#healingthroughart
Don't really know what I'm feeling
I'm probably feeling too much
Don't know why I feel so lonely
When every day I get your touch
Don't know why I feel numb
Numbing is a strategy
Thoughts these day get so tough
Having a heavy melody
Destiny of our souls?
Where is it written, show me,
My mind is desperate to know,
Where all this is gonna lead me
I am not ready yet
To give up on every dream
I know I keep steady
In times like these
I'm moving slowly
But with connected hearts
Art is not a real choice
It's a remedy
The only place that restores
My inner voice and my integrity
Does that mean I lack authenticity?
Maybe, out of necessity?
Maybe it's my conditioned brain,
Always wired to simply be afraid.
I've let confusion lead the way
In many of my decisions,
I've let anxiety lead me astray,
Make me lose goals and precision.
Now I am here and typing
Words in my phone from
The heart.
And I rejuvenate my core,
Feeling it's warmth,
Health being restored,
Every tiny step counts...
There's no way this depression
Will feed itself off of me.
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 6:23 PM UTC
In my eyes—wide shut—
I rearrange the scattered pieces, trying
to build a better version of myself from
what once felt like a creature. I frame
my thoughts to get a clearer picture,
decorating the past in shades that turn
away from mistakes, and painting the
rest with the soft light of my achievements.
Time drifts like dust—
blown apart in fragments. And I wonder
if anyone has ever truly been put together
perfectly. Even the greatest successors were
once victims, parts of themselves quietly missing.
To be complete is to keep finding yourself
again—to return, again and again, to the
reason you began. I stay committed to the
foundation of a dream, building it day by
day from these few, fragile pieces.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 12:24 PM UTC
All my words are like acoustic strings; all of their emotions
black & white like piano keys. _It's love & pain intertwined_
My passions all leak at a metronome pace—then suddenly,
it feels like a nosebleed. _Being both beautiful & painful._
As I am an email for love, sent with all my attachments.
Like music, it gets all too tedious— as these aren’t poems,
not really— just signatures, kinships inked in flesh-toned
vaults, keen to sound like truth.
I'm vying in so many dry pastures, lost in this unsatisfied
fullness— an emptiness echoing into emptiness. Still, there’s
no shame in surrender; to put everything on the line—
hanging out in the sun. _To dry, wrinkle, & fade._
As my pride wasn’t just another persona, somewhere on
the clothesline. I’ve been worn thin by time; knocked down
by life with a clothesline. But still I rise, with my neck back
on the line. Destined to shine, but to you, dearest child…
these things take time.
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 5:51 PM UTC