how many more strands of my hair I am going to cut to comfort myself
just because I could not coil my neck with a tight rope
or just because I could not jump on top of the building
or drown myself in the water to forget my sorrows
or slit my throat or wrist
or drink alcohol till my kidneys give up
or smoke till my lungs cannot function anymore
or do drugs to stay high and make me insane

how many more poems am I going to write
just to be heard by those people who does not know how to listen
all they do is talk, assume
they do not know how to ask
it was as if they know everything
well, in fact they do not

they just see the highlights
the behind the scenes
not the point of view
you just saw the tip of the iceberg
not the one that lies beneath it

you only know the illness
but never the ill feelings behind it
you only know how to assume
not the sufferings I have been through

you only know when to blame when you did not like how I react
when I talk back, I was labelled as rude
but in fact, it was the tone that made me trigger and felt provoked
but you never watch what you say
you are never careful with your choice of words
you never know the pain I felt when you said that
I was born sensitive, gladly, because I know for a fact that I will never react the way you do

you only know the title of the song and the singer behind it
you only know the verse,
not the hidden meaning behind it.

how many more times am I going to comfort myself
just because my parents are emotional parasites
but emotionally unavailable
remind me why I hate parties? all the people there are not my friends
they fake it.
I am the pity celebrant being pitied
instead of the one celebrating her birthday

how many more times am I going to endure the pain?
I asked for help, did you know what I get in return?
criticisms. I did not ask for lectures but that was what I got in return
their lectures are reminders disguised as insults
they act supportive and concerned but their words never quite matched with their actions.

I reached out my hand because I fell in too deep,
in return, I got pushed deeper
they made me into a laughingstock
made me felt overweight or underweight
but in fact, my weight is not suitable to the liking of my BMI
I felt unheard, my ideas were rejected
I suggested something nice but in return I get a bad review saying I never use my brain well
so, when they asked me next time, I kept my mouth shut
I got the skills, but I am still unseen
what am I going to do with my life, then?
cry in silence, talk to the Lord, surrender it all to Him.

by the grace of God, I survived.
I endured it all for 25 years,
but I got a way out of it alive, surviving.
If you could see my back, it has been filled with invisible patches and band-aids
invisible stitches God always mends from harsh truths
but it made me learn that God removed you from the people who hurt you, do not crawl your way back in their arms anymore.

be wiser, be better.

Three years feel like the right time for me to finally say it: I want to marry this man. He has shown me, over and over, what love really means. He never lets me go to bed angry, because he values peace more than pride. He protects my heart, my peace, and my sanity as if they were treasures meant to be guarded with his life.

He buys my needs, not because I ask, but because he pays attention to me in ways no one else ever has. He provides me comfort and relaxation, reminding me that I deserve to rest, to be cared for, to be safe. With him, I don’t have to carry the weight of the world alone. Sometimes we eat out, sometimes we travel, and in those moments, the world feels like it shrinks into just us two, laughing, sharing meals, building memories.

He gave me the world but keeps me on my toes. He leads me closer to God, and in his love, I have found peace, joy, and wholeness. He doesn’t just love me—he makes me grow, makes me dream, makes me believe that forever is possible.

In the first year of our relationship, we spent time figuring out what we truly meant to each other. We fought—not as enemies, but as two people learning how to love deeply, how to navigate differences, how to build a bond strong enough to withstand life’s tests. I did not see our arguments as battles to win, but as opportunities to strengthen our connection.

You showed me the scars of your past—the stories that still haunt you, the traumas you thought would scare me away. You revealed your vulnerabilities, believing I might laugh or run from you. But I didn’t. Instead, I drew stars around your scars, crowned them with care, praised your courage, and comforted you. I held your pain as if it were my own, because loving you means embracing every piece of who you are, even the parts that once felt broken.

In the second year of our relationship, we ventured into our first business together. We figured out how to balance our dreams and our partnership, how to navigate challenges side by side. But with that visibility came people’s comments. Many were harsh, judgmental, and full of negativity aimed at you. Of course, it hurt me, because I love you fiercely and I cannot bear to hear anything said against you. But in that moment, I realized something important: my respect for those who lack respect for you disappeared completely. I saw who truly matters, and who does not, and I chose to protect our bond, letting go of those who sought to harm us with their words.

And in the third year of our relationship, everything crystallized for me. Seeing how far we had come, how we had grown together, how we had faced challenges, celebrated victories, and loved each other through it all—it made me realize without a doubt that we should get married. It was not a sudden thought, but a natural conclusion to the journey we had walked side by side.

So now, after three years, after laughter and tears, arguments and forgiveness, revelations and acceptance, and challenges faced together in love, life, and business, I can say it with certainty and without hesitation: I want to marry this man. Because with him, I have found not only love, but home—a place where my heart feels safe, my soul feels seen, and my life feels full.

Betrayal is a strange kind of wound. It never comes from the blade of a stranger—it comes from the hand you once held, the voice you once trusted, the presence you once leaned on. It is not the enemy that ruins you. It is the friend who knew your secrets. It is the family member who knew your weakness. It is the lover who knew your heart. And because betrayal always comes from within your circle, the sting is sharper, the scar deeper, and the healing slower. That is why I say: before you do me *****, make sure you never need me again. Because there will come a day when pride runs dry, when excuses wear thin, when the world closes its doors on you and you remember the one person who stood by you in silence, in patience, in loyalty. And when that day comes, you will find that you have burned the very bridge that once led you back to safety.

You think betrayal is just an action—it is not. It is a declaration. It says: I don’t value you enough to protect you. I don’t honor what we had enough to keep it safe. I choose myself at your expense. Betrayal is not an accident. It is a choice. And choices always have consequences.

Trust is the most fragile currency in the world. It is invisible, weightless, but priceless. You can build it for years and lose it in seconds. And yet, people play with it like it costs nothing. They take advantage of the silence of loyalty. They mistake kindness for weakness. They believe forgiveness is endless. And so they test the limits, pushing further each time, until one day the rope snaps and they realize they are dangling over a void of their own making.

When I give someone my trust, it is not because I am naïve. It is because I have chosen to see them as more than just another face in the crowd. I choose to believe they will guard my back, not stab it. I choose to believe they will protect my name, not smear it. I choose to believe they will hold my truth, not weaponize it. But when that trust is broken, I do not rebuild it easily. And if you dare betray me, then at least be wise enough to make sure you will never need me again. Because trust, once shattered, does not grow back like a broken bone. It crumbles into dust, and you cannot put dust back together.

Life has a cruel sense of irony. The very people you harm today may be the ones you desperately need tomorrow. You never know when the tables will turn. The one you insulted may be the only one willing to speak for you in a room full of silence. The one you ignored may be the only one who remembers you when everyone else forgets. The one you betrayed may be the only one who still has the key to the door you now desperately need to open.

And yet, people betray as if they will never taste hunger. They betray as if they will never need comfort. They betray as if they will never be desperate for a helping hand. But the truth is, everyone eventually faces a moment when pride collapses. Everyone eventually faces a storm that strips away their defenses. And in that moment, they will remember who they wronged. So I say again: before you do me *****, make sure you never need me again. Because if the day comes when you come crawling back, you will find no open arms—only the echo of your own choices.

Some people betray, and then later crawl back, pretending nothing happened. They think a smile erases the knife in the back. They think time alone heals wounds without apology. They think their need is enough reason for forgiveness. But pride is a strange thing. It blinds people into thinking they will never fall. It convinces them that bridges can always be rebuilt after they burn them. But life is not that merciful. Once you burn me, you burn me completely. I do not rebuild bridges that were destroyed in fire. I build new roads elsewhere, far away from the ashes.

And here’s the irony—many who betray are shocked when they discover I can live without them. They believed I was dependent. They believed I was weak. They believed I was bound to them by some invisible chain. But betrayal has a way of showing me the truth: that I can survive without the betrayer, but the betrayer cannot survive without me.

So listen carefully. If you are planning to betray me, at least have the dignity to ensure you will never need me again. Because when you crawl back—and you will crawl back—you will not find me waiting. I will not be your savior when the world spits you out. I will not be your comfort when your pride has eaten you alive. I will not be the shoulder you cry on when loneliness surrounds you. You may laugh now, thinking you have outsmarted me. You may smile, thinking I will never discover the truth. You may even convince yourself that betrayal carries no consequence. But life has a way of revealing hidden hands. Truth has a way of surfacing, even from six feet under. Lies rot. Secrets decay. Masks slip. And when that moment comes, I will already be standing far from you, untouched, unharmed, unmoved.

The real danger of betrayal is not in the act itself—it is in the aftershock. Betrayal creates ghosts that haunt relationships forever. It plants seeds of doubt that grow like weeds. It teaches people to look over their shoulder, to question every smile, to second-guess every word. Betrayal poisons not just one bond—it poisons the very soil of trust, making it harder for new bonds to grow. And yet, betrayers rarely think this far. They live in the moment, feeding their desires, their greed, their pride, without realizing they are sowing destruction. They dig their own grave, shovelful by shovelful, until they are too deep to climb out. And then, with trembling hands, they look for help. But help does not come. Because the one person they could have counted on is the very person they buried beneath lies.

The truth has a strange way of surfacing, no matter how deeply buried. You can cover it with lies, distractions, excuses—but it seeps through cracks, it whispers in silence, it bleeds into the air. And when it emerges, it does not ask permission. It arrives like thunder, breaking open the sky. So I warn you: do not betray lightly. Do not throw away trust as if it were a toy. Do not use people as if they are disposable. Because one day, when the truth stands tall, when the mask falls off, when the consequences arrive at your doorstep, you will realize what you lost. And you will remember this: I do not come back to those who betrayed me.

So before you do me *****, make sure you never need me again. Make sure you will never knock on my door for help. Make sure you will never cry my name when you are drowning. Make sure you will never hope for my hand when you are falling. Because betrayal is a choice, and choices have consequences. I will not be your savior after you have made me your victim. I will not be your comfort after you have made me your target. I will not be your shield after you have pierced me with your own sword. I am not your enemy—but if you treat me like one, then prepare to face life without me. And when that day comes, remember this: you were warned.

Snakes and monsters don’t just crawl in the dark—
they feast.
They slither into your mind,
wrap around your heart,
sink their fangs into your spirit.

They eat your soul.
They hollow you out until nothing’s left but a shell.
A living ghoul.
A body walking without light.

They turn you into a zombie,
not to devour your flesh,
but to gnaw at your mind,
to strip you of reason,
to make you crave the poison that killed you.

They bite like vampires,
not for blood,
but for emotions.
They feed on your joy,
sip on your hope,
drain you until all that remains
is a husk of who you used to be.

They are emotional parasites.
And parasites never stop feeding—
unless you burn them out,
cut them off,
tear them from your veins.

Because if you don’t,
you’ll wake one day
not as yourself—
but as the monster
they’ve made of you.