Was it hard?
The flower releases countless grains,
Hoping just one finds its way—
Did you give your best?
Even water, pure and sure,
Sometimes slips into a drain, led astray.

Was it hard to leave your home?
The dandelion must,
To ride the wind and touch the sky.
Were you too comfortable to change?
Snakes ache while shedding skin,
Eagles break their beaks to survive.

Did you fail this time?
Be gentle—
Even caterpillars must fall still
Before they learn to fly.
Mock tests precede the final day,
It’s the cycle—harsh, yet true.

My inner child died in silence—
rotting deep inside.

I burned him with my own fire,
a desperate, hopeless blaze.

Music weeps a funeral song,
while my mind crashes in flames.

I am empty now—
a hollow shell,
broken beyond repair.

They say love needs no reason—
but with you,
I have endless ones.
Your body, a poem God took his time to write.
Your eyes—black holes—
I fall in, lose myself,
and never want to be found.
You are nature’s desire,
and mine.

Emotions crash like thunder on a paper-thin sky,
Anger — a wildfire blooming beneath my ribs.
Sadness — a glacier crushing bone to dust,
Tears — the silence before the flood devours.

Guilt — a worm rotting the roots of my brain,
Happiness — a mirage flickering behind frozen glass.
Tiredness — deep valleys carved beneath my eyes,
And life? A cruel god laughing through a cracked mirror.

The wolves pursue in starving packs,
Their howls a hymn to midnight’s mark.
But I have learned the art of flight,
To guard my small, defiant spark.

I stumble into serpents’ coils,
Their venom laced in silken art.
They hiss, they weave, they pierce with lies—
Yet cannot touch my steadfast heart.

A cut so deep it cries for stitches,
Blood flows like sorrow on my face.
It stains my hands, it burns my soul,
Yet I bear it with a silent grace.

I call it failure—but not defeat,
A bruise I wear, a lesson earned.
The fire may scald, the thorns may bite,
Still, toward my goal, my spirit turns.

The flowers bloom in quiet pride,
as if the earth has turned to bride.
The wind, in silken celebration,
spins the air with sweet elation.

Cherry blossoms, soft and bright,
blush like hearts in morning light.
And wisteria, draped with care,
hangs like jewels in nature’s hair.

Your hair band arcs—a tender bow,
a rainbow resting soft and low.
And in your gaze, a season sings:
a sky of light, a soul with wings.

You twinkle, graceful, wild, and free—
the very breath of spring to me.
Not just a season passing through—
you are the bloom my spirit knew.