I'm
Tired
Of
B
R
E
A
T
H
I
N
G

Tired of

S
E
   E
    I
     N
       G

This hatred in humanity
And
The
Delicates
Being

T    O     R    N

Apart
So quickly
Without listening
To their glistening
Fragile
Beautiful words

After thorough calculations there
are two possible outcomes of
arguing with my family:

Either one day the arguments will end patriarchy,
or one day the arguments will end me.

Finding your voice
means screaming into
All the wrong places
until One day--

You hear your echo
calling your name.

I love the night
The feeling of being awake
While the rest slumber
In the darkness
And as the clock ticks on
As the hour grows late
Or perhaps terribly early...
I feel the madness creeping in
This time, I won’t fight it

we write when we're at our weakest
we write when we've been cut open
we write when we're bleeding
we write when we're dying inside

Not all those who write are sad,
but all sad people write.

my grip is slipping,
and falling scares me.
my world is fading away.
h      
          e
                     l
                             p
       m
                 e

h
          e
                    l
                          ­     p
          m
                     e

writing was an escape but even now words slip off the paper like tear drops.