Healing means being continuously broken,
until one day you find yourself unexpectedly getting back up.

It’s not cute,
or aesthetic,
it’s hurtful.

Those nights in the bathroom floor where you finally release the tension of unshed tears.
That one time you shamefully texted your friend “I relapsed”.

The scars of my arms are checkpoints of both victories and losses.
They all cary immense weight of battles I was too weak to fight.
Images of memories I will never be able to erase.

Sometimes healing means being afraid yet doing it anyway.
Pushing forward without a reason whatsoever.

It’s messy,
inconsistent,
and painful.

But life is simply an everlasting journey of healing, growing.
The best part of life is exactly that— growth.
The constant journey of becoming better than who we were yesterday.

But if you don’t heal what hurt you,
you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you.

I wish to love you religiously.
To find my religion in the cracks of your lips.
Feel your holiness through your callused palm.

I’d worship the temple of your soul.
Nurturing and loving,
a spiritual healing
restricted to the sanctity of your love.

Salvation meant existing by your side,
fulfillment was being your shadow.
Purity meant being solely yours.

And if hell meant eternity with you,
then I’d burn the rest of my life with the fire you started within me.

If it was a sin to love,
then I have become the most immoral person in your name.

I continue loving you religiously,
submitted…
entirely,
wholly
to you.

The room was cold
but the air was warm.
The room was filled with people,
and yet I still felt alone.

I sat in the corner, observing people:
the way they spoke,
the curl of their lips when they laughed,
even the darkest secrets they wished to hide—
fake smiles,
bitter tears,
toxic love.
I observed everyone except myself.

In the corner, it was dark.
My skin felt molded to the wall I leaned on.
All the chatter in the room,
thinking so much,
yet feeling so little.

I looked around the corner,
taking in all its qualities.
It was the only part of the room
where light didn’t seem to shine—
a prison,
isolated.

I couldn’t help but wish
people observed me the way I observed them.
Wanting to be seen is a dark feeling—
aching for love
without begging for attention.
In the quiet moments,
I realize I might be alone.

This corner is my safe space,
my shield from
fake people behind masks
and the dark jokes they laugh at.
But it is also my cage—
the reason I am concealed,
isolated from the rest.
Who knew my place of comfort
was also the cause of my loneliness?

I need to get out.
Five simple words,
but they feel hard to swallow.
This corner holds me back—
from experiences,
people,
hurt,
happiness.
I need to get out.

I muster the courage to stand.
I take a deep breath
and embrace my surroundings:
five things I feel,
four things I see,
three things I touch,
two things I taste,
one thing I want:
freedom.

I step into the brightly lit room.
The place feels unrecognizable,
a world beyond my isolation.
The people almost seem—
friendly?

I make rockets of my legs
and approach a girl.
Her name is Rose.
She has two piercings,
three friends,
four sisters,
five dogs,
and a million dreams.

She tells me her story.
I almost feel pity.
She struggled growing up—
two homes,
a loving mom,
an alcoholic dad.
But in her story, I find comfort.
Knowing others struggle too,
I realize sadness doesn’t like loneliness.

I glance back at the corner
I once called home.
Now I see it clearly—
it was a prison all along.

I’ve said many lies in my lifetime.
But one of the most used ones was
‘I’m fine’

“How are you doing?”
I’m fine.
“How was your day?”
It’s fine.
“Are you okay?”
I’m. Fine.

And I too, desperately tried to make myself believe that.
I grasped to the possibility that
I. Was. Fine.

Even if I struggled or
I self destructed,
I was fine.

In the process of domestication,
I shut the possibility of
emotional unwellness.

I wanted nothing to do with the
bitter reality,
and the stinging truth,
that maybe:
I wasn’t fine.

So when someone reached out their hand
and offered to walk with me
through the flames.
I hesitated.
The idea of help was almost foreign to me.

I rejected their help,
because I thought I didn’t deserve it.
But it only hurt us more.

In the end I convinced myself.
I was born to die.

Many people claim God isn’t real
yet continue to speak,
“If it is in God’s will.”

Many people claim God isn’t real
yet will pray,
“God have mercy.”

Many people claim God isn’t real
but continue to recite scripture
in His name.

I wonder if they do this on purpose,
or if part of them still believes.

Maybe religion treated them wrong,
gave them no alternative but to leave.

I don’t blame them.
It’s hard to feel alienated
in a supposedly
“open community.”

Or maybe they’re in denial,
afraid of a higher authority.
Perhaps they know they haven’t been good,
that deep down, they never fit
the Christian standard.

But as much as they say they don’t believe—

we will beg on our deathbed
to get into a heaven we do not believe in,
as we are all just contradictions within ourselves.

It might be regret,
survival,
logic.

But in those final minutes,
you’ll pray to a God you deny
because no matter how you try,
you cannot accept
your own nature

Our last day together, we’ll sit
at the edge of your car,
right above the hood,
overlooking the night sky in the empty
Walmart parking lot.

You don’t know it,
but a year from now, we’ll be torn apart.
We might not see each other again—
not even at all.

But that same night, we’ll recall
old memories from the past,
lingering in our minds
for the longest time.

We’ll laugh at the time we both got
in trouble for breaking the clock.
We’ll smile at the time
we tried to cook
but ended up burning the food.
We might cry the moment
we have to say goodbye.

Just know, every moment since birth…
it has always been you.
I know how much you cared…
just know I did too,
even if I didn’t show it as much as you.

From the moment I took my first breath
to the day I’ll take my last…
you were always my twin at heart,
not just in mind.

Love you,
in every universe
and in all
timelines.

I hope distance doesn’t make us strangers,
but if it does,
I’ll be happy with the fact
I once got to know YOU.
Even if it was for a limited time.