It doesn’t rain —
it weeps through a broken mask,
the sky unzipping its stitched-up grief
and letting sorrow bleed down like silk.

Rain drips like rosary beads
counting sins backwards,
washing blood from sidewalks
but not from time.

Animals whisper first —
fur quivering with prophecy.
Dogs howl at ghosts we pretend aren’t there.
Cats dissolve into shadow
like smoke slipping through cracks in logic.

People sleep,
wrapped in their own warmth,
not knowing the storm outside
is the Earth mourning itself.

Some cry beneath the clouds.
Some grin like broken clocks.
Some dissolve —
quiet as paper in water.

They say every night ends —
but not every soul waits long enough
to see the ink fade.
Some vanish,
not because they gave up —
but because the veil closed too tight.

And no one reads
the pages they became.

Above, the clouds convene in grief,
So swollen, seeking some relief.
I raise my voice into the hush:
“What sorrow stirs this tender crush?”

And still, I say—cry if you must.
Tears are not treason. Winds are trust
I will not flinch beneath your pain;
Let sorrow fall. Let go. Let rain.

The sky turns green—a fevered hue,
As grief consumes both me and you.
But I will stand, though tempests call—
Your witness, shield, your quiet wall.

So storm, beloved, break and seethe.
I’ll hold the line. I will not leave.
When all your strength has come undone,
I’ll stay,
until
your light returns.

The water winds through cracks it calls its own,
Unmoved by stone, yet shaped by every line.
A path unseen, by silent current sown,
Its flow suggests a fate both firm, divine.

With you I walk, through storm and burning sky,
Our footprints carved in earth that tried to break.
Though shadows stretch, we lift our heads up high,
And kindle light no darkness dares to take.

If ever pain should pull you far below,
I'll dive where even sorrow fears to tread.
Through waves that crash, through undertow and woe,
I’ll swim until your heart finds shore instead.

The dream we chase lies just beyond the blue—
A breath, a step—and we’ll arrive as two.

I fell in an ocean—
not of my choosing,
not with a map or a promise of shore.
Just silence,
cold,
and the weight of everything I never deserved.

A shark came—
of course it did.
Pain always smells the softest hearts.
It circled, snapped,
tried to tear the light from my chest.
But I—I thrashed.
I bled, yes.
But I fought.

I am not the daughter of their dreams.
I am not a trophy in their pride parade.
I am the storm they never saw coming—
quiet, scarred, and still standing.

Why do the unkind smile
while the kind drown?
I don’t know.
But I know this:
I’ve carried pain
like a secret blade
and I’ve used it
to carve my own path
through the dark.

Now, I release it.
I leave the rest to God—
the judgment, the justice,
the why-me, the why-not.

Because I’m proud of my scars.
They’re not weakness.
They’re proof.

That I survived the ocean.
That even when the world tried to eat me—
I refused to disappear.

A heap of waste may reek at first,
but even rot makes room for roots.
What begins in decay
can still rise in bloom.
There’s still hope—
quiet, maybe,
but steady like a seed beneath the soil.

And if the ship goes under—
don’t wait for rescue.
Swim.
Even if the sea is endless,
even if hope is a whisper.
Better to reach with burning lungs
than to sink with “what if” in your chest.

The forest hummed its ancient lullaby,
Cold winds threading sorrow through my skin.
Its trees—bowed, yet never broken—murmured:
"It is our fate to wither or to rise,
To ache, or chase the flicker of fading stars.
But the soul—you alone may steer its course.
Be still—every forest ends in light,
The sky will one day kiss the sea,
And even the sun must drown in the ocean’s hush.
Yes, it aches. So endure—or awaken."

For not all wounds are soothed by silence,
Not all chains are meant to hold.
Some dreams slip through trembling hands,
But it is never your fault when they fall.

Why does it feel as though a mountain rests upon my chest?
My shoulders splintering, bowed beneath its weight,
My heart, shattered glass upon the cold earth,
Yearning for a breeze to sweep it whole again.

Oh Lord, am I but a fragile soul?
Why burden me with more than I can bear?
While they dance in sunlight's golden glow,
I am lost, drowning in the shadows' grasp.
Why do they sip from chalices of gold,
While I stand, empty, watching their joy cascade like rain?