I am a child of nature, a force undeniable
a warm April rain
that will never stop falling
an element of life

I can't stop wanting the wind beneath my feet
to set my soul free, and drift on clouds aimlessly

like a baby bird, abandoned, and never taught how to fly
by instinct needs its freedom to survive

it pounds through my veins
to follow what calls to me and never give up in trying

to be, all that is ME

and want to run, to escape from all that haunts and hurts me
to fly away

but

every time I jump from the cliffs of life and spread my wings
inevitably, the gravity of reality pulls me back down

you see

it's not the final fall that hurts the most
or the crashing into the ground

it's

that never-ending drop of eternal emptiness

that feeling
of constant descent
that lump
that forms in the back of your throat
blocking your breath

it's

the painful tightening and panic
piercing in your chest

it's

that fear of

F
E
E
L
I
N
G

of loving deeply and losing even deeper
of living without meaning
and longing for something more
of knowing life is short, but death is forever
and feeling as if you're caught somewhere in-between here and there

so, I stand still
too scared to move
not knowing any more what to do
because I've never been very good at living
without the promise of a heartbeat

and

it seems I've forgotten how to breathe on my own

but

I can't escape these memories that haunt me
and running away only brings me back to where I started
standing here, alone

::sighs::

it's all too familiar, these days that are passing me by
always coming then going
like the people, and the lost moments of my life

::sighs::

leaving me, without having the courage
to face the mirror of reality of why they left
and me standing there, alone
looking in a mirror with no reflection
if only I could learn to fly away.

©️ Dark Water Diaries

I want love. You do too, do we all? No,
Not me, to you. Apparently, I
Don't exist. Do you?

I could feel my love
That I don't have -
This being alone,
Wearing the open air
Like Nakedness.

Vision dressed in
Nobody, not even
I.


Prayers answer every god.

You looked at me like love could grow,
But, I, am a garden choked in frost,
Our love could never blossom,
Never break the icy exterior,
You are the brightest sun and ,
And the winter grows stronger when I believe
that spring was possibly near,
I still doubt the light that reaches me,
I remember I learnt to freeze warmth too,
Now I spend my days surrounded by evergreen
Bound to wither forever,
And sadly my fate is sealed,
And you my love,
Have to bare witness,
Working over time to save me and yet still,
I frost every summer,
And still you warm,
And still we sleep,
And still when winter comes,
You, my love ,are gone.

I am cursed with the affliction of kindness.
And I will haunt this earth until I have seen the end of all things beautiful.
I prepare my epitaph, so that I may visit my own grave—
and mourn every piece of myself that I changed.

Perhaps this is all I was meant for—
to love until I disappear.

always the child
who never got appreciated
just an unwanted child
trying her hardest
to be the perfect one—
just once.
trying her hardest
to be appreciated,
dying to hear:
“you did a great job,”
“the dish you cooked was very nice,”
“i’m proud of you,”
“you scored 98% in maths,”
“i’m proud of my daughter.”
she just wanted
to be loved.
to be seen.
to be appreciated.

People say the youngest has it all easy.
They say she's loved more.
They say she gets everything she wants.
They say she doesn’t get hurt.
People say so much about her...

But they never really saw anything.

They didn’t see her cry late at night,
because no one ever hushed her during the day.
She searched for love in every soul she met outside,
because she never felt it within her own home.

She was “just a mistake”—
that’s what they called her.

No one wiped her tears.
No one held her hand.
She had to teach herself how to be strong.
She had to grow up before she was ready.

Her voice was never heard—
just ignored.

Why do I love
so hard,
so deeply,
when I know
it’s only going to hurt me more?

When I know
it’ll just tear open
old wounds—
make the scars bleed
all over again,
like they do
every time I care,
every time I love.

It always ends the same:
with me feeling
like I’ll never be enough,
like I’ll never be the one
they truly want.

Just a maybe.
The one who loved
too hard,
too deeply.
Who smiled through the day,
and let her eyes bleed
through the night.

Cold.
Unheld.
No warm arms
to wrap around her,
to whisper,
"You are enough"
"You matter"
"You mean something"

But those words never came.
Just silence.
Just pain.
And more scars—
fresh,
red,
and aching.

a kind of love
everyone else seems to have—
soft,
gentle,
like being seen
and still being held?

The kind of love
where I mean something
just by existing.
Where someone chooses me,
not despite,
but because of
the mess I am,
the emotions I carry,
the storm I sometimes become.

Where being me
is enough.

The home she never had—
the one she always dreamt of.
A picture-perfect, loving family,
with a supportive dad,
a gentle, caring mom,
and an older sibling who protected her.

A home without fights,
without slammed doors,
without the quiet sobs
behind bathroom walls,
or the midnight tears
that no one saw—
because if they did,
they’d only judge.

A home where she didn’t have to hide,
where she could speak without fear,
where anxiety didn’t live in her chest
like a shadow that never left.

A place where she didn’t need to write
just to feel heard—
because someone, finally, listened.

Where love wasn’t something
she searched for in strangers’ arms,
because she had felt it
right there, at home.

She built that home in dreams each night—
because it never stood where she lived.

how come I'm the one left unloved?
How come I have no friends to turn to?
How come I'm always the one they judge —
never truly seen, never truly known?
How come there's no shoulder for my tears,
no arms to hold me when it hurts?
How come I keep wishing someone,
anyone, would care?
How come I still want to fit in,
even when it means losing pieces of myself?
How come I'm not me,
but who they want me to be?
And how come —
in the quietest moments —
I wonder if I should even exist at all?