of a year, he lost it all.
His girlfriend left him for another man and in the same time frame that they had dated, she ended up married to that man,
A best friend that he took for granted and hurt in more ways than one and never speaks or hears from,
A friend who is now thousands of miles away and barley speaks to anymore thanks to his job,
And a job that he quit in order to pursue what he thought was right.
But how did it come to this? It's simple, he lost sight of who he once was and in-turn pushed those people away.
He became over-needy with his girlfriend, afraid that she was constantly cheating and did things without telling her, his anger started to show more often when he was with her due to drama that was out of his control, which caused her to leave when he needed her most,
He hurt his best friend by having feelings for her, he never thought about how she felt, and in turn caused her a summer of pain and hurt.
He also hurt her more by getting into a relationship with her after his last one and would make constant remarks about how he wished he was with his ex while with her, which pushed her and pained her to hear.
He lost his friend because he never discussed his problems with him and pushed him away in fear that he would hurt him to.
He quit his job because he felt that the next part of his life would be a changing point, good news is, it was...but only for a short time
In that short time he slowly got better, slowly made more friends, slowly got over his ex, slowly stopped with his vape, got rid of his steel friend that caused him to bleed red and slowly worked on bettering himself,
But that short freedom came to a holt when he was forced back into his old life, his old environment, and his old room, a room filled with painful memories, filled with the sadness and dis-spare that never left.
And now, there's more drama that's in his life, not from his own actions, but from the actions of others, actions that cannot be undone, actions that affect him nearly every day of his life.
Now, he doesn't have that freedom he once did and more importantly, he doesn't have anything, not anymore,
Sure, he has "friends" , he has a place to survive, but those friends don't listen to his problems, they don't ask whats wrong, they don't feel the need to help thanks to the facade that he has put up, a facade that is needed in order to not push them away.
His only real friends now....
are the vape in his hands, the sadness and the nostalgia in his head, and the exhaustion that he feels on a daily basis.
But he keeps on going, believing that there has to be a light at the end of this never ending tunnel he has placed himself in, believing that there has to be more to the story, more good that has to come...but he gets more and more tired as the days pass.
Don't be like me,
Don't take things for granted, don't lose sight of who you want to be, don't ignore the pain of others, don't get placed in an environment that you'll fail in and if you do, look for the positives there, and more importantly, don't let your feelings control every action you take, there are times where emotion is necessary, and times where it's not.
Keep going, keep swimming in your own sea, keep walking in your tunnel, and when the monsters of your past re-appear, don't let them swallow you whole, but don't ignore them, simply wave and keep going towards the end of your path.
It's easy to say this stuff, but executing it is a whole other matter, always remember that.
but more importantly,
D O N ' T  M A K E  T H E  S A M E  M I S T A K E ' S  A S  me.

I feel her stir and stroke her hand.
My plan is to sedate her, gently bait her to sleep,
Just a while longer, to somewhere deep,
Where she can keep to her dreams and in those dreams recede.

The seams of this island
Are too fragile for her agile hands.
When she wakes, she shakes mountains,
And tangles the sky by the locks of her hair.
And sighs of rain—alert, at her thunderous applause—
May as well be daggers for the damage they cause.
We’d barely survived her, so I now lay beside her.
I wrap her in lullabies, so life may thrive despite her.

I feel her stir, and stroke her hand.
There was only ever this feeble plan.
The seas are calm; it’s barely dawn.
I hold my breath and she slumbers on.

the world is shattering,
with a raven hovering.
the wild creation with big strong wings,
coming closure, spreading darkness, hiding everything.
visibility has gone even with dilated pupil.
humans trying to remember ethics and scruples.
this will end soon, we chanting every prayer,
the old and infant both survive and again we get fresh air.

Love is like an ocean...
Its swimmer must be proficient in all art...
Than life boat will be survive in deep ocean...

cw: ****** assault and suicidal thoughts

I want to combust.
Not into the traditionally red flames.
Red is my mother’s color; because, it’s
the one that suits her the best.

But the reason why I hate it, is that in a deeper shade,
it is the same color that runs between her thighs
and stains the bedsheets we clean
when men decide that they’re more worthy.

I want my flames to be purple,
the same shade I have been fixed on since I was little.
Purple like the heroine I always dreamed of becoming,
and the edges of my vision when I

swallow the cleaning products,
count out the pills,
pull the belt tight around my neck,
grow so furious with myself that I wish I was just dead.

When I told my mother I wanted to die,
she screamed at me,
“How dare you think you’ve gone through so much,
when I’ve gone through so much worse!”

That is why
I want to explode
into flames
that dare to justify my own right to pain.

But purple is the same color
I see around my little sister’s face,
concern in her gaze
as she whispers, “I love you."

How could the world be so cruel?
Locking a man in our home,
a man who tries to take away every piece that makes us whole,
and forcing my little sister to witness me in such a state.

I can’t live up to being a
college student
daughter
big sister,

yet
I can’t bear forcing my little sister
to witness her big sister
lifeless in the room next to hers.

When I go out,
I want to combust into purple flames
because I’m so
terrified, furious, disappointed.

Unlike the men who built the college,
I want to die
without a trace,
and my ashes to disappear.

I guess
nothing would change after I die,
except there would be more
purple little bruises on my sister’s heart.

But would I become
greedy, disgusting, memorable
because I would
leave her?

Leave her like our father
who forgot our birthdays
or when it was his time for child custody,
but could never forget his favorite beer?

When my mother’s boyfriend tries to break into my room at night,
I beg the flames to take me.
I’m too tired, hungry, and weak
to believe I have a right to my own body anymore.

“Traitors,” I whisper to the flames,
hoping my emotions would be strong enough
to ignite myself
and disappear.

But the following morning,
my little sister would knock at my bedroom door,
greeting me with a sleepy smile,
and sitting on my bed to chat.

How could the world be so cruel
to my little sister by making me,
the girl who can’t even protect herself,
her protector?

“I missed you.”
She says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I just saw you before you went to sleep.”
I reply.

Suddenly
the purple flames that I once called traitors
remind me they were with me the whole time,
burning resiliently.