I wish you looked at me, I wish you noticed. See how I'm trying to grow, become strong?
Yes, I might slip sometimes, but does the wish for you to see me make me wrong?

Should I just tell you and admit my truth, finally knowing my place in your life?
I am not ready to know just yet; fear tastes so sweet when you hold the knife.

I know you've noticed the way I smile while we talk and we laugh, sleep in each other's arms.
I know you've heard how fast my heart would beat when you tickle and fight me with your playful charms.

I used to wander; is there more to it? What you gave made me feel wanted and safe.
And I thought feelings would forever linger if I just love, care, and behave.

I know your life dreams are so different from mine. Still, I want to tell you, because I never dared.
I need to release those words from my mind; I wish you asked, I wish you cared.

My love is too powerful to keep inside; not a single second of longing is spared.
If you're not listening, I still need to speak. I wish someone asked, I wish someone cared.

Please let me say those words out loud and clear. Let me keep talking of what love means to me.
All I need now is a familiar soul, someone who will see the meaning of my words.

Please, let's talk, laugh, and cry. Remind me how it feels not to be lonely.
Don't expect riches, castles, or lands. All that I have to give is my love only.

I know I am not a king, not a noble knight. I am not deserving of love to share.
But if you read this, you might understand. Tell me you listen, tell me you care.

I know how it feels to be invalidated.
The words, "try harder," and "just stop" replay in my head like a movie.
I would take that advice if it was that easy,
but that's not how my brain works.

I know how it feels to feel like an anomaly.
I grew up different from all the kids, I was weird and I had scars on my arms and legs.
If it were possible, I'd be normal,
but there's no fun in being like everyone else.

I know how it feels to be minimized.
We were both so young that it "doesn't matter."
I wish I could let it go,
but I won't forgive her until I get an apology.

I know how it feels to not be trusted.
I was too unsafe to be by myself.
I slept on my parents' floor in their bedroom, sometimes for several days.
but I don't know when I'll be able to regain that trust.

At last, dear heart, the hush you craved is near,
The dawn you whispered prayers into has come.
The ache, the ache, that long held back your cheer,
Shall yield to peace as soft as morning’s hum.

No more shall shadows slip beneath your door,
No more shall sleepless hours drain your soul.
The chaos that once claimed your nights before,
Now bows beneath the light that makes you whole.

The stars have stirred.
The winds have changed their song.
The sky itself has cleared its weary brow.
You walked through storms that lasted far too long,
But oh, how bright the sacred gift of Now.

No longer tangled in the nets of doubt,
No longer braced for battles yet unknown.
You rise, a quiet flame, no need to shout,
The universe has carved for you a throne.

Clarity wraps you like a second skin,
Each breath a balm, each step a sacred thread.
Fulfillment blooms, not somewhere, but within,
Now peace walks with you, and confusion fled.

So take this hour, this moment, soft and clear,
The new beginning you once dreamed draws near.

Your battles rage, and I see what scars scratch your skin; I see the weight you bear, your heart is a battlefield with unending spar.

In essence,
Distance gives you the view of their landscape;

Illuminating,
We glimpse our true selves through the reflections of others, like mirrors to the soul.

Like their garden, occupied by substance—what withers; mirrors they appear themselves a guard and here I stand, in all my form, a 'lookout' may seemingly.

World is as vast,
My worries small.
Who am i?
Im just passing through; a tourist from a distance.

After an iteration of lying silent,
Slowly breathing
In and out
Enduring a lifetime of suffocation,
Something is seen.
Amongst the ashes of what once existed
And along the edges of the things that used to grow,
Life begins again
A warmth and a green haze that belies
The reckless abandon
Of all that used to be.
The whisper of Hope begins
A hoarse and hollow voice
Folding in on itself
While it echos across the barren wasteland
Of old, storm-worn steps
That lead into the coming days.
I look up
At the ashes that still fall,
Settling at my shredded feet
In piles of gray
And despair.
But Hope's voice grows ever louder
Though it never rises above a mutter,
Weak and worn
From years of oppression.
My eyes land on a single shade of blue
That birthed the emerald Hope
Among the ashes of the past.
And in a swirling maelstrom of ephemeral understanding,
I can now see:
There will be music here again
It may be many an era before its strands
Pluck through the dust
Of the destruction wrought
But there will be music here again.

Grand edict of Eros,
bestowed upon a meadow
that turns into a bog
in the monsoon.

Trapping and collapsing
even the most well-armoured heart—
Heart that walks in a circle,
following the breadcrumbs that lay
on the bloodied earth,
next to the bodies and arrows.
Crumbs that lead to one
meeting themselves.

Bodies, disposable;
souls, crafted into sapience by the flesh,
clipped coins and the pittance of a care
for the wounded heart.

Only steel pierces the heart, truly—
even fish in the corals have more depth.

I can understand that one is knowledgeable,
While understanding that this is not correlative or indicative of intelligence.
Likewise, I can understand one is both, or can be both,
And respect that in specific.
Yet; I can likewise understand,
That while the aforementioned individual(s)
Merits respect in that or those specific aspect(s) and/or attribute(s),
That that individual lacks patience & compassion.
And so that individual is ultimately unworthy/undeserving
Of any greater respect than in understanding them.

Otherwise, I hamper myself & only hinder others
In both intelligence & understanding.

Conversely, I can appreciate that one may understand what they're talking about
Even if I don't fully understand the experience as described.
Whether this is an aspect of one's own ignorance, as in a lack of understanding or confusion,
Or to/by the nature of how/what information is conveyed.
I can appreciate that communication can sometimes be difficult.
I can respect that individual still;
But only if they're earnestly, honestly trying & attempting to.
Only if they're honest & forthright in it & even about it.

Otherwise, they hamper only themselves & hinder others
In both knowledge & intelligence.

The difference between a cosmopolitan,
Of which I am,
And a "globalist,"
Of which I am not,
Is in one's compassion & patience -
In one's respect & understanding.

A cosmo is a citizen of the world,
A denizen of the planet.

This is not,
As some may mistakenly think,
Some sovereign citizen nonsense.

This is respect for the law - universal,
Those enshrined & even those not.

This is recognition of another's country & governance -
Of their sovereignty & rights, in like identity.

A "globalist" believes, wrongly, that there should be
Only one "kind" of a world.
A planet under one "supreme doctrine,

Usually "manifesting" in supremacy & inferiority
And the "erasure" of distinction.
That one's "life" is superior

Because of another's "inferior" "lifestyle."
In "globalism," there is no compassion
And neither is there patience.
There is no respect for distinctions in/of life
And no understanding for different lifestyles.

Observe, and share your perspective -
But be respectful.

Judge, and share your verdict -
But be understanding.

In both the formations of them
And in their subsequent deliveries.

Otherwise, expect not to be seen or heard from.

Is it enough to let the eyes skim the page,
To count the words like stars in a cage?
To say “I’ve read” and pass along,
While meaning fades like a forgotten song?
Reading is not just ink and air,
Not just the weight of facts laid bare.
It’s stepping into thought’s quiet hall,
Where questions echo, and meanings call.
Observation may grant you sight,
A glimpse of truth in borrowed light.
But understanding lights the fire,
Turns cold recall to soul’s desire.
In schools we learn to fill the test,
To chase the grade, outscore the rest
But who will teach the heart to see
What all these numbers mean to me?
To read is more than moving eyes,
It’s letting words inside arise.
It’s asking “Why?” and “What comes next?”
It’s living with the living text.
So read, yes
but read to feel.
Read to shatter, bend, and heal.
For the deepest truths are not just scanned.
They’re held, they’re lived,
they’re understood,
they’re planned.
Enjoy the delight.