I crave physical touch.

I want to be wrapped in someone’s arms as i listen to the musical drum of their heart and the reverberation of their voice as they speak to another

I want to hold hands with the people i love and never let go in hopes that they’ll stay forever

You will forever be the essence of my only sun.

I will love you till the day I die, I will say a prayer to you every night.

No matter the time of day I will always talk to you.

Every. Step. Of the way.

You are the essence of my sun  because you could bring the whole world to its knees with just your smile.

I would do anything to see you again..

And I hope you know that.

I know you both rather it just be you two

I can tell by the way you look at me

By the way you look at each other

By the way i walk away and you don’t follow

I’m trying my best not to pull away when i feel unwanted, but i feel gravity pulling me by my arm

Even as i dig my heels into the rugged ground to try and stay

I can feel the string that tethers us try to fray

I keep re-tying the knot

Over.. and over.. again

I want to stay

Please help me feel that way

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the hours tick by

1..2..3 am

I can’t sleep.

I toss and turn trying to find comfort, but its impossible

I can’t sleep.

I count to 126 trying to find fatigue, but its impossible

By 3:30 i manage to rest.

I wake at 11:00, almost noon..

Half my day is gone..

In another life, my world would be different.

I would live in one house, with two parents that love each other, and my one dog that deserved to live.

I would be caught up on school, have perfect teeth, and feel like the things i say would want to be heard.

I would have friends that lived nearby, and we would hang out almost every night till it was time to go to bed, and then wake up the next morning and do it all again.

The moral of the story is that if i could choose, my life would be different, but that’s not in this life, only in another.

You’re dead now

And life has never been the same

If anything its gotten worse

I feel empty..

Dead..

She said she can’t love you for more then two days

And yet you both still act like a couple

But if i were to love you, i would love you for eternity

I would love you every waking moment if you only gave me a chance

And the sad part is, i can never say that i love you more then friends

Because you love her

And she might love you

And i’ll forever be the third wheel

i don't consider myself much of an author
though you could call me a poet
i have a book, turns out
i guess i've been living under its illusion
but today, after three months of it being public
i held it in my hands and went through the pages

i'm not super proud, i'll admit
it's not perfect, barely anything
if i were to compare my current writing with that of the book
i'd call myself childish when i thought it could look
poetic or pass off as poetry
i'm no professional, barely perfection
but the title does say perhaps we could be anything

so here i was, reading through, found a good few
but most seemed to lack the fervor that i thought
when i penned down that thought
and once again i wondered, am i supposed to be proud of this thing?
thing, huh. really low of me to put it that way
when i started writing and it was a beginner's sake
no plans, thoroughly unrequired

i know many creators
ones who are artists, and they almost always mention
“i'm not really proud of that one” —
the particular one that marked their beginning
but i guess the beginnings are the time capsules
that lead to more such evenings
when you finalize a draft, finalize a piece,
put it out there wondering maybe it still lacks it
but the heartbeat — of that moment when it's passed on and upon —
maybe not everyone would critique
are we ever really proud of all that we do?
do we really accept it?

then this particular vision erupted in my head
i held the book, held it in my hands
and it was out there, and anyone could peek into my head
it escalated — vibrant imagery indeed
i was left to accept that if anyone wanted,
they could have had parts of me
the specific ones inside the book
and the ones in the title
and in the words
and in the emotions that led it on

and even though it wasn't everything, not as i'd desired
maybe someone could find a piece they loved in there?

perhaps it wasn't that bad of a choice
not super proud again — but hey, i'm a poet!
i've been writing more, learning better, and listening loads
i think i might be onto something
like let it enfold you by charles bukowski
god, i don't know the man
not his works or of any other plans
but i do know that words stick
the meaning they carry does too

and if i say i love the book (yet to like it)
will you read it for me too?

I gave you the precious pieces of me,
The ones I didn’t want the world to see.
I trusted you to hold them carefully—
These intricate, delicate pieces of me.


Woven into the seams of my identity,
Each part is a fragment of who I could be.
But bit by bit, they slipped away,
Scattered in the echoes of yesterday.


Perception blurred, my world askew,
Identity fractured, unsure of what’s true.
Emotions unravelled, I fought to cope,
Cognition strained, yet clinging to hope.


Engagement faltered, connections grew thin,
Self-awareness whispered, “Rebuild within.”
So now I gather the pieces again,
Not broken, but patiently trying to mend.


Each one a lesson, a scar, a friend,
A story to tell, a truth to defend.
Delicate, intricate, essential to be—
Reclaiming the precious pieces of me.