Broken wings can't take
flight,
even if you wish to soar the
skies,
They'll falter, crash and
bring you to your
demise.

Just as a pen without ink
cannot craft a single word
You'll press and press
tearing paper until it
bleeds,
it's emptiness exposed.


Wings must heal before
they lift you.
Pens must be filled before
they write.
Only then can the words
within
flow like rivers aching to be
free,
like the steady rythm of
your heart.

So give your wings the time
they need.
Fill yourself with ink - let it
pool deep,
ready to pour onto life's
blank pages.
Then you will soar the skies,
birthing words that give
you breath,
that lead to the
healing
you have always sought.

For a while I chose you
Because loving you
meant running away from me-
it meant focusing on
anything that wasn't me.
For a while like the restless  waves of a stormy night
I chose to runway from
the silence,
from the stillness  of being
stuck with myself

I didn't want love,
I didn't love you
I was obsessed with the
idea of love-
the imagery of sharing
piecse of myself,
of giving myself to
someone.
But even then I couldn't
do it.
You see, I'm a coward when
it comes to emotions
that aren't mine to hold,
emotions that place
someone on a pedestal,
or worse, emotions that
have the potential to make
me lose,
To make me hurt for them.

I love love yes-
the idea of it, the thought
of it.
It sends goosebumps down
my spine
makes me safe and
protected,
like a haven that is kind
and generous,
a love that give to me whole heartedly.
But I won't-
I will not give myself away
I know what it's like to lose
yourself,
to fade into someone else's
shadow.
I refuse to be that girl
again.

So, no, I will not fall in
love.
I want to to walk in love,
to choose it deliberately
I refuse to freefall into
something
I don't know how to
hold

I think at times, things are never
as they seem,
Shadows shape-shift  
before our eyes,
Clinging to the false
promise of "what could've been"
Blinding us to the truth
that lies in plain sight.

We bang our heads against the
walls of reality,
Desperate rewrite what
cannot be changed,
Clutching at illusions-things
intangible, unreal,
Lost in the ache of dreams
that will never be.

"What ifs," "could've beens," "should have beens,"
hold no weight,
They freeze us in place, or
pull us backwards
Chained to the endless
cycle of trying to grasp
What was never ours to
hold, never ours to mend.

So choose to move forward,
to claim your tomorrow,
Focus on the threads you
can weave today,
On the seeds you can nature
the paths you can pave.
Let go of the past-it cannot serve you now,
But the present awaits,
ready to be shaped by your
hands

I think love takes different forms.
Sometimes,it takes the shape of kindness,
of gentleness, of sharing and spreading
itself so thin
until there's nothing left to
give.
Love will give it's self away,
forgetting that "I love me too"
is also a form of love
a love that I need for myself.

And then, love will take a different form.
Love will shape-shift and hide
it will run,
it will build walls
to protect  a part of me.
Love will guard itself,
it will grow strong, tough,
and sometimes, love will
isolate.

But love is not just giving
or guarding.
Love learns to balance.
It becomes a dance between holding
and letting go, between reaching out and retreating within.

Love becomes whole
when it nutures others
without losing itself,
when it protects the heart
without hardening it.

Love is both the open hand
and the steady wall,
the quite strength and the
gentle touch.
It flows, it shifts, it finds
it's center,
reminding me that to love fully
is to love in all it's forms
including the love I give to me.

It is said that once a glass
is broken,
there's no way to repair it
without getting hurt.
For a time  I was that
glass.

Shatted and abandoned,
I searched for the pieces.
I can tell you this:
she bled on that floor,
fixing us- no,
I bled on that floor,
fixing us.

But even when the pieces
were in place,
I couldn't function the
same.

I bled, and bled and bled.
And she rose for us-
built Rome from stretch
with her bleeding hands.
While we sat there, frozen,
She built walls of steel
and refused to let anyone in.

When I woke, I discovered
our inner light.
She screamed in pain,
her scars unhealed.
Not everything heals with
time.

I sat there, bandaging her wounds-
neglected- while she stood guard,
still building Rome.
The walls are high;
the walls are thick.

But the walls are there
because she fought
for our light.
for survival.

And now wounds are
healing.
Our inner child cries for
freedom.
She wants the light.
She wants to be seen,
to be heard.
She wants a pen.

So now we're learning to
coexist.
We're learning that each
part,
each piece,
has its role.

We are one
I am finally whole.

Dear Sweet Oblivion

I love you-
you offer comfort,
a fleeting kind of happiness.
Because if I don't know
better,
I don't have to do better.

And knowing better it's heavy
It means work, constant self-evaluation,
constant introspection.
It means facing parts of me
that call for healing,
the wounds that demand attention.

Dear sweet oblivion,
I love you,
but I cannot stay
I know better now  
and growth is calling my
name

Even when I resist,
some part of me leans
forward,
hungry to know more
to want more
to be more.

You are my solace,
my momentary peace.
But I was made for the climb.